1634 continued: The Roman victory at Thessaloniki is as near-total as such things come in warfare, but it was not cheap. Including the losses to the irregulars while they hunt down stragglers in the next two weeks, Roman casualties number over fourteen thousand, the vast majority from the storming of the camp defenses. (Their new Hungarian allies have 500 of their own.) As a result the damage is highly uneven; many formations are untouched while those who were front-line in the assault are half-wrecked.
Demetrios III, who’d been fairly well-informed of the course of the battle via the semaphore, (it is rumored that he shouted “Kyrie Eleison” at the exact moment King Casimir was killed) arrives at Thessaloniki on the morning of September 23, having come by fast monore. He spends the whole day touring the battlefield accompanied by his children, and the next day the field hospitals with their piles of amputated limbs as tall as the Emperor.
As of the battle of Thessaloniki, 256 medals of the Order of the Dragon and 720 of the Order of the Iron Gates, of all grades, have been issued throughout their entire history. For the fighting in the war to date on all fronts, including the battle of Thessaloniki, over 400 of the former and thirteen hundred of the latter are issued. Although it takes a few months before all are officially granted, many are issued personally by the Emperor or his children in the fields outside Thessaloniki. Every tourma that was front-line in the assault is also awarded ‘Guard’ status.
As a new innovation, a campaign medal is also issued to all soldiers who participated in the ‘Thessaloniki campaign’, deliberately broadened so as to include Mauromanikos’ forces in the north. Tens of thousands are still extant today, a popular and valued item of Roman campaign medal collectors.
One of those most honored is Anna of St Andreas, the slayer of King Casimir. [1] She is personally presented with the bounty for killing the Polish monarch by the Emperor, and is then also presented by the addition pledged by the Archbishop of Cologne by Bone-Breaker who expresses regret he hadn’t been able to see it. The Archbishop pays for his with a certificate from the Imperial Bank-Thessaloniki branch; he has an account dating back to 1623 and is also an investor in the first two Roman war loans.
It is also believed that it is on the field of Thessaloniki that Demetrios formulates his idea for the ‘Hero of the Empire’ decorations, although those don’t start being issued until the spring of 1635.
The Roman losses are heavy, but the Allied losses far heavier. Twenty nine thousand are ‘long-term’ prisoners. The reason for the ‘long-term’ qualifier is that many Allies were captured as wounded, but medical aid was focused on the Roman soldiers. As a result many prisoners die from their injuries and never enter onto the official Roman rolls as prisoners.
The number of killed and of those who escaped is unknown, but the former number is quite large and the latter quite small. Most of those who survive the battle itself turn brigand and are gradually hunted down over the next few months. Others starve on the march or end up getting killed by Hungarians if they get that far. If any manage to make it back home, they disappear back to the villages without any documentary evidence. As far as Munich is concerned, the Allied army has ceased to exist.
Even with the battle won, there is a lot of work to be done. The wrecked Allied camp and the tens of thousands of bodies are a huge health hazard and the thousands of Allied prisoners are put to work demolishing and burying. They will be kept on as penal labor, like prisoners taken earlier in the war, helping to rebuild what was destroyed in Macedonia earlier in the campaign. However some are conveyed further afield for work projects, including at least 1500 transported to northern Mesopotamia to build artillery-bearing roads. But that is in the future.
Demetrios now has a clutch of high-value prisoners, most useful as diplomatic leverage. The Roman Emperor has the Crown Prince and much of the Bohemian army in his possession, which certainly gets King Ottokar’s attention. There are several more German princes or heirs in custody, chief of whom is Archbishop von Hohenzollern, well-loved by the various canine mascots of Roman formations.
But not Theodor. It seems the Holy Roman Emperor has vanished off the face of the earth, much to the confusion of both his enemies and allies/subjects at Thessaloniki.
Marshal Blucher knew soldiers, and he picked a good specimen in Wilhelm von Ompteda. His chief of staff is fluent in Greek, which while not common isn’t particularly unusual amongst the German nobility. But most unusually, he doesn’t have the typical German accent when he speaks Greek, bearing instead a Syrian accent. He had served as consul guard for the Lotharingian consul in Antioch for six years when he was younger and learned the language there.
Traveling with only a few men he can trust implicitly, which also helps to avoid arousing suspicion, he escorts his charge north. With captured Roman uniforms, they travel disguised as a small Roman cavalry troop. With only a couple of uniform sizes at this point in time, the ill fit of some of the uniforms on the German troopers actually helps their disguise. No regular Roman army unit would have uniforms that all fit perfectly; only the Guard might. Fortunately for Ompteda, after the destruction of his army Theodor proves to be quite instruct-able, letting Ompteda do the talking. And with Ompteda’s decidedly un-German accent, none of the units he encounters suspect the identity of one of the troop soldiers.
Traveling through Serbia is fairly easy, as nobody in their right mind wants to mess with Roman soldiers at this point, and Ompteda has a good supply of hyperpyra and a quick tongue. In Bosnia, formerly part of the Serbian Kingdom but now occupied by token Hungarian forces, the sight of Roman soldiers is more unusual, but again nobody is inclined to make trouble for the party.
Croatia is more complicated, given the shakeup in Buda. Krsto Frankopan is the Ban of Croatia and the ‘power behind the throne’ since 1619 when he took over the regency council for the then-underage Stephan. But his hold has been shaky for the past few years, with mounting Magyar resentment over his Croatian relations and clients holding key offices and Stephan’s growing assertiveness. As a result he has been more dependent on Wittelsbach support to maintain his position.
It is most likely Frankopan’s success in blocking the proposed marriage between Stephan and the Lady Elizabeth that prompted Stephan to turn towards the Romans. His marriage to Mary of Bohemia gained him Ottokar’s support, but Rhomania is a much bigger stick than Bohemia and he can hopefully avoid another Mohacs.
Stephan had not known exactly when the ‘flip’ would happen, but like Count Esterhazy he’d expected the actual moment to come during the Roman relief of Thessaloniki. After the battle, word was immediately sent to Stephan as quickly as possible and so he is the first major figure in the Latin West to learn exactly what transpired down in Macedonia.
Several of the Patriot nobles, under instruction from their King, have been staying in or near Buda, and he quickly gathers them, informs them of what is happening, and with their support swoops down and arrests the Ban’s supporters and appointments in the capital and tosses them in dungeon under charge of treason. There are a couple of exceptions who have a ‘swift adjustment of loyalties’ and thus just get knocked down a pay grade. The vacancies are filled by Stephan’s supporters.
Croatia is in an uproar at the news; the Frankopans are a major noble family there with a lot of influence. Stephan doesn’t want to do anything to risk breaking the union with Croatia, so he emphasizes that he is only moving against Frankopan, not Croatians in general. The new Ban of Croatia is another great Croatian noble and landowner, Juraj Kobasic, whose wealth comes mainly from selling the products of his holdings to the Duchy of Dalmatia. While not a Hungarian ‘Patriot’, he has grievances against both Frankopan and the Wittelsbachs over estates in Austria he lost when the Wittelsbach took Austria.
The situation is still confused when Ompteda and his party arrive in Croatia and here the presence of Roman soldiers, even though now allies, raises more eyebrows and questions. But as this is happening, the Croatian soldiers that’ve been blockading the Istrian and Dalmatian cities of the Duchy are returning home. Behind them are the merchants of said cities, now looking eagerly to resume old business arrangements; the first to get back to the coastal cities with goods previously blocked by war can expect to make a killing. And they have bodyguards, some of which are Dalmatian soldiers. The Duchess, who is Demetrios III’s older sister, has three thousand men under arms who are armed and equipped to Roman standards. So Ompteda just pretends to be Dalmatian rather than Roman and manages to work his way through the country; his Syrian accent doesn’t raise many eyebrows as the Dalmatian soldiers have Roman trainers.
Finally they arrive in Austria, Wittelsbach lands. Except the ordeal is still not yet over; the Hungarians have garrisoned Graz and several other fortresses in the region (although not Vienna) during the process of defending the region from d’Este. Count Dobó, who is also a member of the Hungarian Patriots, is ecstatic when he hears the news of the switch in alliance.
On December 1 the party finally arrives at Klagenfurt, whose castellan is Johann Rantzau, a Danish nobleman in service to the House of Wittelsbach. The castellan is flabbergasted at the sudden appearance of his Emperor but does his utmost, with limited resources, to make his sovereign comfortable and help him recover. And yet the ordeal is still not over, for d’Este is encamped at Salzburg, blocking the main route to Bavaria.
Despite Rantzau’s best efforts to keep the news quiet, rumors immediately start buzzing and soon Andreas d’Este has heard reports. His eyes sparkling at the prospect of such a prize, the Roman strategos personally leads a contingent of his men to attack Klagenfurt despite the winter weather. Included in the capture of Salzburg were nine fifteen-pounder guns.
Rantzau, knowing of the heavier pieces and not confident in the state of his city’s defenses, is unwilling to gamble with his master’s freedom. Theodor rides out of Klagenfurt with a small body of horsemen, Ompteda once again his captain of the guard, while four other parties with Theodor-lookalikes in them take other paths. Andreas runs down three of the five parties in total but Ompteda, who spent the better part of twenty years in this corner of the world, knows the land far better than the Roman riders. Plus while the locals have little reason to help Theodor, they’re not keen to help the Romans either; by now all Germans know of Dachau and the slaughterhouse there. As far as the locals are concerned, a pox on both their houses.
After nightfall on Christmas, Theodor returns to Munich. There is no fanfare; he is far from a conquering hero. Also his sister Elizabeth is horrified when she lays eyes on her brother for the first time in many months. Theodor is thirty years old. Yet the shock of seeing his great plan burn down before his eyes, and then the harrowing three-month ride from Thessaloniki, has turned most of his hair and beard white, although it is reported that the strain of the Twelve Days and the siege of Thessaloniki had started the process months earlier. This change of appearance had, however, helped greatly in evading capture on the long ride home from Thessaloniki.
He turns in for bed. But when servants come to serve him breakfast in the morning, he screams out “Death to the traitors! You wish to sell me to the Greeks!” and proceeds to start attacking everyone around him with anything that comes to hand. When Elizabeth tries to calm him, he screams that he doesn’t know this woman and tries to beat her with a candlestick. Reportedly it is Elizabeth and Ompteda who manage to wrap the Emperor up in a blanket and wrestle him to the ground, although not before three servants are dead and two more badly injured.
He then falls into a coma for two days, but when he awakes he still doesn’t recognize Elizabeth. There are some bouts of lucidity over the next few weeks, but they are random and interspersed with moments like the multiple times when Theodor insists everyone in his presence must wear wooden shoes otherwise the Greek spies in the floor will be able to hear everything they say. Or when he recognizes Elizabeth, congratulates her on her pregnancy, but then remarks that Theodor will give birth to an elephant before she delivers.
To say this is stressful for Elizabeth is an understatement. Although as a female she has no legal right to authority in the Holy Roman Empire, she has managed to wield a shaky de facto control over the realm since the news of Thessaloniki started to arrive. It helped a great deal that she was one of the first to know.
Also helping is the strong partnership she has already established with Wolfgang von Dahlberg, Archbishop-Elector of Mainz and Arch-Chancellor of Germany. They have a close working relationship but everyone knows that she is the dominant party, yet von Dahlberg’s presence helps add a legal and masculine face to Elizabeth’s agenda.
Also many of the principalities are either leaderless or have their heirs in Roman captivity. Ottokar, who is by far the best placed to internally challenge Elizabeth, is unwilling to turn on her in case he needs her support in getting his son and heir’s freedom (although he is negotiating with Demetrios III in secret). The other Imperial states follow a similar line.
Finally, she is Regent of the Wittelsbach lands, making her effectively the greatest territorial ‘prince’ in the Empire anyway. Theodor’s madness doesn’t change anything, as now he is mentally absent instead of physically absent.
Still her position is extremely shaky and is standing partly because nobody big is currently pushing at it, a situation that will almost certainly change in the 1635 campaigning season. And Theodor’s condition, which quickly becomes the worst-kept secret of Europe, is a ticking time-bomb. In a way, it’d be easier if he was dead or even had been captured. It would certainly make things simpler.
Demetrios III Sideros, who hears through the Office of Barbarians of Theodor’s reappearance and then insanity, is less bothered by the escape than most around him, including his son. He was skeptical of the idea that a captured Theodor could be twisted into signing any sort of peace treaty Rhomania desired. Things are never that simple.
There is the example of Guillaume II Villehardouin, the Prince of Achaea captured at Pelagonia in 1269 by an army under the command of then-Emperor of Nicaea Theodoros II Laskaris. There had been hopes that the entire Principality might be regained at a stroke, but Guillaume had wiggled, arguing that he couldn’t alienate lands without the consent of his barons or that he couldn’t sign a treaty under duress (never mind forcing the opponent to sign a disadvantageous peace under duress is the entire point of war). His stalling, which allowed time for the Achaean barons to recover and rally, meant that the price for his release ended up being the towns of Mystras, Androusa, and Kalamata, useful but a far cry from the original hopes. It had worked out in the end; those towns, along with Monemvasia which never fell to the Franks, became the base for the invasion that properly put an end to Achaea. [2] Nevertheless, Demetrios was never convinced that possession of Theodor, as opposed to the destruction of his army, would make much of a difference.
In fact, until Theodor reappears in Bavaria, the Basileus hadn’t given him much thought. With a major face-to-face meeting with King Stephan in Belgrade, which falls to Roman forces a fortnight after the battle of Thessaloniki (Skoupoi is handed over as soon as the garrison commander gets word that the Romans are now officially his allies), he has other things on his mind.
* * *
At one spot on the field of battle, a father had been shot. His son, who was serving as a junior officer in the tourma the father commanded, rushed to his side. The father lived just long enough to see his son killed in front of him.
At a hospital, a fatally wounded man was visited by his wife, who’d travelled from Constantinople to see him. She was pregnant, about six months along. The last thing he felt was his child stirring in his mother’s womb, an orphan before even being born.
Some say war is glorious, magnificent. Parts of it are. The massed ranks of men, the colorful banners and gleaming armor, the thunder of great artillery calling out.
Some say war is necessary. That is certainly true. Men are brutes and animals at the core, and too often violence and muscle is needed against men.
Some say war is righteous. The Latins certainly think so, which is an argument for it not being so. The cause may be virtuous, defense of one’s land, one’s people. But the actual war, the blood and bone and shattered bodies, the weeping of those left behind and the happy cries of fattened ravens, the stench of ten thousand ruptured and rotting bowels, that cannot be righteous.
Necessary perhaps, magnificent in parts, virtuous in cause, but do not call it righteous.
Empires are built on wars. They cannot be without wars. And if wars are not righteous, what does that say about Empire?
Necessary, but call it not righteous. And never forget the cost.
-Excerpt from the personal journal of Demetrios III Sideros, printed in the posthumous
Collected Writings of Demetrios III Sideros.
[1] Any suggestions for a Greek patronym that would acknowledge this feat of hers would be greatly appreciated.
[2] These events follow closely the OTL events after the battle of Pelagonia, the changes being the date of the battle and the towns ceded to the Nicaeans. I didn’t declare it originally because this was at the start of the TL where quality is poor, but ITTL Monemvasia never fell to the Latins (IOTL it lasted until 1248, post-POD). This is to make the Roman re-conquest more plausible and why Androusa and Kalamata were substituted for Monemvasia, which was part of Guillaume’s ransom IOTL, ITTL.
For a post-POD OTL example of monarch capture not being a big prize in the long run, see Francis I after Pavia. Also Napoleon III after Sedan.