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@slothinator Aye, that was the goal with Adelchis, glad you caught the reference to Vercingetorix. Since Karloman is about to become Imperator Romanorum, it seemed a fitting reference:_
And yes, the Eastern Empire will be the next obstacle, as between the Iconoclasts ruling in Constantinople and Irene having been deposed the Empire is still in turmoil.
@Midnite Duke
Yes, the game never lets up. More intrigue leads to more intrigue
And yes, the Eastern Empire will be the next obstacle, as between the Iconoclasts ruling in Constantinople and Irene having been deposed the Empire is still in turmoil.
@Midnite Duke
Yes, the game never lets up. More intrigue leads to more intrigue
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And so our Karloman is finally emperor for all to see; with the East in turmoil, I suspect that his position will not be endangered soon.
It's nice to see more of Pepin and it's good that his relationship with his father is pleasant despite issues in both their pasts. I wonder if the next campaign will take them both to Constantinople; if so, it would be a hard realm to hold together.
It's nice to see more of Pepin and it's good that his relationship with his father is pleasant despite issues in both their pasts. I wonder if the next campaign will take them both to Constantinople; if so, it would be a hard realm to hold together.
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I'm very much in the process of writing up the next update but first, I thought I'd add some screenshots to give people an overview of where everything's at now Karloman has formed the HRE and a conflict with Byzantium seems on the way, as well as introduce some other characters who will get featured a bit in the upcoming storyline.
Here's where the borders of Karloman's Empire presently sit.
It's big and awesome, but it has the Umayyad's looking menacing to the south-east, Asturias as a Kingdom just barely clinging on in Spain and lots of Pagans as well as the Byzantines to the east.
By contrast, here's the Byzantine Empire right now.
What a mess. The Bulgars have ripped south of the Danube, lots of previous imperial territories such as Cappadocia and Epirus have fallen away to semi-independence, and the Empire is riven with civil conflicts and tensions caused by the Iconoclast controversy and the reign of Leon IV, and the rise and deposition of Eirene. Perhaps they need a new ruler who can clean up the mess and restore some of the Empire's losses?
Speaking of which.
Eirene's brother-in law, brother of the late Leon IV, Christophorus, is now Basileus in Constantinople after toppling Eirene. He's a... mixed-bag, with a couple of decent traits. Diligent and Patient, with some really, really crappy ones, like Craven, Lunatic and Fat. His madness and personal quirks will play a role in the story as well, but for those Iconoclasts who wanted one of their own and were dissatisfied with Eirene, he might do for now. But can he take on Karloman?
You'll notice also the Emperor of Constantinople has about 6.65k troops in his demesne to call upon at present. Karloman has over 8k due to the training of troops being done by his wonderful Marshal. Also, Karloman leads his army in person generally and has a reasonable Martial score and personal combat skill while Christophorus... doesn't. Will Karloman strike while the iron is hot?
And speaking of Karloman's marshal.
Here's Karloman's council as of 781. I've been lax in talking about most of them other than Bertrada because she's got the familial relationship with Karloman that makes her more interesting a relationship and she's the spymaster, so lots of intrigue to deal with. But the Duke of Toulouse, and especially Balduin The Strong, Karloman's new Marshal and the replacement for Maurad, will have plenty of page-time later as well. All the council is pretty content with Karloman at the moment as well, which is nice, and definitely won't always be the case for the playthrough going forward...
In any event, I'll be posting another update soon, there's just some teasers for you to chew on while you wait...
Here's where the borders of Karloman's Empire presently sit.
By contrast, here's the Byzantine Empire right now.
What a mess. The Bulgars have ripped south of the Danube, lots of previous imperial territories such as Cappadocia and Epirus have fallen away to semi-independence, and the Empire is riven with civil conflicts and tensions caused by the Iconoclast controversy and the reign of Leon IV, and the rise and deposition of Eirene. Perhaps they need a new ruler who can clean up the mess and restore some of the Empire's losses?
Speaking of which.
Eirene's brother-in law, brother of the late Leon IV, Christophorus, is now Basileus in Constantinople after toppling Eirene. He's a... mixed-bag, with a couple of decent traits. Diligent and Patient, with some really, really crappy ones, like Craven, Lunatic and Fat. His madness and personal quirks will play a role in the story as well, but for those Iconoclasts who wanted one of their own and were dissatisfied with Eirene, he might do for now. But can he take on Karloman?
You'll notice also the Emperor of Constantinople has about 6.65k troops in his demesne to call upon at present. Karloman has over 8k due to the training of troops being done by his wonderful Marshal. Also, Karloman leads his army in person generally and has a reasonable Martial score and personal combat skill while Christophorus... doesn't. Will Karloman strike while the iron is hot?
And speaking of Karloman's marshal.
Here's Karloman's council as of 781. I've been lax in talking about most of them other than Bertrada because she's got the familial relationship with Karloman that makes her more interesting a relationship and she's the spymaster, so lots of intrigue to deal with. But the Duke of Toulouse, and especially Balduin The Strong, Karloman's new Marshal and the replacement for Maurad, will have plenty of page-time later as well. All the council is pretty content with Karloman at the moment as well, which is nice, and definitely won't always be the case for the playthrough going forward...
In any event, I'll be posting another update soon, there's just some teasers for you to chew on while you wait...
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Quality Council! X for demense and vassals for Basileus? Any idea how many holdings the HRE has?
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Karloman's empire is colossal right now, the only real adversaries would be the Umayyads or the Byzantines unless the Empire is destined to shatter in future generations.
As for the Byzantines, they are not looking in a good way, and, with Christophoros' madness, I don't see them being stable for long.
As for the Byzantines, they are not looking in a good way, and, with Christophoros' madness, I don't see them being stable for long.
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@Midnite Duke
Not exactly sure as the screenshot was taken much earlier in my game! Well ahead of it now, but I'll try and go back through my saves and find it.
@slothinator
Both the Umayyads, and Byzantines will be around for a long time to come, if that helps, though so will Karloman's HRE. As for how long, and how they all look in future, that's a more open question.
Not exactly sure as the screenshot was taken much earlier in my game! Well ahead of it now, but I'll try and go back through my saves and find it.
@slothinator
Both the Umayyads, and Byzantines will be around for a long time to come, if that helps, though so will Karloman's HRE. As for how long, and how they all look in future, that's a more open question.
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I'm close to 900 AD as of now...
Suffice it to say, a lot happens in that time. The only clue I'll give is that the HRE, Byzantines and Umayyads are still around, though how well and in what shape, I won't divulge.
Considering how far of the game I have to cover (like, literally all of it,) this might end up being a two or even three thread long AARs. I'll just need to figure out a good demarcation to end one and begin another
I could stop before the end of course, but I'm having too much fun
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Also, I'm not sure if you mentioned it but I'm wondering if and which mods you're using for this run
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Was Adelchis actually gay. People have already suggested Carloman wedding Irene, but Carloman could also betroth Pepin to her.
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Yes he was, he had the trait "Homosexual" in the image I published of his traits page, and I tried to write him that way. I hope it came across understandably, but I put the image with the traits on it for characters when I want you to keep their traits in mind as well. It's also why I had Karloman use it as a calumny against him for propaganda purposes. I'm happy for any feedback people have for suggestions on how to improve such things in future if you didn't think it was written well, so feel free to leave your thoughts.
Yes there's a few options for how Irene will come into play, and also some different ways in which it could work. Some have suggested that a Karling-Roman Union would make a massive realm difficult to control, which is true, but one united Empire is not the only possible outcome of this whole business.
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January 781.
The Court of Emperor Karloman had remained in Rome, though it was now technically fully restored to the Papacy now. His Holiness had been made aware of Karloman’s plan to resolve the now vexing question of Romanian reaction to Karloman’s coronation as Augustus and had adopted a ‘wait and see’ approach. If nothing else, Karloman’s itinerant court being present in Rome meant enough of a force to deter a potential attack from imperial holdings in southern Italy.
By all reports though, the new Emperor in Constantinople was in no mood to strike further west. It was estimated that imperial armies were invading Epirus, seeking to annex that small kingdom under the rule of Byzantium proper, and also out of vengeance for it’s local lords hiding the deposed Irene after her flight from the city. And so a tense waiting pattern emerged.
For Karloman, it was an opportunity to push some new changes. Now as Emperor of the Franks and Romans, he had wasted no time integrating his new Italian territories into the fold proper. He had given orders for new coins to be minted proclaiming the joint unity of all Christendom, and that Romans and Franks together were once more united under one, Christian Emperor. To his Chancellor, Duke Guillame of Touslouse had gone the task of beginning a survey of the provinces under his rule, for the purposes of compiling a list of needed roads and public buildings, new military facilities and a future population census. The plotting in his own ranks had also died down, the death of Duke Theodoric had left the aging Duke Loup dangerously isolated, and with Karloman’s new military victories in Italy bringing land and plunder into the coffers of many a Frankish lord, his support had begun to soar again. The old Duke sat in Gascogne, stewing and brooding over his friend’s death and the inability of his plotting to come to fruition.
When the 31-year-old Eirene of Athens arrived on the outskirts of Rome, she was greeted with a sight fit for a visiting Empress. The crowds were out, garlands laid at her feet, Roman citizens lined the streets to greet her as though she were the mightiest of the Caesars.
It was only once she made her way to the cathedral that the first sign of unwelcome politics began to intrude, for there she saw, at the top of the steps, the Roman Pope whom had deigned to crown a Frankish barbarian as Emperor, and beside him, the Barbarian himself, pale and thin and wearing a crown laced with gold and gems. On both sides of the cathedral’s steps stood guards who fluttered the banner of the barbarian King who had raised himself up as her equal. She eased up her horse in front of the large stone obelisk that jutted forth from the ground in front of the basilica and then dismounted.
Uncomfortably aware that she was being made to climb the steps to meet them, she did so as swiftly as her dress would allow her to step over the steps without falling or injury. She made no eye contact with either man until she reached the top of the stairs.
As for Karloman, his appraisal was appreciative. Eirene of Athens was dressed practically, suitably for travelling, and his eyes travelled over her oval-shaped face, soft brown eyes and wavy mouse-coloured hair. Her look was classically Greek, with the slightly upturned nose and the strong cheeks that gave her a look of chiselled pride.
A frission of… excitement? Fear? Ran through him as she reached the last step and strode towards him and His Holiness the Pope, flanked by only a pair of retainers.
And this is the woman who gouged her husband’s eyes out? Doesn’t look like much.
Her eyes were on him now, sizing up his appearance.
Thin, Pale and of average height at best, was her verdict, This is Karloman the Cruel? Architect of the Blood Court, fearsome butchers of the Saxons? Conqueror of Italy? He doesn’t seem like much.
Both of them would learn that looks could be very, very deceiving…
“Welcome to you, Empress of Romanion, we are pleased to welcome you to Rome.”
Eirene’s eyes quickly flitted to the Bishop of Rome, the ‘Pope’ as these barbarians called him, who had spoken. An acknowledgement of my title as Empress. Good.
“It is pleasant to be here, your Holiness,” she replied stiffly, aware that the mild gaze of the Frankish would-be Kaiser had settled on her now. “I am responding to your invitation and have arrived in Rome at your behest, seeking shelter for myself and my family.”
“And protection against the Iconoclast usurpers who toppled you no doubt,” Honorius II replied smoothly, “yes, we can provide that.”
What are you up to? Eirene thought, eyes narrowing slightly. You do not invite me to Rome, offer me and my children shelter out of the kindness of your heart, especially not after you raised some barbarian King as a direct contender to Romanion in the west. You want something in return.
“I desire more than protection, Your Holiness,” Eirene replied, “Though I am grateful for the offer of it,” she inclined her head slightly with a smile as a gesture of respect Placate them Irene, you are in as much as a nest of vipers here as in Constantinopolis.
“But what I desire most are ships and soldiers, an army to march east, to take back the crown that is rightfully mine and punish the usurpers who stole it from my son.”
“That may be possible to arrange, Your Majesty,” spoke the pale barbarian.
She glowered at him, he looked unperturbed,
“I am an Empress of Rome, she shall not address me without being spoken to.”
Karloman looked around, eyes widening slightly as if in mockery. “We are in Rome, Majesty, and yet it’s not your banners I see hanging from these walls? Why might that be I wonder?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but then thought better of it. She might need this man, barbarian though he was, before the year was out.
“Regardless, I intend to return and reclaim my throne from my usurping brother-by-law, and to that end, I will not be remaining here long, for I will need to travel, gather funds and support, hire sellswords and ships…”
The Bishop of Rome, Honorius II nodded his head, then inclined it to Karloman.
“We anticipated your arrival Majesty, and your asking for these resources. Rest assured, between the two of us, they can be provided.”
“But you will want something in return,” Eirene stated, it was not a question.
“Of course,” The Pope replied, “I would not insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise. But our demands are menial compared to the task of reclaiming your prized throne, and with luck, we can negotiate an arrangement that is mutually equitable to us all, not merely one that benefits ourselves.”
“What benefits could I offer from the throne in Constantinopolis to you?” she asked.
Surprisingly, it was Karloman who laughed at that, those cold pale eyes beginning to show some warmth at last.
“A great many, Majesty, a great many. Shall we discuss them in private?”
Their first meeting hadn’t gone as well as he’d planned, but Karloman sensed that Eirene was far more inclined to be practical and direct then to waste time on social niceties. In that respect, he found himself liking her.
They retreated inside then, any retainers or hangers-ons gone, and it gave each one of the three principals in that drama an opportunity to study one another.
For Karloman, Eirene came off as aloof, arrogant yes, and cold, but with more than a touch of steel and cunning. Was she really the one who had her husband’s eyes gouged out and then disembowelled him? She was small and slight of build, and her mouse-like features, while betrayed a briskness of mind, did not contain a hint of callousness. Had she merely done what she felt she had to, as he had?
As for Eirene, Karloman was a revelation, she had expected barbarians to be big men, loud, boisterous, quarrelsome. Franks especially, were good for little but drink and carousing, but this man was of average build, thin blonde-hair with a pale face and a sharp, proud looking face. He had not been boisterous, he had barely said much at all beyond that cutting remark about his banners being the ones that flew in Rome. That remark might have come out of the mouth of a courtier in Byzantium! And he obviously had the Pope’s confidence, as the Pope had his.
It was enough to make her uneasy. Had this average, unremarkable looking man once butchered thousands of Saxon prisoners, and cut the head off a seven-feet tall Pagan warrior? It scarcely seemed credible.
Honorius II was aware that his two guests were on edge, and he was acutely aware that neither of them would be willing to give much. Karloman he knew already was strong-willed and stubborn, and nothing about Eirene he’d seen thus far had convinced him she was anything else. But he needed them, and he needed them to agree on terms that could be best utilised by the Papacy, so he needed to be present for their negotiations.
So they bunkered down to talk, in the cool gazebo smelling of grape and sat upon couches laced with blue cushions. Eirene defiant, Karloman cool as smooth stone, but unyielding. At first, she opened politely, asking for troops and military support to re-take her crown, which Karloman offered conditional upon her acceptance of his dispositions in Italy, and the Pope’s coronation of him as Emperor.
It was here they reached their first sticking point. On that, Eirene would not budge.
“My people would never accept the raising up of another sovereign as the equal to the Vice-Regent of Christ,” she replied, “No matter how much I tried to make them.”
“One would be surprised what people can be made to accept when their rulers try hard enough to make them, Majesty,” Karloman replied, with a thin, feral smile.
She did not miss his implicit calling of her bluff. “Regardless, my strategoi would not tolerate it either.”
“Will they tolerate it any better Majesty, if you ascend to the purple once more carried on the tip of Frankish spears?”
“No, but I will make th-“, she stopped herself from finishing the sentence, but the damage was done, she saw a gleam of triumph in the barbarian’s cold eyes, and she flushed.
“So we agree you will have great power to make your subjects accept that which they might otherwise be reluctant to do,” Karloman replied, pressing his advantage, “Why then, would they not accept this?”
Sensing she had no reply, he pressed on.
“Let us speak frankly Majesty, your trouble is not that your people won’t accept it, or even that your strategoi won’t, for all that I accept they probably won’t like it much. Your trouble is that YOU don’t want to accept it.”
“Would you, in my shoes?” she challenged.
He shook his head, and made a placating gesture with his hand, “No, but I would not come to you demanding help, demanding vast quantities of ships, and men and supplies for an army to conduct a dangerous and far-off campaign to help me re-take my throne without offering the concessions I needed to make that campaign happen. If we’re going to help you fight this war, Majesty, then you’ll need to put us in a position where it makes sense for us to fight it.”
She sighed, recognising his point. “And I suppose there’ll be other concessions as well?” Eirene demanded, eyebrows raised in a way that made her unremarkable face suddenly seem rather sharp and pleasant.
“There will be,” Karloman nodded, “For one, we’ll need you to guarantee that you won’t pursue any action that interferes with the independence of His Holiness or my own holdings,” he held up a hand to forestall her objections, “No, we’re not asking that you officially consider His Holiness to be the head of the Church, we understand you can’t agree to that, but merely that you forestall any efforts to force the issue for the duration of your reign. Your bishops and some of your generals will not like it, but they will need to accept it.”
“Fine,” she nodded, glancing at the Pope, certain this condition had come from him. “That I can do,”
“Besides, you’ll have more important doctrinal issues to sort out in the Church no?” Karloman smirked and was surprised to see an answering nod from Eirene. Oh she has plans for the Iconoclasts, make no mark about it. I would not like to be her enemy.
“Indeed I will,” she replied nastily, “But of this acknowledgement of your imperial title…”
Back and forth they went for some hours. To his surprise, Karloman found he enjoyed the negotiations, Eirene was shrewd, tough and cunning, but with a wit to her.
Eirene found herself equally surprised that she was enjoying the verbal sparring with this barbarian King, whom had presumed to raise himself up as equal to Romanion. Forgive him that though she may not entirely, she found herself realising that he had a quick, shrewd mind and a clear-sighted goal, not to mention the ruthlessness to achieve it. He was no mere barbarian, this Karloman of the Franks. He bore watching.
By day’s end, they had not fully agreed on everything, and Karloman had not firmly committed to sending an army to support her campaign to retake Constantinopolis, but they had the substance from which agreements could be made, a common understanding of issues, and a mutual need.
“And would you say you like her?” his mother asked, when he returned from the day’s negotiations to make way towards his bedchamber.
“I wouldn’t say I dislike her,” the Emperor answered carefully. “She’s nobody’s pawn, that’s for sure.” He gestured impatiently for a servant to help him out of his current clothes, to prepare him for his bedrobes. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just thinking about how to get your agreement,” Bertrada suggested. “Eirene is young and recently widowed, but already has a son and heir to her throne. You are young and recently widowed, and also have an heir.” She stopped, glancing at him to see his reaction to her implication.
He shook his head irritably. “Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” he replied, “A marital union between ourselves and Romanion would unite Christendom like no other, not to mention it would be the best way to secure legitimacy for our new title in the west,” but he shook his head again, frustrated, “I can’t see her agreeing to it. She’s been raised in Constantinopolis, and has the typical Greek contempt for all things she sees as barbarian.”
“And yet she needs your armies son,” she pressed him, “And you say yourself she’s nobody’s pawn. Would she not see the good logic of the match?”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, and when the servant returned, he placed his bedrobe around himself before dismissing them. “And yet how would such a match work? I could not rule in Constantinopolis, nor she rule from Paris or Rome. We would need an arrangement of some kind.”
“She could rule Romanion, and you keep your domains,” his mother replied. “You both officially serve as co-Emperors, but in practice, rule your dominions separately for administrative purposes. You keep the Latin priests under control, and she suppresses the Iconoclasts and restores the Greek church to the East.”
“There’s some merit to it,” Karloman admitted, nodding cautiously. “I’ll think about it, goodnight mother.”
And that, Bertrada recognised, was a dismissal.
The following day was no less disputatious, for Eirene still refused to budge on the central question, the recognition of Karloman’s throne as equivalent to the imperium in the east.
“I have no reason to support your claim on your throne without this concession Majesty,” Karloman replied patiently, “You are correct that the current leaders in Constantinopolis will not willingly agree to my terms, so if you do not either, then what do I get from supporting you?”
The Pope added his own pressure as well, but Eirene dug in her heels and refused to countenance. They dismissed each other from negotiations by lunch.
“We need a new suggestion, she won't agree to it as it presently stands” Honorius said, in private consultation with Karloman,
“I agree,” Karloman replied softly, mulling over his mother’s idea from the night before. He made up his mind decisively.
“Your Holiness, I’m going to ask you to recuse yourself from the next round of the negotiations.”
“What?” the Pope recoiled, horrified, “No,” he shook his head, “I cannot allow that, I must guarantee the independence of the Papacy is respected by whatever arrangements you make.”
“Your Holiness, I can guarantee you that I will make those assurances on your behalf,” Karloman replied, “Have I not already proven myself willing to draw sword to defend your rights, and confirm you in the holdings my father gifted you?”
“Yes bu-“
And then Karloman did something few men would deign to do. He placed a hand on the Pope’s arm, and interrupted him.
“Then trust me again, as you have done, Your Holiness. I swear by Almighty God and on the grave of my dead brother, all will go well for you if you allow me to do this my way. Neither your holdings nor your autonomy will be threatened.”
It took some more persuading and arm-twisting, but the Pope eventually relented, and when Karloman went back into that ostentatious sitting room with the blue-dyed cushions and the waft of strong-smelling grapes where the negotiations for the future of his Empire were being held, he went back alone.
Eirene didn’t seem surprised, though he was learning all to well that she was rather good at masking her true feelings. The fact that both of them spoke good Latin made conversation easier, and eliminated the need for interpreters. He was appreciative of this, as what he had to say would come easier when unfiltered.
Realising it was better to come to the point, Karloman quickly summarised their present position, and the sticking point of their disagreement.
“I believe Majesty, that there is an equitable way to resolve the question, without you formally needing to surrender your claim to Rome and it’s legacy, nor you needing to elevate another as your equal, but also protecting my position and the legitimacy of his Holiness’s actions here last December.”
“Is there?” Eirene leaned forward, interested in spite of herself, “Do tell me.”
“A marriage alliance,” Karloman replied, smiling like a contented cat, “You are recently widowed, as am I, both of us have Imperial claims needing legitimacy. I need the assurances of whomever rules in Constantinopolis that my domains will not be interfered with, and you need an army to go home, an army that I have.”
“Marriage between the two of us?”
“Precisely,” he replied.
“Tempting…” she responded coolly, chewing on a grape for several long moments.
“But how do you propose resolving the issue of legitimacy. Surely you don’t intend to reforge the old Empire in it’s entirety?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” Karloman assured her. “You will rule the East, as you legitimately should, and I will not interfere with your plans or decisions. Likewise, I will rule my domains, officially in partnership with you, but in practice autonomously. The Greek and Latin church branches will simply… how should I put it? Agree to disagree on whether Papacy or Patriarch best suits their vies, and the two of us will rule, officially jointly, but in practice, maintain an administrative split between east and west.”
“And what of succession?” she asked, genuinely curious to see how well Karloman had thought out the idea.
“I don’t see why that would be a problem,” Karloman shrugged, “You already have a son, as do I, and if we should have another, then that will be only added support for us both, but I see no reason to interfere with each other’s arrangements in that regard either.”
“So we would be married… but live apart?”
“If that arrangement suits you, certainly,” Karloman replied coolly. “I have no particular desire to repeat the experience of domestic life with a woman, given my past difficulties with it," he gave a small, hurt grin, "and judging by your history, I doubt you have either." he continued. Eirene shrugged and conceded with a small nod. "We may visit, if you wish, but you would rule from Constantinopolis, and I from my court in the West, as I do now. In law, joined, but in practice, independent. You will provide legitimacy for my domain to exist in the west through our union, and I will support your re-capture of east, as well as whatever… arrangements you choose to make in your own domains.”
“Would you object to my dealing with the Iconoclasts harshly?” Eirene asked, coming to the point.
“Not at all,” Karloman replied, “In fact, I think both myself and his Holiness would consider it a major relief to have the crisis in the east ended and the Greek Church restored to its sanity. If you wish to undertake that task, both Rome and my own domains would not prevent it.”
“Very tempting,” she admitted. She had, over the past few days, grown to rather like this man, barbarian though he was. He had a shrewd, plain-spoken manner, and he spoke as well as rumour said he fought. If this was the price of her reclaiming her throne, well, it’s not like she had to live with him once it was won, and she would have free rein to arrange matters as she pleased in the West.
“You may have time to consider it, if you wish,” he offered.
She shook her head,
“I do not need time. This arrangement is acceptable to me, I agree.”
“Very decisive! As an Empress should be,” he smiled at her now, genuinely warmly, rather than with the indulgence or sarcasm she had occasionally noted before now.
“When would you prefer we be wed?” she asked,
“As soon as decency permits, if you’re agreeable,” Karloman replied, discussing the matter as coolly and unemotionally as any political deal he might make. If she had any doubts as to whether this was a union of passion or mere expediency, his tone left her in no doubt either way.
“No doubt the usurper in Constantinopolis will be aware of our intentions when the engagement is announced, and I will need to gather troops, supplies and ships for the coming campaign, for which I will need to return to Francia. We will set out before the year is out, but I can promise no later than that.” Karloman finished.
“Very well,” she replied, And if living with him for the rest of the year doesn’t work well, I needn’t do it again after that. I presume in the east, he won’t know or care what I get up to privately.
She agreed to this very strange arrangement, and Karloman left to tell the delighted Pope of his success. His Holiness was indeed pleased to hear of the bargain they had struck, and that Eirene had seen the sense of the marriage pact.
“I can see how that works well for all parties,” he replied, sighing a grand sigh of relief that his coronation of Karloman as Imperator Romanorum wasn’t about to place him squarely in the sights of the vindictive Empress. “But now you’ll need to fulfill your end of the bargain. Are you sure you can?”
“I have little doubt of it Your Holiness,” Karloman replied, “For who knows how best to take Constantinopolis than the woman who once ruled her? Mark my words, that city will fall when I march upon it.” He declared, tone determined.
And as the Pope recalled his words again on the morning of Febuary 1st, 781, at the wedding of Eirene to Karloman, which he officiated he found himself realising that he didn’t doubt his sincerity. Not at all.
He prayed reality would match the new Emperor’s confidence, or the usurper in Constantinopolis would turn on him next...
The marriage of Karloman and the deposed Eirene of Athens had enormous dynastic implications, both in the near-term, and for the course of the history of Europe. Who can say what might have happened if this union had not occurred?
OOC: So... that union happened. Karloman basically doesn't want the East, he just wants legitimacy for his own Imperial title and no interference from Byzantium in his affairs. He's not going to put his Empire in jeopardy by trying to butt in and suddenly inherit a huge chunk of land ruled over by Greek Orthodoxies who think all Westerners are inferior barbarians.
Side-note. Obviously the split between Catholic and Orthodox is much, much later than this historically and they're still officially one church at this time, despite significant practical differences already having emerged. I'm going with the history of treating them as one church in two parts for this time period, rather than two separate Churches that the game models for even prior to the historical schism. There will come a time when that schism formally happens here too, but it'll be much less ridiculously early than it's modelled as being in game.
So now it'll be off to Constantinopolis next. How will the Byzantines react? How will Pepin and Karloman's three daughters view their new Step-mother and Eirene's kids? Who can say?
The Court of Emperor Karloman had remained in Rome, though it was now technically fully restored to the Papacy now. His Holiness had been made aware of Karloman’s plan to resolve the now vexing question of Romanian reaction to Karloman’s coronation as Augustus and had adopted a ‘wait and see’ approach. If nothing else, Karloman’s itinerant court being present in Rome meant enough of a force to deter a potential attack from imperial holdings in southern Italy.
By all reports though, the new Emperor in Constantinople was in no mood to strike further west. It was estimated that imperial armies were invading Epirus, seeking to annex that small kingdom under the rule of Byzantium proper, and also out of vengeance for it’s local lords hiding the deposed Irene after her flight from the city. And so a tense waiting pattern emerged.
For Karloman, it was an opportunity to push some new changes. Now as Emperor of the Franks and Romans, he had wasted no time integrating his new Italian territories into the fold proper. He had given orders for new coins to be minted proclaiming the joint unity of all Christendom, and that Romans and Franks together were once more united under one, Christian Emperor. To his Chancellor, Duke Guillame of Touslouse had gone the task of beginning a survey of the provinces under his rule, for the purposes of compiling a list of needed roads and public buildings, new military facilities and a future population census. The plotting in his own ranks had also died down, the death of Duke Theodoric had left the aging Duke Loup dangerously isolated, and with Karloman’s new military victories in Italy bringing land and plunder into the coffers of many a Frankish lord, his support had begun to soar again. The old Duke sat in Gascogne, stewing and brooding over his friend’s death and the inability of his plotting to come to fruition.
When the 31-year-old Eirene of Athens arrived on the outskirts of Rome, she was greeted with a sight fit for a visiting Empress. The crowds were out, garlands laid at her feet, Roman citizens lined the streets to greet her as though she were the mightiest of the Caesars.
It was only once she made her way to the cathedral that the first sign of unwelcome politics began to intrude, for there she saw, at the top of the steps, the Roman Pope whom had deigned to crown a Frankish barbarian as Emperor, and beside him, the Barbarian himself, pale and thin and wearing a crown laced with gold and gems. On both sides of the cathedral’s steps stood guards who fluttered the banner of the barbarian King who had raised himself up as her equal. She eased up her horse in front of the large stone obelisk that jutted forth from the ground in front of the basilica and then dismounted.
Uncomfortably aware that she was being made to climb the steps to meet them, she did so as swiftly as her dress would allow her to step over the steps without falling or injury. She made no eye contact with either man until she reached the top of the stairs.
As for Karloman, his appraisal was appreciative. Eirene of Athens was dressed practically, suitably for travelling, and his eyes travelled over her oval-shaped face, soft brown eyes and wavy mouse-coloured hair. Her look was classically Greek, with the slightly upturned nose and the strong cheeks that gave her a look of chiselled pride.
A frission of… excitement? Fear? Ran through him as she reached the last step and strode towards him and His Holiness the Pope, flanked by only a pair of retainers.
And this is the woman who gouged her husband’s eyes out? Doesn’t look like much.
Her eyes were on him now, sizing up his appearance.
Thin, Pale and of average height at best, was her verdict, This is Karloman the Cruel? Architect of the Blood Court, fearsome butchers of the Saxons? Conqueror of Italy? He doesn’t seem like much.
Both of them would learn that looks could be very, very deceiving…
“Welcome to you, Empress of Romanion, we are pleased to welcome you to Rome.”
Eirene’s eyes quickly flitted to the Bishop of Rome, the ‘Pope’ as these barbarians called him, who had spoken. An acknowledgement of my title as Empress. Good.
“It is pleasant to be here, your Holiness,” she replied stiffly, aware that the mild gaze of the Frankish would-be Kaiser had settled on her now. “I am responding to your invitation and have arrived in Rome at your behest, seeking shelter for myself and my family.”
“And protection against the Iconoclast usurpers who toppled you no doubt,” Honorius II replied smoothly, “yes, we can provide that.”
What are you up to? Eirene thought, eyes narrowing slightly. You do not invite me to Rome, offer me and my children shelter out of the kindness of your heart, especially not after you raised some barbarian King as a direct contender to Romanion in the west. You want something in return.
“I desire more than protection, Your Holiness,” Eirene replied, “Though I am grateful for the offer of it,” she inclined her head slightly with a smile as a gesture of respect Placate them Irene, you are in as much as a nest of vipers here as in Constantinopolis.
“But what I desire most are ships and soldiers, an army to march east, to take back the crown that is rightfully mine and punish the usurpers who stole it from my son.”
“That may be possible to arrange, Your Majesty,” spoke the pale barbarian.
She glowered at him, he looked unperturbed,
“I am an Empress of Rome, she shall not address me without being spoken to.”
Karloman looked around, eyes widening slightly as if in mockery. “We are in Rome, Majesty, and yet it’s not your banners I see hanging from these walls? Why might that be I wonder?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but then thought better of it. She might need this man, barbarian though he was, before the year was out.
“Regardless, I intend to return and reclaim my throne from my usurping brother-by-law, and to that end, I will not be remaining here long, for I will need to travel, gather funds and support, hire sellswords and ships…”
The Bishop of Rome, Honorius II nodded his head, then inclined it to Karloman.
“We anticipated your arrival Majesty, and your asking for these resources. Rest assured, between the two of us, they can be provided.”
“But you will want something in return,” Eirene stated, it was not a question.
“Of course,” The Pope replied, “I would not insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise. But our demands are menial compared to the task of reclaiming your prized throne, and with luck, we can negotiate an arrangement that is mutually equitable to us all, not merely one that benefits ourselves.”
“What benefits could I offer from the throne in Constantinopolis to you?” she asked.
Surprisingly, it was Karloman who laughed at that, those cold pale eyes beginning to show some warmth at last.
“A great many, Majesty, a great many. Shall we discuss them in private?”
Their first meeting hadn’t gone as well as he’d planned, but Karloman sensed that Eirene was far more inclined to be practical and direct then to waste time on social niceties. In that respect, he found himself liking her.
They retreated inside then, any retainers or hangers-ons gone, and it gave each one of the three principals in that drama an opportunity to study one another.
For Karloman, Eirene came off as aloof, arrogant yes, and cold, but with more than a touch of steel and cunning. Was she really the one who had her husband’s eyes gouged out and then disembowelled him? She was small and slight of build, and her mouse-like features, while betrayed a briskness of mind, did not contain a hint of callousness. Had she merely done what she felt she had to, as he had?
As for Eirene, Karloman was a revelation, she had expected barbarians to be big men, loud, boisterous, quarrelsome. Franks especially, were good for little but drink and carousing, but this man was of average build, thin blonde-hair with a pale face and a sharp, proud looking face. He had not been boisterous, he had barely said much at all beyond that cutting remark about his banners being the ones that flew in Rome. That remark might have come out of the mouth of a courtier in Byzantium! And he obviously had the Pope’s confidence, as the Pope had his.
It was enough to make her uneasy. Had this average, unremarkable looking man once butchered thousands of Saxon prisoners, and cut the head off a seven-feet tall Pagan warrior? It scarcely seemed credible.
Honorius II was aware that his two guests were on edge, and he was acutely aware that neither of them would be willing to give much. Karloman he knew already was strong-willed and stubborn, and nothing about Eirene he’d seen thus far had convinced him she was anything else. But he needed them, and he needed them to agree on terms that could be best utilised by the Papacy, so he needed to be present for their negotiations.
So they bunkered down to talk, in the cool gazebo smelling of grape and sat upon couches laced with blue cushions. Eirene defiant, Karloman cool as smooth stone, but unyielding. At first, she opened politely, asking for troops and military support to re-take her crown, which Karloman offered conditional upon her acceptance of his dispositions in Italy, and the Pope’s coronation of him as Emperor.
It was here they reached their first sticking point. On that, Eirene would not budge.
“My people would never accept the raising up of another sovereign as the equal to the Vice-Regent of Christ,” she replied, “No matter how much I tried to make them.”
“One would be surprised what people can be made to accept when their rulers try hard enough to make them, Majesty,” Karloman replied, with a thin, feral smile.
She did not miss his implicit calling of her bluff. “Regardless, my strategoi would not tolerate it either.”
“Will they tolerate it any better Majesty, if you ascend to the purple once more carried on the tip of Frankish spears?”
“No, but I will make th-“, she stopped herself from finishing the sentence, but the damage was done, she saw a gleam of triumph in the barbarian’s cold eyes, and she flushed.
“So we agree you will have great power to make your subjects accept that which they might otherwise be reluctant to do,” Karloman replied, pressing his advantage, “Why then, would they not accept this?”
Sensing she had no reply, he pressed on.
“Let us speak frankly Majesty, your trouble is not that your people won’t accept it, or even that your strategoi won’t, for all that I accept they probably won’t like it much. Your trouble is that YOU don’t want to accept it.”
“Would you, in my shoes?” she challenged.
He shook his head, and made a placating gesture with his hand, “No, but I would not come to you demanding help, demanding vast quantities of ships, and men and supplies for an army to conduct a dangerous and far-off campaign to help me re-take my throne without offering the concessions I needed to make that campaign happen. If we’re going to help you fight this war, Majesty, then you’ll need to put us in a position where it makes sense for us to fight it.”
She sighed, recognising his point. “And I suppose there’ll be other concessions as well?” Eirene demanded, eyebrows raised in a way that made her unremarkable face suddenly seem rather sharp and pleasant.
“There will be,” Karloman nodded, “For one, we’ll need you to guarantee that you won’t pursue any action that interferes with the independence of His Holiness or my own holdings,” he held up a hand to forestall her objections, “No, we’re not asking that you officially consider His Holiness to be the head of the Church, we understand you can’t agree to that, but merely that you forestall any efforts to force the issue for the duration of your reign. Your bishops and some of your generals will not like it, but they will need to accept it.”
“Fine,” she nodded, glancing at the Pope, certain this condition had come from him. “That I can do,”
“Besides, you’ll have more important doctrinal issues to sort out in the Church no?” Karloman smirked and was surprised to see an answering nod from Eirene. Oh she has plans for the Iconoclasts, make no mark about it. I would not like to be her enemy.
“Indeed I will,” she replied nastily, “But of this acknowledgement of your imperial title…”
Back and forth they went for some hours. To his surprise, Karloman found he enjoyed the negotiations, Eirene was shrewd, tough and cunning, but with a wit to her.
Eirene found herself equally surprised that she was enjoying the verbal sparring with this barbarian King, whom had presumed to raise himself up as equal to Romanion. Forgive him that though she may not entirely, she found herself realising that he had a quick, shrewd mind and a clear-sighted goal, not to mention the ruthlessness to achieve it. He was no mere barbarian, this Karloman of the Franks. He bore watching.
By day’s end, they had not fully agreed on everything, and Karloman had not firmly committed to sending an army to support her campaign to retake Constantinopolis, but they had the substance from which agreements could be made, a common understanding of issues, and a mutual need.
“And would you say you like her?” his mother asked, when he returned from the day’s negotiations to make way towards his bedchamber.
“I wouldn’t say I dislike her,” the Emperor answered carefully. “She’s nobody’s pawn, that’s for sure.” He gestured impatiently for a servant to help him out of his current clothes, to prepare him for his bedrobes. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just thinking about how to get your agreement,” Bertrada suggested. “Eirene is young and recently widowed, but already has a son and heir to her throne. You are young and recently widowed, and also have an heir.” She stopped, glancing at him to see his reaction to her implication.
He shook his head irritably. “Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” he replied, “A marital union between ourselves and Romanion would unite Christendom like no other, not to mention it would be the best way to secure legitimacy for our new title in the west,” but he shook his head again, frustrated, “I can’t see her agreeing to it. She’s been raised in Constantinopolis, and has the typical Greek contempt for all things she sees as barbarian.”
“And yet she needs your armies son,” she pressed him, “And you say yourself she’s nobody’s pawn. Would she not see the good logic of the match?”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, and when the servant returned, he placed his bedrobe around himself before dismissing them. “And yet how would such a match work? I could not rule in Constantinopolis, nor she rule from Paris or Rome. We would need an arrangement of some kind.”
“She could rule Romanion, and you keep your domains,” his mother replied. “You both officially serve as co-Emperors, but in practice, rule your dominions separately for administrative purposes. You keep the Latin priests under control, and she suppresses the Iconoclasts and restores the Greek church to the East.”
“There’s some merit to it,” Karloman admitted, nodding cautiously. “I’ll think about it, goodnight mother.”
And that, Bertrada recognised, was a dismissal.
The following day was no less disputatious, for Eirene still refused to budge on the central question, the recognition of Karloman’s throne as equivalent to the imperium in the east.
“I have no reason to support your claim on your throne without this concession Majesty,” Karloman replied patiently, “You are correct that the current leaders in Constantinopolis will not willingly agree to my terms, so if you do not either, then what do I get from supporting you?”
The Pope added his own pressure as well, but Eirene dug in her heels and refused to countenance. They dismissed each other from negotiations by lunch.
“We need a new suggestion, she won't agree to it as it presently stands” Honorius said, in private consultation with Karloman,
“I agree,” Karloman replied softly, mulling over his mother’s idea from the night before. He made up his mind decisively.
“Your Holiness, I’m going to ask you to recuse yourself from the next round of the negotiations.”
“What?” the Pope recoiled, horrified, “No,” he shook his head, “I cannot allow that, I must guarantee the independence of the Papacy is respected by whatever arrangements you make.”
“Your Holiness, I can guarantee you that I will make those assurances on your behalf,” Karloman replied, “Have I not already proven myself willing to draw sword to defend your rights, and confirm you in the holdings my father gifted you?”
“Yes bu-“
And then Karloman did something few men would deign to do. He placed a hand on the Pope’s arm, and interrupted him.
“Then trust me again, as you have done, Your Holiness. I swear by Almighty God and on the grave of my dead brother, all will go well for you if you allow me to do this my way. Neither your holdings nor your autonomy will be threatened.”
It took some more persuading and arm-twisting, but the Pope eventually relented, and when Karloman went back into that ostentatious sitting room with the blue-dyed cushions and the waft of strong-smelling grapes where the negotiations for the future of his Empire were being held, he went back alone.
Eirene didn’t seem surprised, though he was learning all to well that she was rather good at masking her true feelings. The fact that both of them spoke good Latin made conversation easier, and eliminated the need for interpreters. He was appreciative of this, as what he had to say would come easier when unfiltered.
Realising it was better to come to the point, Karloman quickly summarised their present position, and the sticking point of their disagreement.
“I believe Majesty, that there is an equitable way to resolve the question, without you formally needing to surrender your claim to Rome and it’s legacy, nor you needing to elevate another as your equal, but also protecting my position and the legitimacy of his Holiness’s actions here last December.”
“Is there?” Eirene leaned forward, interested in spite of herself, “Do tell me.”
“A marriage alliance,” Karloman replied, smiling like a contented cat, “You are recently widowed, as am I, both of us have Imperial claims needing legitimacy. I need the assurances of whomever rules in Constantinopolis that my domains will not be interfered with, and you need an army to go home, an army that I have.”
“Marriage between the two of us?”
“Precisely,” he replied.
“Tempting…” she responded coolly, chewing on a grape for several long moments.
“But how do you propose resolving the issue of legitimacy. Surely you don’t intend to reforge the old Empire in it’s entirety?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” Karloman assured her. “You will rule the East, as you legitimately should, and I will not interfere with your plans or decisions. Likewise, I will rule my domains, officially in partnership with you, but in practice autonomously. The Greek and Latin church branches will simply… how should I put it? Agree to disagree on whether Papacy or Patriarch best suits their vies, and the two of us will rule, officially jointly, but in practice, maintain an administrative split between east and west.”
“And what of succession?” she asked, genuinely curious to see how well Karloman had thought out the idea.
“I don’t see why that would be a problem,” Karloman shrugged, “You already have a son, as do I, and if we should have another, then that will be only added support for us both, but I see no reason to interfere with each other’s arrangements in that regard either.”
“So we would be married… but live apart?”
“If that arrangement suits you, certainly,” Karloman replied coolly. “I have no particular desire to repeat the experience of domestic life with a woman, given my past difficulties with it," he gave a small, hurt grin, "and judging by your history, I doubt you have either." he continued. Eirene shrugged and conceded with a small nod. "We may visit, if you wish, but you would rule from Constantinopolis, and I from my court in the West, as I do now. In law, joined, but in practice, independent. You will provide legitimacy for my domain to exist in the west through our union, and I will support your re-capture of east, as well as whatever… arrangements you choose to make in your own domains.”
“Would you object to my dealing with the Iconoclasts harshly?” Eirene asked, coming to the point.
“Not at all,” Karloman replied, “In fact, I think both myself and his Holiness would consider it a major relief to have the crisis in the east ended and the Greek Church restored to its sanity. If you wish to undertake that task, both Rome and my own domains would not prevent it.”
“Very tempting,” she admitted. She had, over the past few days, grown to rather like this man, barbarian though he was. He had a shrewd, plain-spoken manner, and he spoke as well as rumour said he fought. If this was the price of her reclaiming her throne, well, it’s not like she had to live with him once it was won, and she would have free rein to arrange matters as she pleased in the West.
“You may have time to consider it, if you wish,” he offered.
She shook her head,
“I do not need time. This arrangement is acceptable to me, I agree.”
“Very decisive! As an Empress should be,” he smiled at her now, genuinely warmly, rather than with the indulgence or sarcasm she had occasionally noted before now.
“When would you prefer we be wed?” she asked,
“As soon as decency permits, if you’re agreeable,” Karloman replied, discussing the matter as coolly and unemotionally as any political deal he might make. If she had any doubts as to whether this was a union of passion or mere expediency, his tone left her in no doubt either way.
“No doubt the usurper in Constantinopolis will be aware of our intentions when the engagement is announced, and I will need to gather troops, supplies and ships for the coming campaign, for which I will need to return to Francia. We will set out before the year is out, but I can promise no later than that.” Karloman finished.
“Very well,” she replied, And if living with him for the rest of the year doesn’t work well, I needn’t do it again after that. I presume in the east, he won’t know or care what I get up to privately.
She agreed to this very strange arrangement, and Karloman left to tell the delighted Pope of his success. His Holiness was indeed pleased to hear of the bargain they had struck, and that Eirene had seen the sense of the marriage pact.
“I can see how that works well for all parties,” he replied, sighing a grand sigh of relief that his coronation of Karloman as Imperator Romanorum wasn’t about to place him squarely in the sights of the vindictive Empress. “But now you’ll need to fulfill your end of the bargain. Are you sure you can?”
“I have little doubt of it Your Holiness,” Karloman replied, “For who knows how best to take Constantinopolis than the woman who once ruled her? Mark my words, that city will fall when I march upon it.” He declared, tone determined.
And as the Pope recalled his words again on the morning of Febuary 1st, 781, at the wedding of Eirene to Karloman, which he officiated he found himself realising that he didn’t doubt his sincerity. Not at all.
He prayed reality would match the new Emperor’s confidence, or the usurper in Constantinopolis would turn on him next...
The marriage of Karloman and the deposed Eirene of Athens had enormous dynastic implications, both in the near-term, and for the course of the history of Europe. Who can say what might have happened if this union had not occurred?
OOC: So... that union happened. Karloman basically doesn't want the East, he just wants legitimacy for his own Imperial title and no interference from Byzantium in his affairs. He's not going to put his Empire in jeopardy by trying to butt in and suddenly inherit a huge chunk of land ruled over by Greek Orthodoxies who think all Westerners are inferior barbarians.
Side-note. Obviously the split between Catholic and Orthodox is much, much later than this historically and they're still officially one church at this time, despite significant practical differences already having emerged. I'm going with the history of treating them as one church in two parts for this time period, rather than two separate Churches that the game models for even prior to the historical schism. There will come a time when that schism formally happens here too, but it'll be much less ridiculously early than it's modelled as being in game.
So now it'll be off to Constantinopolis next. How will the Byzantines react? How will Pepin and Karloman's three daughters view their new Step-mother and Eirene's kids? Who can say?
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May this be a happier marriage for both. Greeks, beware of the gift that a Frank brings.
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I think the Greeks know full well this 'gift' is coming on the tip of a Frankish spear. I doubt very much they'll be fooled by any protestation of peace.
- 1
February 781.
They left Rome in a bustle, the court of Emperor Karloman travelling north back towards Francia.
For Pepin, he’d been somewhat despondant, he’d been hoping to spend more time with his father, but he’d spent these last days locked in negotiations with that Greek woman and then, from there, it was announced he’d married her…
Not even the presence of his younger sisters, Gaudildis, Framberta and Beretrude, normally so bright and cheerful, could assuage his mood. His own requests to ride a horse with his father’s guards had been ignored, and he rode in the cart with them and his grandmother Bertrada.
“Pepin look, a squirrel!”, little Framberta, seated on the edge of the cart, laughed and pointed to the right side of the track. Unlike Gaudildis, his full-sister, little Framberta and Beretrude were the daughters of Pepin’s old stepmother, the now dead Sigalis. Consequently, they both had the blonde hair of both their mother and father, while his full sister was developing the looks of their mother, Gerberga.
“I see it,” Pepin replied, non-commitally, his mind already elsewhere.
“Are you well brother?” Gaudildis asked him, kindly as ever, “It really is very beautiful outside, you should come and see when next they stop.”
“I shall,” he replied, barely listening to her.
His grandmother, he noticed, was also not overly interested in all the girlish chatter taking up the space in that covered cart in which they travelled. Her always devious mind was clearly turned to other matters, and while Pepin didn’t fully understand everything, he knew from his talks with some of the other boys that it had something to do with Constantinopolis, the great city to the east. His father had hinted as much during their last discussion as well. Were they going to war against the Romans?
And what did father’s new wife have to do with it? That small, mousey Greek woman who had come marching into Rome like a she-wolf on the prowl and found herself into his father’s arms. He wasn’t quite sure how or why, but he had a sneaking feeling she didn’t mean well for him.
“Are you well Pepin?”
It was his grandmother who asked that question again, some hours later, as they sat together in that covered cart during one of the stops along the road. His father was in no hurry, riding their column slowly through the Italian countryside, seeing and letting himself be seen by his new Italian subjects, who needed to come to trust that their Frankish overlord would do better for them than the Lombards whom he had toppled.
“I am well Grandmother,” he replied with a smile, “Just thinking about Father’s new bride… and mother.”
She eyed him sharply, “Aye, I’m not surprised. Your father didn’t tell you about the match?”
“Not before it happened no,” he agreed glumly, And just when I thought he was starting to trust me…
“Don’t take it to heart Pepin,” she told him with a smile, “Your father’s a man who keeps his own counsel, and does what he feels is best. He’s never been good at listening to advice, and the fact that he’s a clever man who’s often right makes him even less so.”
“He listens to you,” Pepin replied,
“Aye, he does, But I’m his mother, men have to listen to their mothers.” And he knows full well that what I know is far too dangerous for him to simply cast me aside, she thought to herself.
“And what of men who don’t have mothers to listen to?”
“What happened to her was not your father’s fault lad,” I cannot have the boy feel ill-will against his father. Such rivalries poison dynasties.
“That’s what my tutor said,” Pepin replied, “But he never told me why, or what happened. He just said, “you’ll find out when you’re older,” a note of frustration crept into his tone. “When I was older, people didn’t deign to tell me.”
Bertrada was gazing at him strangely. To tell him now or not? I must be careful, present the tale in a way so as to make him sympathise, not condemn his father. But Karloman would prefer he did it himself I know. Can I take the risk?
“Do you know what happened, Grandmother?” he decided to dare to ask her directly, summoning his courage.
“Aye, I do know,” she replied, “Your father’s decision was a hard one Pepin,” she sighed heavily, “But he was in the right of it.”
“How?”
“Your mother betrayed him,” Bertrada sighed heavily, “a deep and personal betrayal that cuts deep. A Queen who takes another who is not her husband into her bed commits a grave sin, and betrays her vows, throws her people and kingdom into jeopardy. A King cannot but do his duty, not just for himself, but for his realm and his future.”
“So he killed her for Francia?” the boy asked querulously, trying to understand, “is that it?”
“Not just for that no,” Betrada replied quietly. “He also did it for you.”
“For me?” Pepin was shocked,
“Imagine if she had borne her lover’s son, passed him off as your father’s. A cuckoo in the family nest. Any such child could’ve threatened your claim Pepin, threatened your father’s family and his legacy. You are his son, and his lawful heir. He has a responsibility to protect your rights and position as well, for the sake of the house as a whole.” She continued, a touch of bitterness entering her tone, “We all do things we’d rather not, to ensure our family as a whole survives.”
“But did she have to die?”
“Aye,” Bertrada nodded sadly. “An ugly business, but it had to be done.” She smiled then and patted the boy’s arm.
“Your father loves you dearly Pepin, he’s bad at showing it, and goodness knows he’s busy enough, but do not for a moment think that he thinks any less of you for your mother’s actions. You are his son, and lawful heir, and as it is his responsibility to protect you, so you have a duty to do your best and rise to his example.”
Considering carefully, Pepin nodded, “I will Grandmother… and… thank you, for telling me the truth.”
“Such things are dark business Pepin,” his grandmother continued, in a warning tone, “But not all dark business can be avoided, particularly when the stakes are so high.”
“So will I have to do such things, if I become Emperor?” he did not like that thought much.
“With luck, no. But probably yes.” Bertrada said grimly,
But then her tone shifted and she smiled again,
“But we have talked of such dark things long enough, come,” and she stood up slowly, her stiff aging knees creaking in protest at the effort. “Let us go outside and see where your sisters have gone off to.”
Constantinople, Capital of the Roman Empire, March 781.
For the court of Basileus Christophorus I, things had gone from bad to worse.
News of the death of his dear brother Leon at the hands of his harlot wife had spurred the strategoi into action. Many of them would not suffer being ruled by a woman, and an iconodule woman at that, no matter how much she might bleat that her brat of a son had a claim on the purple. Those who might have been disposed to defend Eirene had stayed out of it when word of her gratuitous cruelty to the late Leon IV had spread.
That Christophorus himself had once plotted against the brother whose death he clamoured to avenge was conveniently forgotten now, such were the webs spun in the intrigues of the eastern court. As the late Emperor’s brother, he had been the obvious choice for the crown, son of one Emperor, brother to another and a good Iconoclast, not given to worship of foul graven images. He had taken the throne himself within days of Eirene’s flight.
But those who had conspired to place him there soon had cause to regret their choice, for within months the Emperor’s strange and queer behaviour was beginning to be openly remarked upon.
Within weeks of his coronation, a shriveled Emperor awoke one night, and his terrified guards burst into the room at the sound of his screams, finding him huddled in a corner, fingers in his ears, screaming loudly at some unknown phantoms. The priest was summoned to purify the room through an exorcism at his request, but the Emperor’s mind did not improve on news that Eirene, the deposed Empress, could not be found, despite the assurances of his generals that the capital was secure and his hold on the throne was strong.
From then, the Emperor had recovered somewhat, had a period of lucidity, and then declined again. Since then, he had flitted in and out of madness, complaining that he felt hidden knives stabbing into his back, when nobody was behind him, and at one point tried to attack his seneschal bare-handed.
As a consequence, the practical running of the Empire had devolved to his most senior strategoi, Maximos of Abydos and Nikephorus of Adrianopolis. Both these men were seasoned commanders, linked either by blood or marriage to imperial power. Both commanded troops and were well-liked by them and, most importantly for the third most important member of the de facto triumvirate that held court in Constantinopolis, they were both devoted Iconoclasts.
This third member of the triumvirate was Niketas, the Patriarch of Constantinople, newly appointed by Emperor Christophorus in the wake of Eirene’s desertion of the city. He too, was of the belief that images were idolatry, and that smashing or burning the false idols brought one closer to the spiritual truth of God.
And it was these three who received the western dispatch, in the imperial war room, carrying the concerning news that the former Empress had re-emerged, now as the newly-wed wife of a Frankish barbarian, who had gotten airs and been proclaimed as “Emperor of the Romans” by the Bishop of Rome, without consultation from Constantinople no less! An outrage that Romanion could not tolerate, all agreed.
The demand from Rome had followed swiftly after. Restore Eirene to the throne, recognise this new Frankish Empire, recognise the independence of the Bishop of Rome. Outrageous! None of it could stand, none of it would stand.
A pair of couriers had immediately been sent west, one bound for Rome, another for the court of this Frankish warlord, demanding the handing over of the deposed Empress, the renouncement of the imperial title, and that the Bishop of Rome rescind his declaration of this “Karloman” as Emperor of the Franks and Romans.
Though all three men knew these demands would not be acceptable. All three knew the question could only be decided on the battlefield, by strength of Roman arms against the barbarians.
And therein lay the chief problem that concerned the Empire’s most powerful men. The Empire’s armies were hollow, depleted and depressed from years of civil strife and religious unrest, as well as poorly-managed local conflicts that had sapped their numbers and morale. The current ongoing campaign in Epirus being but one example. Though outnumbered, the Epirotes had put up more fierce resistance than anticipated to the Empire’s forces, and hit-and-run raids had sapped the strength and will of the Empire’s arms. Six months of war had yielded no definitive victory.
Meanwhile, this new, gathering Frankish storm to the west was arising.
“By all accounts, this barbarian King will march east with a large force of hardened men, fresh from his victories over the Saxons and Lombards,” Maximos mused, “He will be confident, justly so, and his troops will be fresh off their past successes. Though we are a tougher foe than the barbarians they have faced before, do not underestimate the damage a disciplined and confident army can wreak on those unprepared to face it.”
“What strategy then do you suggest?” The Patriarch asked, clearly nervous of the coming engagement. His predecessor had been one of those massacred in Eirene’s previous purge. If she were to be returned to the throne on the tips of Frankish spears, his head would be one of those adorning a spike on the city gate.
“This… Karloman, they say he can muster 20’000 men, reliably, in his army.” Maximos began, “Not counting any sellswords whom he might choose to hire. A campaign east will be a long one, through unfamiliar terrain, so we can assume attrition and death will do their parts as well. But if I had to guess, I’d say he comes for us within the year, the Empire is in a moment of weakness. If I were one of our enemies, I’d strike now.” Maximos summarised the situation, cursing momentarily the laxness and weaknesses of the previous few Emperors who had enabled the Empire’s arms to deteriorate in such a fashion.
“So we should plan to defend the city?” It was the Patriarch who spoke now, clearly out of his depth
“Obviously,” Maximos replied, irritated by the statement of the obvious, “But it would be foolish not to consider confronting him in the field, if for no other reason than to spare our people being the subject of Frankish pillaging.”
“But can we defeat him in the field?” it was Nikephorus who now asked the important question. A big, semi-silent man with a hard, piercing gaze, his presence carried gravity and quiet strength. Not for nothing was he regarded as one of the most dangerous men in the Empire. Fortunately, he and Maximos were old war friends, and trusted each other implicitly, “Our armies are spent and our ranks thinned, and the formations have been allowed to turn to rot under previous regimes.”
“We have the ability to turn it around,” Maximos replied, “If we act quickly. I’m going to go to the Emperor tomorrow to ask for an Imperial edict, which I hope will grant legitimacy to our reforms of the legions, and the ability to levy troops on his behalf, Patriarch,” he turned now to address the priest, “If your sermons at the Hagia Sophia could encourage citizens to take up arms in defense of Roman civilisation against the Germanic barbarians, it would be of help in organising this new troop levy.”
“I can do that,” the Patriarch replied,
“Good,” Maximos replied, satisfied, “I’ll begin to enlist the leaders of the demes for help as well.”
The patriarch crossed himself and muttered a quick prayer. The demes, or chariot racing teams, were major political players in Constantinopolis… and almost as big a bunch of barbarians as the Franks. Yet even the Patriarch knew that they were a necessary component of ruling the city. Whoever had the demes had the mass of the population on his side. Justinian’s reign had proven how dangerous they could be to any Emperor who ignored their wishes.
“And what about Heraklios?” Niketas asked. The protostrator of the Empire, formally commander of it’s armies, currently on campaign seeking to bring the Epirotes to heel, “Do we recall him to the capital?”
Maximos was already shaking his head. “He has iconodule sentiments. He’s more likely to join Eirene than oppose her. If we recall him, he’ll have to play a role in the politics of the city. Leave him in the west, doing what he does best, fighting foreign enemies, if he returns here, he’ll be a factor that cannot be controlled.”
“A fair point,” Nikephorus conceded, “But it’s a bad start to a campaign to ignore the one figure in the Empire whose job it is to conduct such campaigns.”
Neither Maximos nor Niketas replied to that bit of doom and gloom. What choice did they have? Not everyone in the Empire could be relied upon after all…
Paris, Court of Karloman Karling, Imperator Romanorum. April 781
The second of two feasts in the de facto capital of the new Frankish Empire in two months was taking place. The first, held upon the Emperor’s return, had been a dual celebration of his new bridge, who had arrived and made an effort to ingratiate herself with the lords whose levies would be placing her back on the eastern throne, and Karloman’s victory over the Lombards. Wine flowed as well as tall tales, and Karloman’s own popularity soared as a result of the distribution of lands and wealth given out after the campaign. The murmurs of discontent that had been building before vanished, and any would-be miscreants fled like rats back into the shadows, aware that the time for making trouble was not ripe.
Yet it was the second smaller, yet no less important festivity that was being held today, for a delegation from the Kingdom of Asturias. Located on the Iberian Peninsula, the last free Christian Kingdom on across the Pyrenees was teetering precariously on the verge of destruction. Ever since Karloman’s own grandfather, Karl ‘The Hammer’ Martell had defeated the Umayyad invaders and driven them back to Iberia, there’d been an uneasy peace between them and the Franks, but the Asturians had no such luck. The kingdom’s borders had been steadily chipped away, and the recent death of King Aurelio had left his son Froilo, a mere boy, on the throne and under a regency run by Duke Goncalo of Castille.
Under such circumstances, the delegation had come to the new Augustus of the West to plead their case for an alliance.
“It’s Duke Goncalo that’s sent us Majesty,” the Spainard who sat beside the Emperor at the feast table spoke crisp Frankish, and clearly was an educated man, “The king is very young, and with Aurelio dead, he’s worried the Moors might press on our borders. We will not maintain control with a four-year old setting policy, and our army is too small to hold off the Umayyads.”
“I can see the dilemma rather plainly,” Karloman replied. “And if your kingdom falls, the whole of the Iberian Peninsula falls under the yoke of the infidel.”
“That is correct, Emperor,” the delegate replied, taking a small bite from his fish, chewing thoughtfully as he spoke, “Our kingdom is the last holdout from the infidel’s aggression. If the peninsula falls entirely…”
“Then we face the same situation as my grandfather, Karl Martell did, when he fought at Tours,” Karloman finished, “Yes I can see the problem. So what would you have me do?”
“Duke Goncalo has authorised me to broker an alliance, in the hopes that, should it become necessary, that the Frankish peoples might be prepared to offer military support to defend against Umayyad aggression on the peninsula.”
“And what might this alliance consist of?” Karloman asked, “What would you have of me? Troops? Money?”
“Both, should it come to that,” the emissary admitted, “But in particular, a marriage alliance would be a method to seal the arrangement, as well as make the Umayyad’s think twice about an attack during our time of weakness.”
“A pact with whom? Your King is four years old,” Karloman replied.
“And your three daughters are not much older, Majesty,” the hazel-eyed Spanish emissary replied, grinning, “would one of them not make a suitable consort for the last remaining Christian king of the Iberian Peninsula, and a mother of future ones?”
“Aye, she should,” Karloman replied. His mind turned over the proposition. His youngest daughter, Framberta, Sigalis’s last child was only three. Too young to wed of course, they both were, but there was no reason a betrothal couldn’t be drawn up. The emissary was right, Asturias’s position was too delicate to simply allow it to fall to the infidel, and a marriage alliance would make them think twice about an invasion, lest they provoke the Frankish juggernaut over the Pyrennes.
Besides, Karloman had a sneaking suspicion the conflict with the Umayyad’s would flare up again some day. Would it not be better to have an ally in the region, and thus an excuse for getting involved, when that day came?”
“I can offer my youngest, Framberta,” he finally replied. “She’s three, so neither of them will be wed for years, but I’m happy to consent to the betrothal to King Froilo on the day they both come of age.”
“Shall we drink on it?” the emissary grinned as he poured another cup of wine, clearly enthused by Karloman’s acceptance.
“Aye, we shall,” Karloman replied.
With that settled, the Asturian delegation returned home the following day, drunk, but happy with the arrangement they had brokered, carrying Karloman’s offer of a bethrothal pact and an alliance against the Umayyad Caliphate…
Such an alliance would one day be very useful indeed…
OOC:
Big one today, things are in motion for the conflict against the east, as I've introduced some of the key characters. The Eastern Empire's internal tumult may work against them.
I was happy to explore some of Pepin's character more, and I was also a little concerned about him developing a reasonable relationship with Karloman despite what happened to Gerberga his mother. It happened when he was really young but still, it didn't hurt to address it I thought, hopefully that worked out OK in the story.
And the Asturian alliance might be useful if future conflicts happen with the Umayyad's should Karloman find himself in the shoes of his granddaddy Charles Martell. It was also a nice break from writing about the Byzantine-Carolingian conflict. Marriage alliances and wheeling and dealing were feudal constants, after all...
Bertrada will be back in on the action soon, and Eirene will get some attention as well as we see how her marriage with Karloman is working out in the near term while his army prepares for war, and we'll start to see Karloman take the opportunity to push some non-military related changes through as well.
As always, feedback from you wonderful people is welcome
They left Rome in a bustle, the court of Emperor Karloman travelling north back towards Francia.
For Pepin, he’d been somewhat despondant, he’d been hoping to spend more time with his father, but he’d spent these last days locked in negotiations with that Greek woman and then, from there, it was announced he’d married her…
Not even the presence of his younger sisters, Gaudildis, Framberta and Beretrude, normally so bright and cheerful, could assuage his mood. His own requests to ride a horse with his father’s guards had been ignored, and he rode in the cart with them and his grandmother Bertrada.
“Pepin look, a squirrel!”, little Framberta, seated on the edge of the cart, laughed and pointed to the right side of the track. Unlike Gaudildis, his full-sister, little Framberta and Beretrude were the daughters of Pepin’s old stepmother, the now dead Sigalis. Consequently, they both had the blonde hair of both their mother and father, while his full sister was developing the looks of their mother, Gerberga.
“I see it,” Pepin replied, non-commitally, his mind already elsewhere.
“Are you well brother?” Gaudildis asked him, kindly as ever, “It really is very beautiful outside, you should come and see when next they stop.”
“I shall,” he replied, barely listening to her.
His grandmother, he noticed, was also not overly interested in all the girlish chatter taking up the space in that covered cart in which they travelled. Her always devious mind was clearly turned to other matters, and while Pepin didn’t fully understand everything, he knew from his talks with some of the other boys that it had something to do with Constantinopolis, the great city to the east. His father had hinted as much during their last discussion as well. Were they going to war against the Romans?
And what did father’s new wife have to do with it? That small, mousey Greek woman who had come marching into Rome like a she-wolf on the prowl and found herself into his father’s arms. He wasn’t quite sure how or why, but he had a sneaking feeling she didn’t mean well for him.
“Are you well Pepin?”
It was his grandmother who asked that question again, some hours later, as they sat together in that covered cart during one of the stops along the road. His father was in no hurry, riding their column slowly through the Italian countryside, seeing and letting himself be seen by his new Italian subjects, who needed to come to trust that their Frankish overlord would do better for them than the Lombards whom he had toppled.
“I am well Grandmother,” he replied with a smile, “Just thinking about Father’s new bride… and mother.”
She eyed him sharply, “Aye, I’m not surprised. Your father didn’t tell you about the match?”
“Not before it happened no,” he agreed glumly, And just when I thought he was starting to trust me…
“Don’t take it to heart Pepin,” she told him with a smile, “Your father’s a man who keeps his own counsel, and does what he feels is best. He’s never been good at listening to advice, and the fact that he’s a clever man who’s often right makes him even less so.”
“He listens to you,” Pepin replied,
“Aye, he does, But I’m his mother, men have to listen to their mothers.” And he knows full well that what I know is far too dangerous for him to simply cast me aside, she thought to herself.
“And what of men who don’t have mothers to listen to?”
“What happened to her was not your father’s fault lad,” I cannot have the boy feel ill-will against his father. Such rivalries poison dynasties.
“That’s what my tutor said,” Pepin replied, “But he never told me why, or what happened. He just said, “you’ll find out when you’re older,” a note of frustration crept into his tone. “When I was older, people didn’t deign to tell me.”
Bertrada was gazing at him strangely. To tell him now or not? I must be careful, present the tale in a way so as to make him sympathise, not condemn his father. But Karloman would prefer he did it himself I know. Can I take the risk?
“Do you know what happened, Grandmother?” he decided to dare to ask her directly, summoning his courage.
“Aye, I do know,” she replied, “Your father’s decision was a hard one Pepin,” she sighed heavily, “But he was in the right of it.”
“How?”
“Your mother betrayed him,” Bertrada sighed heavily, “a deep and personal betrayal that cuts deep. A Queen who takes another who is not her husband into her bed commits a grave sin, and betrays her vows, throws her people and kingdom into jeopardy. A King cannot but do his duty, not just for himself, but for his realm and his future.”
“So he killed her for Francia?” the boy asked querulously, trying to understand, “is that it?”
“Not just for that no,” Betrada replied quietly. “He also did it for you.”
“For me?” Pepin was shocked,
“Imagine if she had borne her lover’s son, passed him off as your father’s. A cuckoo in the family nest. Any such child could’ve threatened your claim Pepin, threatened your father’s family and his legacy. You are his son, and his lawful heir. He has a responsibility to protect your rights and position as well, for the sake of the house as a whole.” She continued, a touch of bitterness entering her tone, “We all do things we’d rather not, to ensure our family as a whole survives.”
“But did she have to die?”
“Aye,” Bertrada nodded sadly. “An ugly business, but it had to be done.” She smiled then and patted the boy’s arm.
“Your father loves you dearly Pepin, he’s bad at showing it, and goodness knows he’s busy enough, but do not for a moment think that he thinks any less of you for your mother’s actions. You are his son, and lawful heir, and as it is his responsibility to protect you, so you have a duty to do your best and rise to his example.”
Considering carefully, Pepin nodded, “I will Grandmother… and… thank you, for telling me the truth.”
“Such things are dark business Pepin,” his grandmother continued, in a warning tone, “But not all dark business can be avoided, particularly when the stakes are so high.”
“So will I have to do such things, if I become Emperor?” he did not like that thought much.
“With luck, no. But probably yes.” Bertrada said grimly,
But then her tone shifted and she smiled again,
“But we have talked of such dark things long enough, come,” and she stood up slowly, her stiff aging knees creaking in protest at the effort. “Let us go outside and see where your sisters have gone off to.”
Constantinople, Capital of the Roman Empire, March 781.
For the court of Basileus Christophorus I, things had gone from bad to worse.
News of the death of his dear brother Leon at the hands of his harlot wife had spurred the strategoi into action. Many of them would not suffer being ruled by a woman, and an iconodule woman at that, no matter how much she might bleat that her brat of a son had a claim on the purple. Those who might have been disposed to defend Eirene had stayed out of it when word of her gratuitous cruelty to the late Leon IV had spread.
That Christophorus himself had once plotted against the brother whose death he clamoured to avenge was conveniently forgotten now, such were the webs spun in the intrigues of the eastern court. As the late Emperor’s brother, he had been the obvious choice for the crown, son of one Emperor, brother to another and a good Iconoclast, not given to worship of foul graven images. He had taken the throne himself within days of Eirene’s flight.
But those who had conspired to place him there soon had cause to regret their choice, for within months the Emperor’s strange and queer behaviour was beginning to be openly remarked upon.
Within weeks of his coronation, a shriveled Emperor awoke one night, and his terrified guards burst into the room at the sound of his screams, finding him huddled in a corner, fingers in his ears, screaming loudly at some unknown phantoms. The priest was summoned to purify the room through an exorcism at his request, but the Emperor’s mind did not improve on news that Eirene, the deposed Empress, could not be found, despite the assurances of his generals that the capital was secure and his hold on the throne was strong.
From then, the Emperor had recovered somewhat, had a period of lucidity, and then declined again. Since then, he had flitted in and out of madness, complaining that he felt hidden knives stabbing into his back, when nobody was behind him, and at one point tried to attack his seneschal bare-handed.
As a consequence, the practical running of the Empire had devolved to his most senior strategoi, Maximos of Abydos and Nikephorus of Adrianopolis. Both these men were seasoned commanders, linked either by blood or marriage to imperial power. Both commanded troops and were well-liked by them and, most importantly for the third most important member of the de facto triumvirate that held court in Constantinopolis, they were both devoted Iconoclasts.
This third member of the triumvirate was Niketas, the Patriarch of Constantinople, newly appointed by Emperor Christophorus in the wake of Eirene’s desertion of the city. He too, was of the belief that images were idolatry, and that smashing or burning the false idols brought one closer to the spiritual truth of God.
And it was these three who received the western dispatch, in the imperial war room, carrying the concerning news that the former Empress had re-emerged, now as the newly-wed wife of a Frankish barbarian, who had gotten airs and been proclaimed as “Emperor of the Romans” by the Bishop of Rome, without consultation from Constantinople no less! An outrage that Romanion could not tolerate, all agreed.
The demand from Rome had followed swiftly after. Restore Eirene to the throne, recognise this new Frankish Empire, recognise the independence of the Bishop of Rome. Outrageous! None of it could stand, none of it would stand.
A pair of couriers had immediately been sent west, one bound for Rome, another for the court of this Frankish warlord, demanding the handing over of the deposed Empress, the renouncement of the imperial title, and that the Bishop of Rome rescind his declaration of this “Karloman” as Emperor of the Franks and Romans.
Though all three men knew these demands would not be acceptable. All three knew the question could only be decided on the battlefield, by strength of Roman arms against the barbarians.
And therein lay the chief problem that concerned the Empire’s most powerful men. The Empire’s armies were hollow, depleted and depressed from years of civil strife and religious unrest, as well as poorly-managed local conflicts that had sapped their numbers and morale. The current ongoing campaign in Epirus being but one example. Though outnumbered, the Epirotes had put up more fierce resistance than anticipated to the Empire’s forces, and hit-and-run raids had sapped the strength and will of the Empire’s arms. Six months of war had yielded no definitive victory.
Meanwhile, this new, gathering Frankish storm to the west was arising.
“By all accounts, this barbarian King will march east with a large force of hardened men, fresh from his victories over the Saxons and Lombards,” Maximos mused, “He will be confident, justly so, and his troops will be fresh off their past successes. Though we are a tougher foe than the barbarians they have faced before, do not underestimate the damage a disciplined and confident army can wreak on those unprepared to face it.”
“What strategy then do you suggest?” The Patriarch asked, clearly nervous of the coming engagement. His predecessor had been one of those massacred in Eirene’s previous purge. If she were to be returned to the throne on the tips of Frankish spears, his head would be one of those adorning a spike on the city gate.
“This… Karloman, they say he can muster 20’000 men, reliably, in his army.” Maximos began, “Not counting any sellswords whom he might choose to hire. A campaign east will be a long one, through unfamiliar terrain, so we can assume attrition and death will do their parts as well. But if I had to guess, I’d say he comes for us within the year, the Empire is in a moment of weakness. If I were one of our enemies, I’d strike now.” Maximos summarised the situation, cursing momentarily the laxness and weaknesses of the previous few Emperors who had enabled the Empire’s arms to deteriorate in such a fashion.
“So we should plan to defend the city?” It was the Patriarch who spoke now, clearly out of his depth
“Obviously,” Maximos replied, irritated by the statement of the obvious, “But it would be foolish not to consider confronting him in the field, if for no other reason than to spare our people being the subject of Frankish pillaging.”
“But can we defeat him in the field?” it was Nikephorus who now asked the important question. A big, semi-silent man with a hard, piercing gaze, his presence carried gravity and quiet strength. Not for nothing was he regarded as one of the most dangerous men in the Empire. Fortunately, he and Maximos were old war friends, and trusted each other implicitly, “Our armies are spent and our ranks thinned, and the formations have been allowed to turn to rot under previous regimes.”
“We have the ability to turn it around,” Maximos replied, “If we act quickly. I’m going to go to the Emperor tomorrow to ask for an Imperial edict, which I hope will grant legitimacy to our reforms of the legions, and the ability to levy troops on his behalf, Patriarch,” he turned now to address the priest, “If your sermons at the Hagia Sophia could encourage citizens to take up arms in defense of Roman civilisation against the Germanic barbarians, it would be of help in organising this new troop levy.”
“I can do that,” the Patriarch replied,
“Good,” Maximos replied, satisfied, “I’ll begin to enlist the leaders of the demes for help as well.”
The patriarch crossed himself and muttered a quick prayer. The demes, or chariot racing teams, were major political players in Constantinopolis… and almost as big a bunch of barbarians as the Franks. Yet even the Patriarch knew that they were a necessary component of ruling the city. Whoever had the demes had the mass of the population on his side. Justinian’s reign had proven how dangerous they could be to any Emperor who ignored their wishes.
“And what about Heraklios?” Niketas asked. The protostrator of the Empire, formally commander of it’s armies, currently on campaign seeking to bring the Epirotes to heel, “Do we recall him to the capital?”
Maximos was already shaking his head. “He has iconodule sentiments. He’s more likely to join Eirene than oppose her. If we recall him, he’ll have to play a role in the politics of the city. Leave him in the west, doing what he does best, fighting foreign enemies, if he returns here, he’ll be a factor that cannot be controlled.”
“A fair point,” Nikephorus conceded, “But it’s a bad start to a campaign to ignore the one figure in the Empire whose job it is to conduct such campaigns.”
Neither Maximos nor Niketas replied to that bit of doom and gloom. What choice did they have? Not everyone in the Empire could be relied upon after all…
Paris, Court of Karloman Karling, Imperator Romanorum. April 781
The second of two feasts in the de facto capital of the new Frankish Empire in two months was taking place. The first, held upon the Emperor’s return, had been a dual celebration of his new bridge, who had arrived and made an effort to ingratiate herself with the lords whose levies would be placing her back on the eastern throne, and Karloman’s victory over the Lombards. Wine flowed as well as tall tales, and Karloman’s own popularity soared as a result of the distribution of lands and wealth given out after the campaign. The murmurs of discontent that had been building before vanished, and any would-be miscreants fled like rats back into the shadows, aware that the time for making trouble was not ripe.
Yet it was the second smaller, yet no less important festivity that was being held today, for a delegation from the Kingdom of Asturias. Located on the Iberian Peninsula, the last free Christian Kingdom on across the Pyrenees was teetering precariously on the verge of destruction. Ever since Karloman’s own grandfather, Karl ‘The Hammer’ Martell had defeated the Umayyad invaders and driven them back to Iberia, there’d been an uneasy peace between them and the Franks, but the Asturians had no such luck. The kingdom’s borders had been steadily chipped away, and the recent death of King Aurelio had left his son Froilo, a mere boy, on the throne and under a regency run by Duke Goncalo of Castille.
Under such circumstances, the delegation had come to the new Augustus of the West to plead their case for an alliance.
“It’s Duke Goncalo that’s sent us Majesty,” the Spainard who sat beside the Emperor at the feast table spoke crisp Frankish, and clearly was an educated man, “The king is very young, and with Aurelio dead, he’s worried the Moors might press on our borders. We will not maintain control with a four-year old setting policy, and our army is too small to hold off the Umayyads.”
“I can see the dilemma rather plainly,” Karloman replied. “And if your kingdom falls, the whole of the Iberian Peninsula falls under the yoke of the infidel.”
“That is correct, Emperor,” the delegate replied, taking a small bite from his fish, chewing thoughtfully as he spoke, “Our kingdom is the last holdout from the infidel’s aggression. If the peninsula falls entirely…”
“Then we face the same situation as my grandfather, Karl Martell did, when he fought at Tours,” Karloman finished, “Yes I can see the problem. So what would you have me do?”
“Duke Goncalo has authorised me to broker an alliance, in the hopes that, should it become necessary, that the Frankish peoples might be prepared to offer military support to defend against Umayyad aggression on the peninsula.”
“And what might this alliance consist of?” Karloman asked, “What would you have of me? Troops? Money?”
“Both, should it come to that,” the emissary admitted, “But in particular, a marriage alliance would be a method to seal the arrangement, as well as make the Umayyad’s think twice about an attack during our time of weakness.”
“A pact with whom? Your King is four years old,” Karloman replied.
“And your three daughters are not much older, Majesty,” the hazel-eyed Spanish emissary replied, grinning, “would one of them not make a suitable consort for the last remaining Christian king of the Iberian Peninsula, and a mother of future ones?”
“Aye, she should,” Karloman replied. His mind turned over the proposition. His youngest daughter, Framberta, Sigalis’s last child was only three. Too young to wed of course, they both were, but there was no reason a betrothal couldn’t be drawn up. The emissary was right, Asturias’s position was too delicate to simply allow it to fall to the infidel, and a marriage alliance would make them think twice about an invasion, lest they provoke the Frankish juggernaut over the Pyrennes.
Besides, Karloman had a sneaking suspicion the conflict with the Umayyad’s would flare up again some day. Would it not be better to have an ally in the region, and thus an excuse for getting involved, when that day came?”
“I can offer my youngest, Framberta,” he finally replied. “She’s three, so neither of them will be wed for years, but I’m happy to consent to the betrothal to King Froilo on the day they both come of age.”
“Shall we drink on it?” the emissary grinned as he poured another cup of wine, clearly enthused by Karloman’s acceptance.
“Aye, we shall,” Karloman replied.
With that settled, the Asturian delegation returned home the following day, drunk, but happy with the arrangement they had brokered, carrying Karloman’s offer of a bethrothal pact and an alliance against the Umayyad Caliphate…
Such an alliance would one day be very useful indeed…
OOC:
Big one today, things are in motion for the conflict against the east, as I've introduced some of the key characters. The Eastern Empire's internal tumult may work against them.
I was happy to explore some of Pepin's character more, and I was also a little concerned about him developing a reasonable relationship with Karloman despite what happened to Gerberga his mother. It happened when he was really young but still, it didn't hurt to address it I thought, hopefully that worked out OK in the story.
And the Asturian alliance might be useful if future conflicts happen with the Umayyad's should Karloman find himself in the shoes of his granddaddy Charles Martell. It was also a nice break from writing about the Byzantine-Carolingian conflict. Marriage alliances and wheeling and dealing were feudal constants, after all...
Bertrada will be back in on the action soon, and Eirene will get some attention as well as we see how her marriage with Karloman is working out in the near term while his army prepares for war, and we'll start to see Karloman take the opportunity to push some non-military related changes through as well.
As always, feedback from you wonderful people is welcome
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Preparations for the future! Moors and Byz, who will feel the might of the Franks first. Has Karloman found matches for the oldest three?
No for Pepin and the other two daughters. He's waiting till they're a little older so as to keep his options open (and in the case of Pepin in particular, he's heir to the biggest empire in Western Christendom, so somebody will be REALLY lucky to get him.)
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And then Ummayad declare war on Asturias while Karloman is busy with the Roman. :v
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