Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 45 (Historical Fiction SI)

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Despite the singing, the flowing wine, and the jovial mood in the Gardens, Constantine could not help but stare into his cup. The wine was excellent: a vintage stored deep within the Great Palace's larders, brought out only on the most special of days. Gasps and applause echoed from the guests as jugglers and acrobats performed their feats, while musicians strummed a lively tune for dancers in red to whirl and sway to.

Exarch of Italy.

The words still echoed in his mind.

Of all the provinces, Italy had always been the lowest priority for the Empire. Compared to Anatolia or the Danube, Italy did not pose an immediate threat to Constantinople should it fall. Defending it was difficult; the Catapan could only rely on the forces at hand with reinforcements from the City arriving rarely, if at all. Yet while Italy posed no short-term danger, it had grown into a long-term thorn in the Empire's side. The Normans who had conquered it used Italy as a base to harass western Greece, and countless others coveted the riches of Rome, eager to claim them for their own.

Taking a sip, Constantine savored the wine's taste before glancing toward his uncle, deep in conversation with his father. Both men sat at their own tables, while the other guests lounged on couches, dining in the manner of their ancestors: reclining. Well, some attempted to recline. It was an uncomfortable posture, and eating while lying on one's side made some ill. Many had opted to sit upright instead, and no guest would fault another for doing so. Dressed in heavy fabric and attempting to dine while reclined was hardly an elegant combination.

Constantine the Elder whispered something to Basil, earning a loud, ugly, hacking laugh from the Emperor before he managed to compose himself.

If his uncle had seen fit to promote him to Exarch, it spoke volumes about the changing priorities of the Empire. Italy, long neglected, had suddenly become important. Was it because Rome was now in their grasp? Constantine thought it likely. The symbolic weight of the Eternal City demanded a firmer hand: something the Catapan could no longer provide.

A grape struck his cheek.

"Oi," Zoe growled. "Are you even listening to me?"

Constantine blinked, then adopted an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, sister. I was...thinking."

Zoe raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, then huffed. "Right." She gave him a long look before repeating herself. "The Saracens you asked me to find are settling in nicely."

At that, Constantine smiled. "Oh?"

He had high hopes for these men; their presence would surely enrich the scholarship of Constantinople.

"I enlisted Theodora's help," Zoe admitted, crossing her arms. "She's the one with the right connections for this sort of thing, so…"

"It's only natural," Constantine snickered. He glanced over at Theodora, who stubbornly insisted on reclining, despite her pale and uncomfortable expression.

"You could just sit, you know," Constantine pointed out.

"No," Theodora replied curtly.

"Why not?"

"It's tradition," she said, as if that explained everything.

Constantine snickered again, earning a glare from Zoe. She pouted, then tossed another grape at him. "Eyes here! I wasn't done," she growled.

"Sorry, Theodora is funny," Constantine laughed.

"Do you know how hard it is to track down extremely specific Saracens?" Zoe complained, her cheeks pink with indignation.

"I know, I know," Constantine said, smiling. "Thank you for all your hard work. I'd like to meet with them while I'm still in Constantinople."

"I'll arrange an outing," Zoe promised, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She relished the idea of a social event. Turning to Theodora, she added, "I might need you for this, sister. You know how to speak their language."

"You speak their language, Zoe. What do you need me for?" Theodora asked, frowning.

"Not that, you idiot. Scholar stuff. I'll need you to explain everything to me," Zoe replied.

"Ah," Theodora said flatly, blinking in realization. Then, shaking her head, she added, "You'd understand if you read the things I do."

"But they're boring," Zoe groaned. "Where's the fun? The action? Why would anyone want to read treatises on aqueducts?"

"Because they're important!" Theodora shot back hotly. "How do you think we get water?"

"From the sky, duh," Zoe said, rolling her eyes. She yelped as Theodora tossed a grape at her.

Constantine chuckled, leaning back as his muscles began to relax. Here, surrounded by family, he could let his guard down. They had their own section of course, a ring of Varangians surrounding them. It was a necessity as Constantine felt the eyes of many on him and the Porphyrogénnētē. He remained unmarried and was thusly prime real estate for an enterprising family, not that he nor his uncle would allow the Dynatoi any access to the Imperial Jewels. That was not going to stop the Dynatoi though. There was far too many ladies throwing him bedroom eyes for comfort. If he didn't know any better, he would have been happy to tap those invitations. 

But no. 

He was happy to sleep with Stephania because she was safe. Safe in the sense she was in far away Italy. But here, in the lions den, he could not treat any woman with the same courtesy. 

"He looks glum," Zoe suddenly commented. Constantine turned his eyes towards another corner. A flash of amusement coursed through him at their 'guest'. Otto and his court were trying to maintain their official dignities. But from the fish-out-of-water look of their faces, they were clearly lost. A respectful distance had been kept by the guests but even they threw him looks. It was less mocking, Constantine felt, but curiosity. Every Roman knew of course of the Franks and the Germans but no one actually saw them in the flesh. 

"I do like his hair," Theodora admitted. 

​He and his sister were red-haired. For most who erred on the brown or black, the Ottonians were exotic. 

"Aren't we cousins, technically?" Zoe asked.

"Through Theophano Lekapenos, yes," Theodora confirmed. 

​Zoe hummed, reclining back on her couch. "Should we go talk to them?" 

"Not in public," Constantine chastised. "Look at him. He looks like he ate something sour. Let us be magnanimous and not humiliate him further." 

"But we quite literally paraded him and his court in the streets," Theodora pointed out. 

"Yes, but let us not add into that," Constantine added dryly. 

Otto had took his whole ordeal with grace, refusing to put his head down no matter what. But Constantine could see that Otto was putting it because he had to, not because he wanted to. Otto was the most Romanophile to have ever Romanophile. His exile would prove to be quite agreeable for the German, Constantine felt. The chances of the Germans ransoming Otto was not high, he felt as well. He and his court were expensive guests whose freedom would bankrupt their realms nor would his uncle let Otto go either. 

He paused his thoughts as he felt a whisper against his ear. 

He glanced up, then nodded. 

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Outside, music flowed and laughter rose high, carrying the joy of the evening through the palace. But here in the throne room, those sounds were muted, distant. The Emperor sat on his throne, the Symbasileus by his side.

"Don't bow. I've had enough of that," his uncle's voice cut through the stillness. Constantine was mid-supplication when he heard it. Straightening himself, he stood tall.

"Before God's appointed Emperor, one must know their place," Constantine replied.

"Oh, quiet, you," Constantine the Elder chuckled. "The court isn't here. We can do away with the formalities, son."

"Yes, Symb-" Constantine caught himself. "Yes, father. What are we doing here, in the throne room?"

"To discuss our next steps, nephew," Basil rumbled, leaning back against the throne. His fingers were clasped together, his sharp gaze fixed on Constantine. "Your promotion. What do you make of it?"

"I assume the recapture of the Eternal City played a significant role," Constantine answered. "You wouldn't place much weight on Italy otherwise, not without good reason."

Basil said nothing, merely gesturing for him to continue.

"The revival of the Exarchate also signals a long-term commitment to Italy," Constantine reasoned. "Otherwise, you'd have been content to leave the Catapan in charge."

He paused, considering the implications. "What is to become of Ammiropoulos?"

"Your father suggests naming him Strategos of Sicily," Basil gestured toward the Symbasileus.

"It's only sensible," Constantine the Elder replied with a yawn. "He's served well in his office and knows the region. A suitable Strategos, until he can train a proper replacement."

"But Sicily remains under the Saracens," Constantine said slowly. Then, realization dawned.

"Ouranos made compelling arguments for protecting Italy," Basil said, withdrawing his hand from its clasped position. "At its heart lies the Eternal City. But supplying it by land is impractical. Too slow. The sea route is the only viable option. And that route is vulnerable to the Emirs of Sicily. They've left us alone for now, but that could change at any moment."

Constantine nodded, understanding the logic. "You mean to organize an expedition to subdue Sicily?"

Basil nodded. "Yes. Your first charge as Exarch is to retake the island. Sicily was the first province our polis claimed. It is only proper that it returns to its rightful place."

The words carried the usual Roman bravado, but the tone of his uncle's voice betrayed something deeper. There was an utter sincerity, a finality in Basil's declaration, as though he knew this plan would alter the course of history. His expression remained unreadable, but Constantine caught a fleeting glint in his eyes before it disappeared entirely.

A Justinianic sort of glint.

"I'll need more ships," Constantine said, his mind already racing. "Half for transport, half to secure the sea lanes."

"The navy is tied up elsewhere," Basil interrupted. "But I'll speak with the Droungarios of the Fleet to see if he can spare any vessels. Call upon the Doge for aid if you must."

Constantine's thoughts turned to Pietro, that grasping, money-obsessed Italian merchant. He recalled the anger in the Doge's eyes when his ambitions of conquest had been thwarted. "He resents us, you know. The Croatians were cornered until we intervened."

The Elder Constantine snorted. "Too bad. Even if he had beaten the Croatians, we would have undone his gains anyway. Only the Emperor grants titles, not him."

"What soldiers will I have at my disposal?" Constantine asked, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Do I remain Domestikos?"

The Emperor's gaze sharpened, scrutinizing him as though weighing his worth. Then, with a grunt, he replied, "You remain Domestikos. You've given me no reason to revoke that title."

"And for troops?" Constantine pressed.

"The Dynatoi have complained that their themata troops still haven't been returned to them," Basil said, his tone decisive. "The men have served long enough. Let them go home. The soldiers you'll command will come directly from the Western Army and whatever forces you can raise. You are an Exarch now. You have authority."

"The Lombards won't enjoy that," Constantine pointed out. "Neither will the Romans."

"They will remain unmolested," Basil replied coolly. "But their taxes? Those now go to you."

"My son, the tax collector!" Constantine the Elder cackled. "Truly, you are moving up the world." 

"I will not tax them too much," Constantine replied, smiling slightly at his father's joke. "Folk already resent getting taxed. Being taxed too much will make them hate us harder." 

"This is for their own good," Basil snorted. "The Emirs of Sicily raid and rape their people since we lost Sicily. I expect the Lombards will be enthusiastic at getting payback." 

He could imagine. 

"The very moment we move in troops and ships, the Emirs will prepare," Constantine pointed out. "I have a suggestion to ensure our advance is swift, if you would care to hear of it." 

​Basil waved him. "Speak." 

"I will spread false information that we are going to Sardinia, or perhaps Malta. I will flatter the emirs as well, encouraging them to let their guard down until the final moment," Constantine suggested. 

Basil thought about it. Then he nodded. "Make it happen." 

"I shall," Constantine nodded. Then, he paused. "Uncle, you have asked me what I would like as a reward." 

​"Say it," Basil said stiffly. 

"The ecumenical council," Constantine asked. "Nothing more than that." 

"And this is where you lost me," Constantine the Elder yawned. He glanced down at Basil. "Can I go now?" 

Basil grunted. 

Smiling, Constantine descened from the throne, stopping by to give his son a proud look, a quick tap, before walking out. The younger Constantine turned to his shoulder, then back towards Basil. 

"We are still speaking candidly?" Constantine asked.

"Within reason," Basil replied. 

"Why do you tolerate my father?" Constantine asked truthfully. "Why is it, through all these years, you have kept him close? He is...himself. It is a contradiction compared to you, uncle." 

​For a moment, Basil said nothing. He glanced outside, where the music was reaching a crescendo, before turning back to his nephew. "Because he is my brother," Basil admitted. "Your grand-father died quick. Your grandmother had to marry Nikephoros to protect herself and us. The Palace at that time was surrounded by snakes and bastards. We could only rely on each other." 

Constantine had heard much, both from rumor and fact. Romanos II died unexpectedly, allegedly poisoned by his grandmother but that did not make sense for Constantine for Teophano was quite literally pregnant with his aunt, Anna, and had just recently given birth to her. 

"Your father is a whoremongering embarrassment," Basil continued, and Constantine really could not refute that. "But it serves a purpose as well. It fixes the attention of the dynatoi towards him, allowing me to rule in peace. They think they can use your father, when he has no interest in the Purple whatsoever." 

He allowed himself a smile, a rare one in fact. He wiped it away quickly, returning to his sternness. "I can count on your father. You in turn can count on him. When I die, and he becomes Emperor, he will serve his purpose, being the center of attention, allowing you to work in peace." 

"You still have plenty of years ahead, uncle," Constantine quickly added. "Rome is in need of you yet." 

"Not many born in the purple would want to wait that long," Basil raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, well, I do enjoy my job. I enjoy being high enough to make a difference, yet junior enough that most people come to you to make the big decisions," Constantine cracked a smile. 

Basil snorted, as in full snort. He wiped away at his nose. "I would take that as sycophantly from most. You are blessed we share blood." 

"I am ambitious, but I am not an idiot," Constantine said plainly. "To be the Emperor of Rome is to fully commit yourself, and only yourself, to the polis. I am in no hurry to lose my freedom, when I still have it." 

"You are correct this position is thankless," Basil hummed. "Now, let us speak of practical matters." 

"As the Basileus commands," Constantine dipped his head. 

"Why do you insist on a ecumenical council?" Basil asked, honestly, with a raised eyebrow. "I see no great controversy that requires Imperial attention." 

"The Pope," Constantine said flatly. "We must make it clear, for the sake of precedent, that he is subordinate to the Pentarchy. First among equals, yes, but not supreme over the other Fathers, or to us. There is some...interesting theological ideas the Franks have tried to introduce, without council agreement."

Basil frowned. "You understand that such things are dangerous, and brazen fools with far too much zeal and far too little sense will take things too far." 

His uncle had more than enough reason to be hesitant in calling a council. Ecumenical Councils were violent, deadly affairs. Old priests would quite literally beat each other to death to prove a point and such violence would spill to the underclasses. Discussing theology was such a controversial affair that it was made into law that discussing such things in public would get penalized with a fine and a beating. 

"The churches have grown apart from time and distance," Constantine however argued. "Jerusalem is Christian once more. Antioch has long since been retaken, and Rome is in our orbit. We have an opportunity to bring the oikumene closer after all these years. And right before the millennium ends? That is auspicious, uncle." 

Basil rubbed his beard, eyes deep in thought. "Where should we hold it?" 

"I would love to hold it in Rome," Constantine started.

"You will make enemies," Basil interrupted. "I am not a priest, nephew. But even I can see that is a bad idea." 

"Hence why we can hold it in Nikea instead. We can let the bishops get together and pretend it was their idea. It is perfectly symbolic too," Constantine smiled. 

Basil however was unimpressed. "I still think this is unnecessary. Unnecessary and foolish. You are asking me to gamble the peace of the oikumene on matters best left to quiet discussion. Men of the church have torn each other apart over trifling matters. We have laws that forbid open discussion of theology for a reason."

Constantine opened his mouth to speak, but his uncle raised a hand to silence him. "Mark my words, nephew. This request of yours will be painful. Theologians are like hornets. Poke their nest, and they will swarm."

Then, after a quick pause, he relented. "Nikea, then. I will speak to the Patriarch."

A chill rushed up Constantine. He could barely contain the smile on his face. Just like that, they had shifted the course of Christianity, and the world, forever. 

"Most men want titles, or money, or power," Basil pointed out.

"Well, I am a special case," Constantine replied. "I want a stronger Rome, a lasting Rome, an eternal Rome. Nothing drives me madder than that, dear uncle." 

Basil reclined slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was silent but heavy, as though the very air carried the weight of their exchange. Then, with a sigh, Basil closed his eyes briefly and muttered, "Madness indeed." Whether it was admiration, resignation, or both was impossible for Constantine to tell.

He did not have time to deliberate however as the Emperor stood up. "Come. We still have a party to finish, and dynatoi to entertain." 

"As the Emperor commands," Constantine smiled. 

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A/N:

While most people sat and ate around tables, Constantinople still had the old art of sitting on one's side to eat. But it was not exactly popular for obvious reasons.

By the eighth century, it was customary in the provinces to eat while sitting before a table, but in the capital, and especially in the pal ace, the old- fashioned Roman custom of reclining was preserved (Life of Saint Philaretos the Merciful 5). Apparently, it was still being inflicted on palace functionaries in the eleventh century. One of them, Michael Psellos, complained of having to eat in this way and compared it to a form of torture: We are all jammed together in a tight place, pressing up against one another while lying on our sides, so that tears are involuntarily squeezed out of our eyes, spit drools out of the mouth, and, to add the most offensive part, excrement is squeezed out of our butts. Our inner organs are being crushed! (Psellos, Oratoria Minora 11, p. 46).

Now, Basil is quite literally a religious man. But even he is aware of a potential shit storm should the Council fuck up. Keep in mind, a Constantinopolitan bishop literally got beaten to death in a Ecumenical council way way back, and Christians love to kill each other for the pettiest of reasons. So yeah, he is hesitant. But his nephew delivered to him the Eternal City so he can't exactly say no to that.

When they were not stirring up theological controversies themselves, the emperors usually tried to keep the peace by forbidding theological agitation: No man shall be given the right to go out in public and argue about religion or discuss it or give his opinion about it. If anyone brazenly contravenes this law, he will be restrained with a proper penalty and pun ishment (Theodosius I in 388, Theodosian Code 16.4.2).

Lol.

And yes, Basil is feeling Justinanic. After taking the Holy Land, and Italy getting secured, even Basil would feel like maybe they can give the whole Renovatio Imperii a try. Thus is not born from some abstract hyper autism compared to Constantine but because of their successes and the fact that Rome is quite literally free to be an expantionist power for once. They do not have any strong rivals to contend with.

All that is left is to consolidate their new territories until such time Constantinople can re-calibrate itself. Basil is already aware that when the Levant's tax income hits the treasury, Rome will rake in the goddamn dough.

RENOVATIO IMPERII TIME BABY.