An Age of Miracles: The Revival of Rhomanion

[Elfwine]

Elfwine: Thank you. I was trying to create an army that could credibly pose a very serious threat to Timur, like the OTL Ottoman army. And I really like your last line.

Welcome.

Personally, I would say in all seriousness that the Byzantines have a very good chance assuming capable leadership. They have a well trained, well disciplined army made up of all arms and a good sense of the value of archery (especially horse archery), including knowing how to counter enemy horse archery.

But Timur is being built up to being a tough foe, and the Byzantines are getting over (or not) some very ugly politics, so the complications from those will seriously undermine an abstract calculation of the odds.

Still, if you want the Byzantines to win, it would be very plausible. And if they lose, there are very plausible scenarios for that.


Thus my last line. Not to mention that this kind of battle is inevitably going to be bloody - win or lose, this is going to be one of those rare and avoided-for-good-reason (you've probably studied Byzantine history enough to know why) Decisive Battles.

So, very intriguing.


By the way, one doctor for every 20 soldiers? That's a lot of doctors. Someone has obviously been working hard on this.

Good thing too, but very impressive. As is the economy to support 90,000 men like this.

The Byzantium we know and adore. Its like a 19th century state with medieval technology.

No cannons yet, I see. Or are those still in the Sluggish Siege Machine category that the field army drags with it only when needing that much firepower (given that trebuchets are usually sufficiently nasty)?

 

[Basileus444]

This whole war is actually one of those 'what's the point?' wars. The Romans and Timurids had a peace treaty, but Theodoros decided to break it because he can't stomach paying money to a 'barbarian.' Since the Empire has been doing so well and winning all the time, he's forgotten what his ancestors knew, that coin is often cheaper than blood.

The doctor to soldier ratio isn't a TTL timeline. The OTL Macedonian era Byzantine army had the same ratio.

Cannons are still a special case. George Komnenos used a battery in his Italian campaign, but they haven't become standard equipment yet and they're still in the 'sluggish siege weapon' stage. Not really of much use when one is skirmishing with Timurid scouts.

 

[Elfwine]

This whole war is actually one of those 'what's the point?' wars. The Romans and Timurids had a peace treaty, but Theodoros decided to break it because he can't stomach paying money to a 'barbarian.' Since the Empire has been doing so well and winning all the time, he's forgotten what his ancestors knew, that coin is often cheaper than blood.

Something that will be reinforced whatever happens in the battle. Trained soldiers are expensive.

The doctor to soldier ratio isn't a TTL timeline. The OTL Macedonian era Byzantine army had the same ratio.

Cannons are still a special case. George Komnenos used a battery in his Italian campaign, but they haven't become standard equipment yet and they're still in the 'sluggish siege weapon' stage. Not really of much use when one is skirmishing with Timurid scouts.

Still a very impressive feat. And keep us posted on how cannon develop - the Byzantines with gunpowder and their professionalism are going to tower over anything else this side of at least India.

 

[Basileus444]

Still a very impressive feat. And keep us posted on how cannon develop - the Byzantines with gunpowder and their professionalism are going to tower over anything else this side of at least India.

Will do. I'm currently brainstorming some ideas regarding their use in naval combat and the Roman role in that.

And here is an update. It is written in narrative format and is quite long compared to other updates. After this I will revert back to the usual style.

The Battle of Cappadocian Caesarea

July 16, 1403, eastcentral Anatolia

He sneezed. “Ah, dang it,” he muttered and tossed the mucus covered cloth to the side. It landed in a plain clay pot sitting on the brown carpet overlaying the reddish-brown ground. Picking up another, he dabbed it into the water filled clay bowl sitting on the rough wooden stand next to his cot, and gently patted the three inch scar trying to circle around his left thigh. Footsteps crunched outside the tent, causing a couple of small pebbles to bounce inside. The flap swung outward. “Hello, uncle,” Demetrios Komnenos said, not looking up.

George Komnenos, the second most powerful man in the Roman Empire, chuckled. “How did you know it was me?” he said in his bass voice while scratching the tip of his long nose.

Demetrios shrugged. “I just knew.”

George stared at him for a moment. “I sound heavier than all of your tourmarches, don’t I?”

Demetrios nodded. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Your eyes say otherwise.” George’s eyes glanced down to Demetrios’ leg. “How is it?” he asked, gesturing toward the long red line, crisscrossed with black silk stitches. He’d gotten it three days earlier, a glancing blow from a Chagatai horse archer, in a minor skirmish.

“Oh, it’s fine. It just needs to be washed and the dressing changed every day.”

“Why don’t you have the physician do it?”

“I can do this by himself and he’s busy attending to the men.”

George nodded. “Anyway, the main reason I came is that you’re to report to the Emperor’s tent at noon; there’s to be a council meeting.”

“I will be there.”

“Good.” George turned and started to walk out, pausing at the tent entrance. “Oh, and I wanted to give you this.” He walked over as Demetrios sat up, pulling out a dirk clad in a black leather scabbard. “I know in your sword work you like to get in close because of your reach disadvantage.” Demetrios was only 5 foot, 2 inches tall. Demetrios reached out to take the dirk, his hand suddenly clasped by George’s, the pale skin of his uncle contrasting with his brown complexion, a legacy of his Turkish father. “Be careful, Demetrios. I promised your mother I would look after you.” He let go, leaving the dirk in his nephew’s hand.

“Don’t worry, uncle. You have not made that promise in vain.”

George, now at the tent entrance, nodded. “When you’re done here, see to your men. If God wills, battle will commence tomorrow and this barbarian will be finished by sunset.” On that note, he turned and left.

Demetrios finished dressing his wound and walked outside, his eyes squinting in the glare of the Anatolian sun. He looked up; there wasn’t a cloud to be see. Despite the heat, water had not been a problem. To the north the Halys meandered westward, drifting toward the city of Caesarea fifteen miles to the southwest.

However that was the Timurid water supply. The warlord was encamped eastward, south of the river just like the Romans, but upstream. George had therefore ordered that the Halys was not to be used for drinking or bathing, but merely to wash equipment; it was certain the Timurids were using it as a latrine. The Romans were using local wells and streams which were adequate provided the Romans did not remain for much longer.

However that meant that the Romans had to give battle soon, rather than continuing the skirmishing. If they didn’t crush the Timurids and gain access to fresh water by next week, the Roman host would have to pull back, leaving Caesarea exposed. Horrified by the massacre of Sebastea, the Emperor Theodoros was determined that another Roman city would not be so threatened.

Demetrios reached his horse tethered next to his tent under a canopy, scratching the equine’s nose gently. The mottled brown horse snorted. Demetrios continued scratching, sensing the presence of the man who silently glided up behind him. In his mind’s eye he saw the man’s right hand reach down, pulling his sword from his scabbard, shifting it up to point directly between his shoulder blades. The sword point was getting closer, closer, just about to touch Demetrios’ linen shirt.

He moved. Demetrios’ own sword flashed out of his scabbard into his right hand, parrying the man’s blade to Demetrios’ right, away from the horse. He stepped in as he parried, his new dirk snaking out in his left hand, driving toward his opponent’s unprotected ribcage. He stopped two inches short.

His eyes darted up to see the bearded grizzled face of his tutor, Michael of Abydos. There was no fear in his eyes. “Well, done, my lord.” Demetrios pulled his dirk back, allowing Michael to sheath his sword. Demetrios sheathed his. “Good, you play to your strengths. Remember what I always say?”

Demetrios nodded. “Brute force is the mark of a brute. Use speed instead, like the arrow.” He glanced away from the tall, burly Michael, who had just turned forty four; it was part of his teaching strategy to attack him at random intervals. As he spoke, he started untying the rope securing the horse.

Michael had been his tutor in the art of war since Demetrios was fourteen, teaching him all that he knew of fighting. Demetrios saw the small scar on Michael’s forehead; that was a year old wound, gained while attacking Timurid scouts south of Theodosiopolis.

“Oh, there’s no need. I watered him while you were tending to your leg.”

“Thanks. And how are you holding up?” He started walking south, towards the tents of his men. Michael, who was seven inches taller, easily caught up. “Well, all things considering.”

“And the men?”

“Morale is high, although that’ll change quickly when we run out of water. But until then, they’ve fought the enemy and they’re not afraid. Your uncle did well, making sure every unit got to fight at least one skirmish, so the men know what they’re facing.”

Several soldiers camped around a card game in the shade of a tent saw them approaching but Demetrios motioned them to stay where they were. He bent over their crouched backs. “So who’s winning?” He glanced to his left. “Ah, Ali, why am I not surprised?”

The Turk stared back. “Because all your money belong to us,” he replied in somewhat broken Greek.

Demetrios laughed. “Not likely.” He stood up. “Anyway, carry on. And make sure you get a full night’s rest.” He pointed at Ali, smiling. “And make sure he loses.” A chorus of enthusiastic “yes, my lord”s answered him. He started walking on.

July 17, 1403

Demetrios looked up. The sun glared back, unhindered by clouds. He glanced to his left. Sixty thousand Roman soldiers stood in full battle array, the sunlight glinting off the armored shells of the heavy cavalry and infantry. Behind the rows of skutatoi were the toxotai busy using their pavises as shade. Behind them were the melee cavalry, waiting to be committed to the battle. He couldn’t see the Emperor’s banner, but he knew it was directly behind the center of the line and that his uncle would be there as well. Any of Timur’s men trying to get to him would have to fight his way through the Opsician tagma and the Athanatoi. Meanwhile attendants scurried back and forth, making sure the men and horses were supplied with enough water.

The Roman army was in a north-south line, with the Halys river anchoring the left flank. The main concern, with Timur’s larger numbers, was the right flank, where he was stationed. To delay any outflanking maneuvers Demetrios had placed his tagma at a thirty degree angle to the rest of the Roman line, the southern end swinging westward, although his skirmishers were in a straight line, consistent with the light troops of the other tagmata.

His main concern was the potential gap that could arise between his men and the Chaldean tagma, commanded by a Turk named Iskander, stationed to his left. Currently he was atop his horse, directly behind the center of the Thracesian line. To the east the Timurid host sprawled like a black cloud steadily advancing from the horizon.

The Roman strategy for the battle was cautious, just like the campaign, but was calculated to exploit Timur’s aggressive tactics. The Romans would stand like a wall for Timur to beat his head against; once his strength had been whittled down sufficiently, even if that took a couple of days, only then would the Romans advance and flatten him with a combined kataphraktoi-skythikoi-skutatoi attack.

A horse snorted and Demetrios looked over to his left as his first and second tourmarches rode up. The commander of the first tourma was Michael of Abydos; the commander of the second was a stocky Vlach named Dragos cel Mare. Dragos squinted as light reflected off Demetrios’ plate cuirass, his twenty first birthday present from his uncle, and splashed into his eyes. “Are the kataphraktoi in position?” Demetrios asked.

“Yes, strategos,” Michael replied.

“Are they clear on their orders?”

“Nothing gets through the line,” Dragos rumbled. “Not even the devil himself.”

“Good. And the scouts?”

“Timur’s moving up his whole force. He can’t let us sidle up to his camp unchallenged without losing face in front of the tribal chiefs. Also there’re reports of rumors in Timur’s camp that the Osmanlis are on the move again.”

“Which means, if they’re true, that he wants this over with as much as we do.” Demetrios flicked the reins, starting to ride down the small hillock on which he had been standing, the two officers following.

There was silence for the thirty seconds it took for them to reach the main line of the Thracesian tagma. He motioned for his trumpeter to join him and then gestured toward the horizon, where thick clouds of dust were spewing upwards. He could see the swirling clouds of Timurid skirmishers, already trading bolts with the forward Turkopouloi, and behind them the massed ranks of Timur’s host.

“Gentlemen, get to your tourma. Order the great crossbows to hold their bolts; I don’t want their ammunition wasted on skirmishers. And remember, nothing gets through that line. And Dragos, tell Droungarios Muzalon that if I find any of his koursores in front of my battle line without my express order, I will have his head. Is that clear?”

They both answered in the affirmative and rode off, Demetrios focusing his attention in front of him. The Turkopouloi were falling back, shooting in Parthian fashion at their pursuing enemy counterparts. They were almost upon the line of akritoi. Despite the openness of the terrain, the gathering dust clouds and their fixation on the Roman cavalry meant that the Timurid horse archers did not spot the crouched figures of the light infantry…until it was too late. Javelins flew, stabbing into the hearts of the horses. The riders did not long outlive their mounts; those were not crushed by the weight of their mounts were decapitated by the arm of an akritos.

The surviving skirmishers fell back, sped on their way by a flight of arrows streaking out the toxotai. They soon came back, swirling close enough to loose a few arrows and then retreat out of range, the turkopouloi and akritoi shooting back. Units running low on ammunition would peel back to the main line and rearm, then return to the fight. Meanwhile the toxotai drungi lashed out at any Timurid soldiers foolish enough to enter their range. As far as Demetrios could tell, the skirmishing was going on all along the Roman line while Timurid foot archers marched forward to help support the screen.

Except for the extreme right. None of the Thracesians had been engaged except for the skirmishers and the men on the far left, where the tagma joined the Chaldeans. A Turk galloped up, his mount spewing foam. “Strategos, there’s an enemy contingent, seven thousand strong, attempting to outflank the right. They’re using the dust clouds to shield their movements. But they’re headed straight for the skutatoi on the far right!” If the Roman army had been in a continuous straight line, they would suddenly have appeared behind the Roman lines. But Timur did not know that the Roman flank was bent; the disposition of the Thracesian screen was consistent with that of the other light troops.

“Courier!” Demetrios barked, turning to look at a boy, no more than fifteen, mounted on a tall mare. “Go to Strategos Iskander. Tell him I need two kataphraktoi and two skythikoi drungi now, assembled with the Thracesian Tenth tourma. Go.” As commander of the flank tagma, he had seniority over any tagma commander stationed to the right of the emperor. He turned back to look at the Turk. “Composition?”

“Two thousand heavy cavalry, Persian lancers most likely.” The great cities of eastern and central Persia were the source of most of Timur’s heavily armored troops due to their wealth, but many of them were recent additions to Timur’s domain, which meant that their troop contingents were not necessarily the most zealous. “And five thousand infantry, all heavy. Armored in lamellar. No sign of archers, horse or foot.”

“No, there wouldn’t. Timur needs them making as much noise as possible in front.” Foot archers from both sides were now engaged in a missile duel, the black sheets blocking out the sun. The great crossbows began to loose. “Courier!” he barked at another boy. “I want the heavy cavalry and koursores drungi of the Fourth through Tenth tourma assembled at the far right of the line now.”

* * *​

Arman muttered to himself as he trudged along, his boots swaddled in cloth to silence his footsteps, along with the footsteps of the thousands of soldiers next to him. Here he was, thousands of miles from his home in Herat and he was certain they were lost, wandering around in the dust clouds that clogged the air between the two armies, as well as his nostrils. A small voice in his head reminded him that that dust was also shielding him from Roman arrows. He could hear the screams of dying men and horses to the north, skewered by the ferocious missile volleys that steadily swept out from the Roman lines, a broom sweeping away the lives of men.

Swearing under his breath and wishing that he was back home with his wife and five year old son, he looked to his left; he was on the flank. The more valuable heavy cavalry were in the rear, but the lack of any screen was making him nervous. Due to the fierce resistance of the Roman light troops and the heavy casualties inflicted on their Timurid equivalents, the warlord was unwilling to divert skirmishers to cover the flanking attack lest by doing so and slackening the pressure on the Roman front, he alerted the Romans to the presence of that attack.

An arrow bounced off his helmet. Arman squinted; he could see the shadows of four light Roman horse, who spat out a couple of arrows and scurried off, leaving a high pitched wail of pain in the Timurid ranks. They kept marching on.

He could hear them whistling, falling amongst the men in front. Many clunked off armor, but the sickening sounds of arrows smacking into flesh and the shrieks of men suddenly screaming for their mothers showed that many had struck their mark. Where were the arrows coming from? A light breeze was blowing, tossing the dust clouds to the side, allowing him to make out the outlines of hundreds of infantrymen, standing directly in front of them. What?! We’re supposed to be behind…we’re lost and ran directly into the whole freaking Roman army!

The Roman infantry began steadily and uniformly banging their spears against their shields, the crashing sound rolling over the Timurid formation. It was positively eerie, that sound. The Roman soldiers did not yell, did not chant, but continued the pounding. It was not the sound of an army of men, but the sound of a force of nature.

The man in front of him collapsed, an arrow skewering his neck from left to right. The dust cloud to the left vomited out five hundred more. More men shrieked and screamed, the line wavering as men collapsed and men panicked as more arrows slammed into the ranks from the infantry in front and more from the cloud on the left.

There was a sound of thunder coming from the cloud as well, the sound of many very heavy things hitting the ground over and over again. The cloud roared “St. Theodoros!” One thousand Roman horse exploded out of nowhere. The Timurid lines shattered. Arman dodged the lance of a kataphraktoi, his sword skittering harmlessly off the armor. He turned, seeing a less armored horseman raising his mace. Darkness.

* * *​

Demetrios bit off a piece of bread, looking up as Michael of Abydos approached. Behind him servants scurried from the camp, carrying bread soaked in chicken broth, cheese and watered wine for the soldiers. While there was a letup in the attack, the men were to eat; there hadn’t been any opportunity for a lunch break. Other servants carried less tasty items, replacement arrows and javelins for the toxotai and akritoi.

After using the Turkopouloi as spotters for the toxotai,the kataphraktoi charge had completely shattered the Timurid flanking force, running down over three thousand men and scattering the remainder. Since then there had been no more attempted flanking maneuvers but repeated probes against the Chaldean and left Thracesian tagma, backed up by occasional assaults concentrated on the meeting point between the two tagmata. In the last attack, five hundred Timurid infantry had managed to punch through, only to be flattened by Michael’s and Dragos’ kataphraktoi.

“The men are holding up well; they’re tired but I doubt the Timurids will try that spot again. They’ve lost at least fifteen hundred trying.”

“And the Chaldeans? I’ve heard that their center is being hit hard.”

“It is, but it’s holding. Melissenos…” That was the commander of the Anatolic tagma, stationed to the left of the Chaldeans. “…loaned Iskander his reserves and half his koursores.”

Demetrios bolted up onto his feet. “What, why doesn’t he need them?”

“He’s barely been attacked. Just a few probes his screen easily fended off. He’s close to the center; Timur is concentrating on the wings.”

Causing reserves to be pulled from the center to the wings, Demetrios thought. But he allows his targets to grow stronger while over a third of his army has yet to engage at all. Unless… “Courier! I want a report on the Opsicians and the Athanatoi now!” The startled boy stared at him for a moment. “Move! Or you’re out with the screen!” The boy scampered up onto his horse and galloped northwards.

Michael stared at him. “What’s wrong, my lord?”

“Probably nothing. But I want to be sure just in case.”

The boy was gone for over two hours, by which time the sun was getting close to setting; the battle had been going on for nearly all day, but ever since Demetrios had sent the boy, attacks on the right had dwindled down to almost nothing. And there was no news from the center. Dust clouds churned up by the wind had reduced visibility to less than a half mile. There was the steady sound of a continuous skirmish where the Chaldeans were stationed, but he could hear nothing from the center.

“Strategos! Strategos!” the boy yelled, his voice cracking. His mount was panting foam, her sides heaving in and out, struggling to draw breath.

“Well, speak up!” Demetrios demanded, nudging his horse with his left knee to get him to trot over to where the boy had stopped.

“Strategos, they’ve broken through.”

Demetrios’ heart stopped. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Massive Timurid assault, over thirty thousand. Punched through the Opsicians and enveloped the Athanatoi. The Emperor is completely surrounded, but he’s still fighting.”

Michael galloped up. “Michael, good. I want all tourmai prepared to abandon their positions and swing northeast; we need to relieve the center now.”

“I heard the news already from a scout. I must recommend against this action.”

“This is no place and time to argue. Boy, go.”

“Wait!” Michael bellowed, grabbing Demetrios’ reins. The boy stopped, glancing nervously between the two men.

“What are you doing, tourmarches?”

“Talking sense into you. The center is broken and Timur is hitting the left wing on two sides; it won’t last long. And Timur still has fifteen thousand men not in action. If you swing the right wing in to help the center, he’ll throw those reserves in to pin you from behind, then once he’s smashed the left he’ll turn around and crush you. We could lose the whole army, not just the center.”

“What do you suggest then?” he snarled.

“Retreat. Order the Chaldeans and the Anatolics to fall back as well. That way some will be saved.”

“Three of seven, that’s hardly worth anything.”

“It’s better than zero of seven.”

“I will not abandon the emperor. It is my duty…”

“Your duty is to the empire,” Michael hissed. “If you try to save the emperor, you will fail and likely lose the empire as well. Do you want history to remember you as the man who brought down a thousand year empire, the man who brought down Rome?”

Two seconds. “Damn you,” Demetrios snarled. “Damn you for being right.” He sighed. “It’ll be night soon. We can fall back then; it’ll be hard on the men, but we have no choice.” Michael nodded. “Spread the word, but keep the men from panicking,” Demetrios continued.

“Yes, strategos.” Michael rode off. Demetrios glared at the boy, still gaping at him. He closed his mouth and scurried off.

Demetrios was alone, looking off to the distance. Rhomanion has lasted for a thousand years, he thought. But I swear, on my father’s grave, on my mother’s grave,…on my uncle’s grave, that it shall not die on my watch. This I do swear. Behind him the bottom of the sun caressed the earth, bathing the western horizon in crimson light.

 

[Elfwine]

And the promise of interesting times became very real and very painful.

Nice choice of timing to make this narrative, it shows exactly how this sort of thing looks much better.

I hope Demetrios can handle what he's gotten into. The situation is far from hopeless - but its still a disaster.

The question is, are those who would do something about it for their own advantage in any position to do anything about it?

Letting Bulgaria and Serbia stay independent might turn out badly right about now...

In other words: Great update.

 

[Mathalamus]

no offense, but i really dislike the narrative point of view. i'm more of a big picture person, seeing changes on the city or larger scale.

 

[Elfwine]

no offense, but i really dislike the narrative point of view. i'm more of a big picture person, seeing changes on the city or larger scale.

Well, there are places where the narrative illustrates what happened - we'll see the city or larger scale effects in the next post, no doubt.

 

[Basileus444]

Elfwine: Thank you very much! Writing this as a narrative was something I wanted to do as soon as I decided exactly how Timur's invasion would go. And the situation is definitely bad for the Empire, but not hopeless. As for people trying to take advantage of the situation, I'll go into more detail in the next update, but all I'll say for now is that I mentioned Laskarid cousins in an earlier post.

Mathalamus: I understand though. And don't worry, this update is the only one which I definitely planned to write as a narrative. Even if I do write more, they will be quite rare. The next update will return to my usual style, and it will cover the aftermath of the battle.

 

[Elfwine]

Elfwine: Thank you very much! Writing this as a narrative was something I wanted to do as soon as I decided exactly how Timur's invasion would go. And the situation is definitely bad for the Empire, but not hopeless. As for people trying to take advantage of the situation, I'll go into more detail in the next update, but all I'll say for now is that I mentioned Laskarid cousins in an earlier post.

The exact wrong time for the empire, and the exact right time in the story, for them to show that every family has an Edgar the Black Vegetable.

 

[MerryPrankster]

Oh dear. And I thought the Romans were winning until the Timurids enveloped the Imperial position.

BTW, you spelled "Herat" as "Heart" in Arman's POV.

 

[Mathalamus]

Mathalamus: I understand though. And don't worry, this update is the only one which I definitely planned to write as a narrative. Even if I do write more, they will be quite rare. The next update will return to my usual style, and it will cover the aftermath of the battle.

i still read it though. it appears the roman's lost, but had the brains to retreat, saving apparently 3/7th of their army. that's slightly less than 40,000 perfectly able survivors. i dunno how many soldiers the wannabe mongol lost though.

 

[MerryPrankster]

i dunno how many soldiers the wannabe mongol lost though.

That's going to be important if the Ottomans attempt to cut him off in Asia Minor and finish the job, or harry his retreat back to Samarkand if his victory is a Pyrrhic one.

 

[Basileus444]

Elfwine: They always seem to come out at the best (worst) time. But who said there was just one?

MerryPrankster: Thanks for the spot; I've fixed it. No matter how many times I proofread, there always seems to be that one error still there. And the Ottomans do play a big role in the next update.

Mathalamus: The Romans did lose, although only after the center got smashed, after which the right wing retreated. The casualty figures for both sides are the very first item in the next update, which will also cover what happened 'off-screen' during the battle.

 

[Elfwine]

Elfwine: They always seem to come out at the best (worst) time. But who said there was just one?

If there's more than one, they'll get in each other's way, so it won't be as bad.

 

[MerryPrankster]

About the Laskarid cousins, it depends on whose sides they take. It's not like every possible claimant will make a bid for power.

To use A Song of Ice and Fire as an example, a particularly inept king legitimized all his bastards fathered on noble women and when one of them attempted to overthrow his legitimate son, one Great Bastard was loyal to the legitimate son and the other allied to the usurper. There were two sides to the war, not four.

If you have an eight-way civil war, the legal government is more likely to win, but if the collateral branches of the Laskarid dynasty ally behind one claimant, that's a different matter.

One would hope the Laskarid cousins realize that now is the worst possible time for a civil war. Of course, everyone is the hero of their own story--if the legal government wants to continue the war, they might want to overthrow said government to stop the war and save the empire.

Plus they have the example of the aftermath of Manzikert for what NOT to do--everyone brings in armies of Turkish mercenaries and the end result is that the winner rules over a MUCH smaller territory.

 

[luis3007]

Well, 3 out of 7 means 40 000 lost from a 65 000 army

That's a terrible blow, even if all Timur gets is a phyrric victory and retreats back to Central Asia, it won't save the Byzantines when the Europeans come back to pillage and invade

 

[Basileus444]

Elfwine: That's the way to look on the bright side.

MerryPrankster: How the power struggle pans out is really going to depend on the nature of the legal government. While a power struggle is inevitable, its scope is going to be largely determined by how good (or bad) Constantinople's act is.

luis3007: Regardless of how much Timur is hurt, this is definitely the worst blow the empire has suffered since the Fourth Crusade. However I wouldn't start betting on the Europeans; the European tagmata and the Imperial fleet are both undamaged.

Speaking of the Imperial fleet, here is a mini-update. The rationale behind this one is the same for the army update. A lot of this information was showing up in future drafts and it just made more sense to put it here. The actual update detailing Caesarea's aftermath will be posted sometime tomorrow.

The Laskarid Navy

The organization of the Roman navy in 1400 had many similarities to that of the army, but also some important variations. The region of Kibyrrhaeots, the southern coast of Anatolia, and the various Aegean islands and Cyprus, were the recruiting ground for the fleet. The sailors were paid in land estates, like the soldiers, and were reviewed in a similar fashion.

However the sailors were divided into two sections. In a six year cycle, each sailor would serve for three years on active duty, then return to their estates while the other section went on active duty. While inactive, the sailors were paid in cash, but the annual salary was only equal to one third of the value of the land, rather than equivalent as was the way with the army. Retention of this salary was contingent on maintenance of equipment and training, to be judged at the beginning of each of the five annual reviews.

While on active duty, the sailors were stationed in Constantinople with the Imperial fleet. In order to maintain discipline they were not allowed to bring their families, which were often needed to stay home and work the estates anyway. Then the sailors were paid the same salary as an akritos would receive while on campaign, which was almost a four hundred percent pay increase.

The Imperial fleet at Constantinople was kept at a strength of eighty galleys, which were all capable of being manned by one section of the Imperial sailors. While that was a force either Venice or Genoa could match, ships were quicker and easier to build than trained sailors. With the two section system, the Empire could theoretically field an armada of up to a hundred and sixty galleys, all with trained crews. This system was a recent innovation; Anna had developed it after the Laskarid civil war (1373-1376), although the system was not fully in place until 1394, which is why the fleet's performance during the Apulian war (1387-1392) was subpar. The slow implementation was due to Anna dying before she could make much progress and Konstantinos' apathy until the Apulian war jolted him out of his complacency.

There were also separate squadrons stationed at Bari, Antioch, and Trebizond. The first two had eight galleys; the last one had five. The crews for those galleys were full-time sailors paid entirely in cash and housed in their respective towns. Mainly used to suppress pirates and keep the trade lanes secure, they were still trained to the same level as the Imperial fleet, which they would support if it was active in their region.

 

[thekingsguard]

Just breezed through this, awesome work here!

 

[Basileus444]

Just breezed through this, awesome work here!

Thank you very much! I hope you continue to enjoy this.


To those who read the naval mini-update, I made a small edit to reconcile an inconsistency with past events that I had created. It is at the end of the fourth paragraph, regarding the timeframe involved in implementing the two-section system.

 

[Basileus444]

"And thus the great warlord departed the land of the Romans. Yet the evil he brought with him did not depart with him, for he was but the first horseman of the apocalypse."-excerpt from John Pachymeres, The Histories

1403 continued: The Battle of Cappadocian Caesarea is a crushing defeat for the Roman army with the loss of over twenty seven thousand men. On the left wing, Nicholas Laskaris, a cousin of the emperor and commander of the Optimates tagmata, is able, barely, to keep the left wing intact despite grievous losses until nightfall, when it is able to retreat, much to the joyful surprise of the strategoi of the right wing. It is a very near thing. If Timur had had even one more hour of daylight or if the Athanatoi had not tied down so many of his troops, he would have wiped out the left wing. Due to heavy losses amongst his skirmishers during the morning actions, Timur is unable to pursue.

Timur’s losses are also rather high, about twenty thousand. Despite his failure to annihilate either of the Roman wings, he crippled the Opsician tagma, which suffered over sixty percent losses. His attack on the center was conducted by his fresh heavy troops on a line lacking significant reserves to plug the breaches, allowing him to punch through and envelope the Athanatoi, who were annihilated before nightfall but only after exacting a gruesome toll on their assailants. The Opsicians that were not surrounded along with the Emperor’s guard followed their training, joining up with the nearest intact tagma.

According to Pachymeres, a Timurid soldier approached the Emperor Theodoros III Laskaris at dusk, by which time nearly all of the Athanatoi had been killed, and said, “Come. My lord Timur summons you.” The Emperor replied, “Only God can summon me,” and ran the soldier through with his kontos, then charged into the mass of Timurid soldiery to be cut down a moment later.

George Komnenos, on the other hand, is captured alive and brought after dark to Timur’s tent just as he loses a game of chess to his son Pir Mohammed. Timur decides to keep him alive as a prisoner, carting him off to Samarkand in a cage. George Komnenos dies in 1406, although whether he killed himself or was strangled to death on the order of Timur is unknown.

The painting The Lord of Asia and his captive, George Komnenos by Ludovico Buvalelli, 1489. George is painted as a Turk due to a phrase uttered by the famous theologian and writer William of Steyn, a personal friend of Ludovico, who said in 1487 that the Roman people were "half-greek, half-turk, combining the worst aspects of both races."


After the battle Timur marches on to Cappadocian Caesarea, the battered and demoralized Roman tagmata wisely staying out of his way, where the inhabitants pay him 400,000 hyperpyra for him to spare the city. Meanwhile the Roman army is forced to scatter due to lack of supplies. After they do so, flying columns split off from Timur’s force, extracting payments from many of the cities of central Anatolia, with Iconium and Ancyra paying the most. One column marches as far west as Chonae, getting over 200,000 hyperpyra in payment, but is destroyed by Demetrios and the Thracesian tagma on its way back from Caesarea.

After that Timur’s army turns east, marching out of Anatolia, leaving a garrison in Theodosiopolis but at no points further west. Since the Empire can still draw on European reserves which are completely intact, he does not believe he can hold any points deeper into Anatolia. Anyway Timur has accomplished his main objective, to punish the Romans for the breaking of the treaty, and has also acquired a significant amount of spoils despite the loss of the Chonae column. His main force however never marches west of Caesarea as a situation is developing in Mesopotamia.

That situation is Mehmed the Conqueror, who has finally begun his counteroffensive. Since the Battle of Baghdad he has steadily gathered together an army, supplementing his Turkish troops with Arabs from Al-Hasa and Oman, and even some contingents of Indian mercenaries. When he launches his attack in June 1403, his army is fifty five thousand strong, although its quality is not as good compared to the army he had at the Battle of Baghdad. He recaptures Baghdad ten days after the battle of Cappadocian Caesarea.

Timur’s response is somewhat delayed while he gathers reinforcements in Armenia, even hiring two thousand Georgians as mercenaries. In September he is attacked by an assassin who wounds his left leg, giving Timur a limp for the rest of his life, but fails to kill him. The assassin is dispatched by one of the Georgian mercenaries and in gratitude Timur swears never to invade his homeland. The assassin was in the employ of Mehmed.

The two meet in battle again at Tikrit on December 1. The Indian mercenaries defect at the beginning of the battle and Mehmed is utterly defeated as well as captured. Infuriated at the attempted assassination, Timur orders Mehmed and all of the Turkish commanders of units over the size of 200 to be impaled. The Arab leaders are spared. When Mehmed’s son and heir Osman II in Basra hears the news he says “I swear, on my father’s butchered body, that I, or my descendants, will one day stand in the ruins of Samarkand and spit on the grave of Timur.”

For the moment though he is forced to shelve that oath. Osman II offers to rule the southern third of Mesopotamia (Timur retook Baghdad without a fight on December 12) as a vassal of Timur and provide yearly tribute and a contingent to serve in Timur’s army. Having been gone from Samarkand for over a decade, Timur accepts and returns home.

Timur’s departure to Central Asia is met with great sadness in Catholic Europe. To the Catholics, Timur is viewed as the great king Prester John, marching out to crush Islam and liberate the Holy Land, an impression that is supported by Timur’s drive on Jerusalem. But according to Catholics, the great king is forced to retreat thanks to Greek treachery, for which they are punished at Cappadocian Caesarea. But still not chastised, those Greeks then attempt to assassinate the great king but fail thanks to the intervention of an angel. Yet the great king, disillusioned by the actions of the Greeks against him, decides to return home. However the story ends with his promise to return someday and finish the task he left unfinished, the salvation of Jerusalem. But this he will not do until the Greeks are destroyed, a task he leaves to the “pure and noble hearted Christians of the west, a people that will do great and glorious deeds once they complete this holy task”.

Meanwhile the situation in the Empire is confused at best. After the battle and Timur’s retreat, what is left of the various tagmata return to their home districts. Despite the loss of the Emperor and George Komnenos, only one tagma strategos perished at Cappadocian Caesarea, the strategos John Kantakuzenos, commander of the Opsician tagma. Nicholas Laskaris assumes control of what is left of the force.

Theodoros III’s successor is his only child, his son John V, but he is only eight months old. John’s mother, Maria of Barcelona, a sister of the king of Aragon-Sicily Jaime V, assumes control of the regency. However as a Catholic and foreigner she is very unpopular, which is not helped by her friendliness with the Venetian bailo, which earns her the ire of the Imperial sailors and marines.

Nicholas Laskaris, who can trace his descent back to Theodoros the Great, claims that the throne rightfully belongs to him in early September. Both of his tagmata, the Optimates and the Opsician join his cause, along with their associated themes. While he has control of two of the richest districts in the Empire, he has no fleet and one of his two tagmata is at less than half strength. To bolster his position, he is crowned Emperor of Nicaea on October 1. He also uses the tax gathering system already in place in the provinces to continue paying his troops without relying on the central bureaucracy (each theme is designed to be able to pay its tagma with its own resources, although the money goes from the provinces, is pooled in Constantinople, then redistributed back to the provinces), even giving them their biannual equipment bonus on time.

Maria, aware that she is unpopular amongst both her troops and sailors, decides she needs another support. Aragon-Sicily is too far away to be of use and is too distracted by the Marinids anyway. So she takes the commander of the Thracian tagma, Basil Palaeologus, as her lover despite the fact that he is fifty six and she is twenty one. She also turns to the Venetians, signing a treaty with the bailo in November. In the treaty the Venetians agree to patrol the Aegean and Marmara and protect Maria against any attacker to the best of their ability. In exchange Venice is no longer required to pay rent for Crete, is ceded the islands of Euboea, Kythera, Andros, Lemnos, and Imbros, and only has to pay a measly one percent import/export duty. The only thing she does not give the Venetians is an abrogation of the treaty of Dyrrachium.

Whatever support Maria has amongst the Roman population in Constantinople vanishes as soon as news of the treaty hits the streets. Even her supporters in court complain that she did not have to give the Venetians so much. A rioting mob besieges the Blachernae palace and has to be dispersed by the troops of the Constantinople archontate. In December Thomas Laskaris, commander of the Macedonian tagma, and his brother Basil, governor of Apulia, revolt against Constantinople. They both can trace their descent back to John IV Laskaris.

Thomas has his sights set on the throne and mirroring Nicholas has himself crowned Emperor of Macedonia and Hellas in Larissa. His brother, less ambitious and with less troops and further from the capital, merely declares himself King of Apulia and attempts to set up an independent state.