Constantinople
Great Palace
The purple-covered room smelled of sweet perfumes and incense, covering up the rotten smell of sickness and death emanating from Theodora's bed. It was hot in here, a roaring fire filling up the space uncomfortably, making Nikephoros sweat. Alexios was talking with the dying Basileus as Nikephoros and the others looked on. Well, more like talking at- it wasn't clear if Theodora understood a word the old Eunuch was saying.
"... always been your humble servant. We implore you to name him Caesar, for the good of the Empire."
Theodora let out a great shuddering breath before descending into a coughing fit, but her head tilted. Hurriedly, Alexios motioned for Nikephoros, who knelt before the Basileus in humble submission. Basileus Theodora opened her mouth, and spoke in a gasping breath.
“.... Zoe…”
Though keeping a pleasant face, Nikephoros inwardly sighed. Really, it didn't give him or his allies any joy to bother their Basileus on her deathbed, but it was her own damn fault for refusing to designate a successor. If they couldn't get Theodora’s approval, it'd mean civil war, or worse- a provincial coup. Nikephoros was not about to bow to one of those sheep herders.
Alexios quickly moved over and resumed his whispering to the Basileus. Not really sure what to do, Nikephoros stayed kneeling. The carpet was soft, but his bad knee was beginning to hurt. Behind him, various courtiers glanced between each other. It was critical they could say Theodora named him heir. They held the bureaucracy, but they needed the support of the army, and only the blessing of the last Macedonian could give them that. And if we have the army, that cabal of dynatoi can pound dirt.
Alexios spoke more clearly now. “Basileus Autokratōr, we beseech your wisdom and guidance. Do you approve of this noble candidate to carry on your legacy?”
Theodora’s head moved up. A general inhale swept the room as the Basileus considered Nikephoros. Kind of. She was looking in his general direction, or at least the spot of the floor he was near. Slowly, trying not to draw attention to his movements, Nikephoros scooted his prostrate body over, to place himself better in the center of her vision. Theodora’s glassy eyes seemed to almost be considering him.
Then her head sagged and she let out a long snore. The whole room let out the breath they had been holding, and Nikephoros began to panic. What in God’s name were they to do if this didn’t work? The story would certainly get out, and then it was open season. He doubted Komnenos, or Doukas, or whatever other aristocrat they chose would look kindly on him for his actions. He wondered, if he gave himself up, would his family be spared? Or would they-
“The Basileus has chosen”. Alexios’ high voice rang out, causing Nikephoros to break out of his thoughts. “You have all seen her. She nodded at Caesar Nikephoros. She approves of the choice.”
Murmurs of affirmation swept the room, turning into many voices speaking with relief. That was pretty much a nod, wasn’t it? The Basileus had held her head up, and then sagged it. If that wasn’t a nod, what was? There was no need to concern themselves- it was clear the old Basileus had agreed, and named an heir after all.They could all swear it to be so, and speak the truth before God and the Empire. Nikephoros quickly got up, and his friends in the bureaucracy began to bow to him and promise their loyalty. When no one was looking, he made sure to mouth a “thank you” to Alexios.
Three hours later, Basileus Theodora died. An hour after that, Patriarch Ioannes crowned Nikephoros Proteuon as Basileus of the Roman Empire.
Gangra
Theme of Paphlagonia
Anndronikos’ head was still swimming with anxiety as he was led to the Strategos’ tent. This was it. He wasn’t sure what exactly Strategos Isaac wanted from his men, but he knew that this was what they had been training for. The call had gone out- the enemy had invaded Rome. And there was only one enemy that could be- the Turks. Things must be worse than anyone had thought if they had penetrated this deep into Anatolia.
As he was escorted by the Norman infantryman serving the Strategos, he passed by officer Basil going the opposite direction. Andronikos gave him a friendly nod, but Basil merely tightened his jaw and walked on, looking slightly sick. Definitely worse than we thought.
Inside the tent, Andronikos saw a who's who of celebrities. Sitting down, reading a book, was an old priest he quickly recognized as the Bishop of Amastris. The brothers Constantine and Ioannes Doukas, both battlefield commanders of some note, nodded to him as he entered the room, both of them already dressed for battle with the enemy. And standing upright in the back of the room was the Strategos himself, with two attendants near him, keeping a hand on a gleaming scabbard and dressed as finely as Andronikos had ever seen a Strategos dressed. Andronikos didn’t think he had ever been in a room with so many important people.
He saluted, which Isaac acknowledged and dismissed. Having never been this close to Strategos Isaac before, Andronikos had no idea how to begin the conversation, and so fell back on military discipline, offering his men (a squad of only a dozen, paltry when compared to these notables) to Isaac’s command. Isaac smiled warmly, and graciously accepted.
“Officer Andronikos, it’s good to meet a loyal soldier such as yourself. We’ll need you in the days ahead. It’s time we take the fight to the enemy.” Andronikos gulped. If the enemy was nearby, his village might be in danger already. The Turks could outrun even Roman cavalry, let alone an entire army.
Isaac continued. “Foreign agents and selfish eunuchs have seized control of Constantinople itself. It’s time we saved the empire from their degeneracy.” Andronikos was shocked. What foreign agents? It was said the Queen of Cities could not be taken by any army.
“Who, strategos?”
Isaac’s smile was now tightlipped. “Doux Nikephoros Proteuon. It’s time we took back our country.”
Andronikos froze.
“My friend, I’m going to need your help. If I’m going to clear the court of the enemies of Rome, I will need good, strong men like you to fight with me.” He clapped Andronikos on the back, a little more forcefully than was called for. “And when it’s done, we’ll make sure the men who rendered loyal service are rewarded. What do you say, Andi?”
The officer was still young. He had heard tales of rebellions in the past, of the great Roman civil wars. But he’d never imagined that he could find himself caught up in one. Since Basil, they were simply not a thing that was done. The idea of fighting other Romans, his brothers- that was something to avoid at all costs. It could never possibly be worth it.
But Andronikos looked at the celebrities around him in a new light. He saw the would-be Emperor, clad head to toe in first rate armor, standing tall and proud, with a warm smile that was betrayed by hard eyes. He glanced at Ioannes Doukas, absentmindedly cleaning his sword with a cloth, standing between him and the exit. Next to him, his brother Constantine tapped his foot impatiently, keeping an eye on him at all times. Beside the Strategos, what must have been his son or nephew serving as an aide placed himself ready to jump between Andronikos and Isaac, while outside the tent still stood the Norman mercenary. Taking only a second, he made his decision.
“Of course you can count on me, my Basileus.”
A little bit of tension let out from the room, Isaac’s smile turning genuine. “Good man. There’s just the matter of the oath…”
And so Andronikos swore his sword and his fealty to Basileus Isaac Komnenos before God and the Bishop of Amastris, and his path became set. The Basileus gave him another indulgent smile before he left, then dismissed him and turned to the others in the tent.
He passed another officer, Michael, being escorted into the same tent he was leaving, but barely paid him any mind. His mind was racing. No matter what the truth actually was, that oath tied him to Basileus Isaac. Either he was to be a loyal man of the Emperor, or a traitor Nikephoros would put to death. He would have to get his own men to see things the same way.
One officer at a time, the Roman army in Anatolia rallied to Isaac Komnenos.