Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 41 (Historical Fiction SI)

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Flags flew high from the rafters. Torches burned, not to illuminate the parade grounds, but for the soldiers benefit. The morning was crisp, and cool. They were assembled in ranks, their equipment fresh and their weapons glinting. Ahead of them, the Strategoi, in ceremonial armour. They stood at attention as Constantine rose to the dais, Spears tapped the ground, and fists hit armoured chests as they saw him sit on the raised dais. Many eyes watched them.

"Many years for Emperor Basil and Constantine VIII, great emperors and sovereigns! Many years for Emperor Basil and Constantine VIII, the most pious augoustoi! Many years for the emperors who are the support of the world! Many years for the emperors loved by the world!"

"Axios!" The soldiers cried out in perfect rhythm. The cadence was practiced, a usual thing done in the morning to cement their oaths towards the Basileus. But today of all days, there was something else to their cries.

Vigour.

"Many years for the emperors who are victors! Many years for the emperors who destroy the enemy! Many years for the peace-making emperors! Many years for the orthodox emperors!"

"Axios!"

Constantine watched intently, the very image of a Roman statesman overlooking the soldiery. Now of all times, he had to project an image of Augustan restraint. With how clear the quality of the soldiery was, both on and out of the battlefield, the nobility likely knew trying to contest him openly was suicide. If they could not do it openly, then they were likely going to do it subtlety. Well, he could be subtle as well with his clear position of strength. He was going to let his character and army of goons remind the city to tread carefully around him.

"Son of God, long life to them! Son of God, rule together with them! Son of God, favour us with them! Son of God, hear us!"

"Axios!"

Constantine felt many eyes on him, both seen and unseen. That was the point of this acclamations, after all. He stood up from his chair, and strode forwards.

"We are the servants of the Emperors!" he cried out, three times. And thrice did his soldiers cry back. He raised a closed fist into the air, and with the full power of his lungs, roared.

"Many years for Emperor Basil and Constantine VIII, great emperors and sovereigns!"

"Axios!"

With that, the acclamations ended. Silence descended over the parade grounds, broken only by the rustle of banners and the creak of leather as the soldiers adjusted their stances. Constantine nodded, then moved to descend from the dais. The Strategoi stepped aside, saluting as he passed, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Their regiments flag-bearers dipping their banners as stopped before them.

Manuel Erotikos Komnenos had seen better days, a white bandage wrapped around his right eye, courtesy of a German axe to his helmet. But he would live. Constantine gestured for him to stand tall, for the man had earned it.

"Komnenos," Constantine smiled, a true one. Without him, his plan would not have worked. "How fares your eye?"

"I am told that my right eye is lost to me. But as long as I have my other eye, Caesar, I can still fight," Komnenos replied.

"You delight me with your passion, Komnenos," Constantine replied, putting his hand on Komnenos's shoulder. "But I am not ordering you to fight anytime soon, let alone this regiment for the matter, for you have held the line against impossible odds, and that means you hard bastards deserve a right and proper reward."

The Anatolians smiled, tapping their weapons against the ground. Constantine turned back to Manuel. "Who were the hardest bastards that fought?"

Manuel turned and barked for them. Five men strode forward, each man having a clearly visible injury on their persons. Their injuries were badges of honor: one had his arm tightly bandaged, another bore a limp, and yet another had a jagged scar running across his cheek. Yet all of them stood tall, their eyes steely, their pride etched into every line of their weathered faces. Varangians strode forward, carrying a tray in hand. On said tray, something gleamed.

Rome had not just grand titles for its soldiers, but also awards and decorations. Their merits had to be visible to the public after all. Once he was Emperor, or shit, he could convince his Uncle and Father to organize awards and distinctions even more formally.

"What are your names?" Constantine asked the men who all glanced at the Varangians with awe, and the golden collars on the trays.

And they told him.

Contantine nodded, and gestured for the Varangians to step closer. With utter pride in their eyes, and not a little tears, the men found the golden collars clasped around their necks by Constantine himself. When the last man was finished, Constantine stepped back, and smiled.

"On the authority vested onto me by our god-blessed Emperors, I proclaim you, and your regiment, lions! In the face of overwhelming odds, you have showed and proved to the world that in our blood, we still rule! In these ancient grounds, you have brought pride to great shadows: Trajan, Augustus, and Caesar! Stand proud, men of Anatolia!"

The Anatolians roared, tapping their weapons on the floor once more. And from the back, men sang.

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[SPOILER="Roman National Anthem"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:tFNoGl6ckfU"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFNoGl6ckfU[/URL][/SPOILER]

Wake up, Romans, from your sleep of death

Into which you've been sunk by the barbaric tyrants.

Now or never, sow a new fate for yourself

To which even your cruel enemies will bow!

Behold, mighty shadows; Caesar, Basil, Constantine,

Your great grandchildren: The Roman nation,

With armed hands, with your fire in their veins,

"Life in liberty or death", they all proclaim!

Priests, lead with holy crosses, for this army is Christian,

Its motto is liberty and its goal all too holy.

Better to die in battle in with eternal glory,

Than to once again be slaves on our ancient lands!

Now or never, let us show the world

That through these arms, Roman blood still flows;

And that in our chests we still proudly bear a name

Triumphant in battles, the name of Trajan!

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With the awards ceremony over, Constantine went into business immediately. Better to finish early than doing them late. He absconded with his Strategoi to discuss the business of the day and to hear reports. The immediate concern of Constantine was to ensure that food would return to the city in a timely manner for Rome had been under siege by Otto for months before his arrival. With the Germans out of sight and their Kaiser behind a jail cell, the roads were clear to travel once more. Banditry had risen thanks to the collapse but patrols of light cavalry kept the roads relatively safe.

Southern produce flowed once more, and the average Roman sighed in relief that food wouldn't be a problem for the future. There was the matter of repairs but as far as Constantine was concerned, that was a matter for the city to deal with. He was willing however to send troops and engineers to help with the basic functions such as road restoration and pulling down the burnt barricades that Otto had erected. Most of his soldiers were to either protect and police the city, or be posted a little north to watch the roads for any German reinforcements that might come.

But Constantine was sure that they could rest easy for the meantime.

With Otto captured and his court either dead, missing, or sharing a cell with him, the Germans was now lead by an regent, Matilda, Otto's aunt. Otto had appointed her to that position when he had left for Italy. As far as Constantine could remember, her rule was respected and she herself held a Diet, an assembly, and appointed people to offices. But with Otto and a good portion of the army gone, there was nothing stopping enterprising German dukes and princes to eye the German throne and take it for themselves.

Constantine however did not believe it would come to that. Otto's Roman fanboyism may have irked his contemporaries but they also believed in the same thing, that they were Romans. What annoyed them was how Otto was doing it. Otto wanted to centralize, they did not, for obvious reasons. Then there was the fact that Otto was still alive and the legitimate Kaiser. Anyone trying to step in that would be nothing more but an usurper. If anything, Matilda would likely be scrambling to send messengers to try and ransom her nephew back.

But would Constantine allow that to happen?

Personally, he would rather clap Otto in chains and have him and his court be sent as a guest to Constantinople. What they couldn't do to his father, they would do to the son. Keep him as a hostage, and have a compliant Germany to the North. But he was loyal to Basil and whatever his uncle wanted, he would do.

If the Emperor wished for him to recieve Matilda's ambassadors and discuss ransom, he would. If Otto was to be sent East and be a guest in Constantinople, he would send the Varangians east to protect their 'guest'

That was assuming that they would be able to arrive in time, or even come at all.

When Otto had died in a timeline that was now not going to happen, there was a struggle for his throne in Germany. But in Italy, Arduin, Margrave of Ivrea, became the King of Italy, chosen by most of the Italian nobility. He reigned briefly before Henry the Second went south, beat his ass, and took Italy for himself. Among the list of hostages, Arduin wasn't there. Constantine could only presume that he was able to escape in the chaos or did not come at all. Either way, the man or another might make a powerplay and seize Northern Italy for himself.

Constantine thought to let things play out as is if he wanted to be a right bastard. There was an interest to do so after all thanks to the structures that the Germans had put in place. The Investiture Controversy had not reached its heights in later years but the annoyance was already there as local lords had to contend with Imperial-appointed bishops ruling prosperous and powerful fiefs. Said bishops tended to be much more loyal to the Emperor than to the local lords.

If Arduin and the other lords had to fight the Bishops, their troops would not be used to go south to Rome. Speaking of clergy, the other Pope, Gregory V was at Pavia. Without the support of Otto, and the Northern Lords not exactly fans of the Pope and the Emperor, Constantine would not be surprised if Gregory V was forced to retreat North to Matilda, in fact, he would be happy to let that happen. Arduin held no interest in Rome, and was content to have North Italy to himself. While the Italian nobility had given him the title of Caesar, there was only really one man whose awards meant shit and the was the Emperor in Constantinople.

Perhaps formally recognizing Arduin would cement his legitimacy?

Perhaps.

Constantine had not met his uncle in awhile so he really had to go ask Basil his plans for Italy. He had his own designs, of course, but practically speaking, whatever his uncle said would have to be done. He may be a hero and legend in his own right, but his Uncle was the Emperor. He was however confident that the Emperor would not expand anymore than he had to, and focus on consolidating their gains.

Military wise, Rome was a bitch to defend. The Eternal City needed its defenses up and running again. The Aurelian Walls was there but it sorely needed an upgrade. Again, the best way to protect Rome practically was to ensure the Northern and Central Italian Lords would be terrified of a German invasion and focus their forces up there instead of facing south. A great old speed-bump to frustrate the Germans and grant them time until they could muster an army and protect the city.

A knock at his door brought him from his musings.

Constantine hummed, already feeling what this was about.

Well, it was time for him to meet the nobility anyway.

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It was set.

On such short notice, there was no way that a grand feast could be organized. No, what this meal was to be a simple get-together between Rome's consul, and their new overlords. Overlord was perhaps too dramatic a word, Stephania thought as she adjusted her veil

As the clip-clopping of horses strode through their gates, tthe household bent in practiced unison, Crescentii retainers folding as the man of the hour entered, the ceremonial glitter gone from him save the plain chest-plate over a purple tunic and knee-length boots. Informal clothes for an informal gathering.

"I bid you welcome, Caesar, to my humble home." Crescentius greeted. He wore a fine wool tunic, embroidered with the Crescentii moon, and fastened on his shoulder was a red silk cloak in the style of the East. Stephania on the other hand wore a long gown, a similar cloak fastened on her shoulder with a lunar brooch, and a clear veil. Quickly, she felt his eyes land on her, and she bowed a little deeper, making sure he was able to get a good look of her chest.

"Yes, Caesar. Welcome," she greeted softly.

He smiled, unashamedly eyeing her, before turning to Crescentius.

Wow, not even a lick of shame, Stephania tutted within herself, amused and mildly disappointed. She had always preferred the men who flushed and fumbled when they looked at her, the ones whose eyes darted away then crept back with guilty curiosity, those were delightful to play with, how cute they were, trembling as she peeled them open.

"I am at your care, Consul," Constantine said as he dismounted, his boots landing with a soft thud. Stephania felt an wave of relief at that. If anyone of their enemies were listening, then it would only mean that the Emperor recognized her husband's title. But something about his voice convinced Stephania that recognition could change at any time.

Crescentius knew that, of course, as he then gestured to her. "My lovely wife, Stephania. She organized this lunch. I hope Rome shall satisfy you."

Stephania forced a serene smile though heat crept up her pale cheeks. She agreed to this plan. But she had not expected her husband to toss her with such naked eagerness, and the bluntness of it hit her harder than she expected. Her mortification tightened further when Constantine's brow arched at Crescentius' phrasing, and he glanced at her with a spark in his eye that made her nervous.

"I am eager for your hospitality," Constantine returned.  "Long have I waited to taste the Eternal City."

Stephania felt the innuendo strike her like a warm breath against her ear, so blatant she almost missed a step, her smile wobbling before she forced it steady again. Heat flared up her neck, bright and impossible to hide, and she lowered her gaze for a heartbeat so neither man would see the way her eyes widened. She glanced up again, gesturing to their home.

"Please, come inside," she said, mortified at how breathy her voice sounded.

Constantine's mouth twitched with amusement. "Of course," he said. She lead the way. Behind her, she heard Constantine quietly murmur something to her husband. She strained to hear but all she could catch was something about the grain. She put aside, figuring it was a concern for the city.

Finally, she lead them to an open garden. There, by Roman standards, was a modest spread of food, carefully arranged on a long table beneath the shade of an old olive tree. Sunlight filtered through its branches, dappling the white linens with soft golden light. The table was adorned with simple but fine dishes: roasted lamb seasoned with herbs, fresh bread still warm from the oven, bowls of olives, figs, and dates, and pitchers of honeyed wine that glinted in the sun.

Stephania stepped aside, allowing the two men to survey the setting. She clasped her hands in front of her, trying to appear composed, though her heart was still racing. Constantine seemed to take in everything with a casual air, his sharp gaze lingering for a beat longer than necessary on her before turning back to Crescentius.

"A beautiful garden," he commented. "And the food smells wonderful."

Stephania inclined her head, murmuring her thanks, though she wasn't sure whether his words were truly meant for her or if they were merely part of his posturing with her husband. Crescentius, however, beamed, clearly taking the compliment as a testament to his household's hospitality.

"We've done what we could in short notice," Crescentius said, gesturing to a seat at the head of the table for Constantine. "But I trust you will find it satisfactory."

Constantine sat with the ease of a man accustomed to commanding every room he entered. "As hard as it is to believe, I prefer my food this way. Food is to satisfy hunger, not be dressed up for people who won't even eat it."

"I agree," Crescentius said, kissing Constantine's ass. "Food should be enjoyed, not seen."

Stephania felt lost, unsure if they were talking about actual food or her. But the way Constantine stole glances at her convinced her that maybe, they were talking about her.

Good god, Husband.

And thus, they ate.

"Tell me, Caesar, how do you find Rome?" Crescentius asked.

Constantine paused. For a moment, he seemed almost wistful, and the Crescentii found themselves holding their breath, curious to hear his answer.

"Rome," Constantine began, his voice low and thoughtful, "is everything I have dreamed it to be. The Eternal City's legend is timeless, its weight palpable. Every stone, every shadow whispers history, triumphs and tragedies." He turned his gaze to Crescentius, then to Stephania, his expression softening. "To walk these streets, to stand in the heart of our ancient homeland, there is no feeling like it."

Stephania felt a strange flutter in her chest at his words. Despite the clear political angling of this lunch, there was something undeniably genuine in the way he spoke about her city. Sincerity was hard to fake, and Constantine was nothing but sincere. But then, it was to be expected of a man whose people were the eastern half of the Empire.

"You speak beautifully of Rome, Caesar," she said softly, daring to meet his gaze. "But what of Constantinople? They say it is a jewel of unmatched brilliance."

Constantine smiled, and Stephania was struck by how it transformed his face.

"Constantinople," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, "is something to be seen to be believed. She is Queen of Cities for a reason. The streets are alive with all sorts of tongues, and everything that man has made can be bought there. It is a city kept by time, and Rome's spirit burns brightly there, no matter what time has mustered against it."

Stephania swallowed, her imagination painting vivid pictures of the city he described. She could almost see it; the glittering waters, the bustling markets, the grandeur of the palace and churches. Everyone knew the stories, after all. For a moment, she felt a pang of longing, a desire to see this distant city with her own eyes.

"It sounds like a paradise," she said, her voice tinged with genuine wonder. "I wish I could see it for myself."

For a moment, Constantine said nothing. His gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable, before he finally spoke. "Perhaps, one day. Or you might not even need to, for Rome is where it all began, and in time, she may shine again."

Stephania's heart fluttered again, though this time it was accompanied by a pang of unease. His words were careful, almost too careful, and she couldn't help but wonder what exactly he meant by that. She glanced at her husband, whose face betrayed nothing but polite interest, though she knew Crescentius well enough to see that he was already calculating his next move.

"And where, Caesar, do you see us in this vision of Rome's future?" Crescentius asked, his tone light but laced with unmistakable intent. "Surely such an undertaking would require...assistance?"

Stephania tensed, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet.

Constantine smiled. "Time will tell, dear Consul. The future has many paths, and what one says now may end up differently in the future. But as long as there are those who serve the Emperor with loyalty and wisdom, they may yet enjoy fruits. Loyalty, after all, is a rare coin in these uncertain days."

Crescentius forced a smile. That was not what he was looking for. "Steadfastness is a virtue, Caesar, but even the most loyal shepherd needs a staff to guide his flock."

Constantine nodded, as if considering the point. Stephania felt Crescentius's gaze flick toward her, a tiny, sharp movement. She met his eyes for only a second, long enough for the message to pass between them.

The corner of Crescentius's mouth twitched. He then cleared his throat, turning politely toward Constantine with as he remembered something.

"Caesar," he said lightly, "you must forgive me. There is a small matter I neglected earlier. If you do not mind, I would like to excuse myself. I shan't take long."

Constantine nodded. "Attend to your duties, Consul. Rome runs on such matters."

Crescentius bowed his head, then cast Stephania one last look as he stood up, and left.

The garden quieted.

Stephania was painfully aware of the stillness. The breeze rustled the olive leaves above them; a bee droned lazily overhead. Every sound felt sharper now that she and Constantine were alone.

She inhaled, slow, careful. "Caesar," she began, "have you thought of seeing the sights of Rome while you are here? There is…much to see. And I imagine you would want to reconnect with the Eternal City."

Constantine leaned back in his seat, turning his attention fully toward her with a calm that made her pulse jump. His gaze held no attempt at subtlety now. It swept her face, her veil, her neckline, lingered on her lips, then returned to her eyes as if he wanted her to notice every moment of it. Stephania would be lying to herself if she did not admit some excitement at this. Constantine was a young man after all, full of life and vigour. He was not ugly, not by any means, and the life of a soldier had certainly ensured he had a body to die for.

Constantine's eyes sharpened with interest. "And you are planning to show me these sights yourself?"

Her lips curved gently, a restrained smile meant to appear innocent while promising anything but. "If you wish. Rome is vast. One could spend days exploring her. Weeks, even. And I would be honored to show you all of it."

A faint huff of amusement escaped him. "And what will this cost me?"

"Your time, Caesar," she said, dipping her head slightly. "Hours, perhaps long ones. Rome is not small, after all."

He studied her for a moment, fingers drumming once against the table. "And your husband is…comfortable with such an arrangement?"

Stephania let out a quiet, steadying breath. "My husband," she said, "is concerned for the future. If guiding you through the sights secures our control of the city, then yes. He is more than comfortable."

Constantine assessed her. She didn't flinch. She held his gaze, stripped of embarrassment now that the truth was laid bare. She was a Crescentii wife. She knew what was expected.

He leaned forward just slightly, voice low. "You are a remarkable woman, Stephania."

Her throat tightened, not from fear but from the weight of her own honesty. "I am loyal to my husband," she said quietly. "He married a woman with no parents, no dowry, no allies. He gave me a name. A place. I will not fail him."

"Tonight," Constantine decided.

"Tonight," she agreed.

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A/N: Otto visit next, and finally some porn.