Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 40 (Historical Fiction SI)

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HistoryEpic - Renovatio Romanorum - ALL PARTS

Renovatio Romanorum. Renewal of the Romans. Such was the policy of Emperor Justinian who ordered for the reconquest of territories lost to Rome since the darkest days of the Empire. He demanded it, and it looked to be successful. Africa was reconquered. Sicily and Italy was made Roman once more. The Eternal City itself was taken, and defended from a Ostrogothic force that tried to take it back. But time was not on Justinian's side. The Lombards would invade Italy in the West and the Sassanids would invade from the East. Even nature itself seemed to be against Rome for the Volcanic Winter of 536 would bring about devastating climate change that ruined harvests, ensuring famine and hunger, and worse, plague. The Plague of Justinian, killed thousands upon thousands of people. Roman, Lombard, Goth, it did not matter. All were equal before the disease. 

These setbacks had hurt the Empire, leading to the loss of reconquered territory. It was then accepted by most of Roman society that the age-old Empire was dead, a reality existing only in monuments, laws, and books. But the randomness of history meant that not all things were set in stone. The very central core of being Roman was stubbornness, the sheer absolute refusal to accept what was compare to what could be. It was that resilient nature which had propelled Aeneas to continue forward despite setback upon setback, that stubborn refusal to surrender that spurred Patrician and Plebian to close ranks in the face of Hannibal's invasion, that refusal to give up that had set Justinian to go ahead, and future Emperors to defend Constantinople to the death. 

And, it was that same philosophy that spurred Emperor Basil the Second, and the future Constantine IX, to do the impossible, and restore the world. 

The Eternal City of 998 was a far cry of its ancient glory. Much of the city had fallen into disrepair. Places such as the Circus Maximus, The Palaces of the Emperors, and many many more were either crumbling or much of their material harvested for material. Furthermore, it had long since been its own distinct entity under the rule of the Papacy at first, then the overlordship of Frankish and Germanic kings. The Romans resented foreign rule, and that resentment grew to the point of the overthrow of Gregory V, a German. Such a prospect was so offensive, the Romans would rather risk the wrath of the German Kaiser than have a German as a Pope. 

In another reality, Otto the Third would have restored Gregory to the Chair of Saint Peter. But unfortunately for Otto, the Emperor Basil would not allow it. 

Constantine entered the city with much fanfare, most of it at the behest of Crescentius who wanted to impress the Domestikos. Indeed, it was a matter of life and death for him for Constantine was going to be his patron and if he would be an enemy to Caesar, then his enemies would court Caesar instead. But Constantine had other priorities, firstly, to meet with Pope John XVI in the Archbasilica of Saint John Lateran

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[SPOILER="Archbasilica of Saint John Lateran"][/SPOILER]

The first thing to do was confirm his piety. Such as it was why Constantine stood under familiar faces, and the ever loving eyes of Christ Pantokrator. The Basilica Lateran was the oldest Church in the West. Once, it had been a Fort for the Emperor's cavalry bodyguard but after Constantine the Great defeated Maxentius, the guard was abolished, the fort demolished, and the site gifted to the Bishop of Rome. It hosted a synod that declared Donatists to be heretics, and in time, became the official seat for the Pope.

Mass was celebrated in the Archbasilica, the Pope himself performing it. Much of it was familiar, but a little different. His strategoi struggled to understand the Latin but maintained their composure. That had been an irony that many in the West poked fun at. A so-called Roman Empire that did not even speak Latin. But that sort of reasoning lay within the grounds that to be Roman, one had to be exclusively from Rome and spoke Latin. But Rome had evolved from that, and many Romans themselves were educated in Greek learning. What shock they would get if they found out that much of Rome loved Greek Culture, to the point of having most of the upper class being Hellenized. 

Musings aside, Constantine had, thankfully, found the mass tolerable and uncontroversial. 

For now. 

He knew of course of the Filioque, an addition to the Nicene Creed which had added to the schism between the East and the West. As far as he was concerned, that addition was a fanfiction brought about by Charlamagne, and should never have been spread. At this moment in time, the Franks were practicing that, and the Germans as well. He did not know exactly what sort of damage had been done but better late than never. He was here now, and the Emperor had to be petitioned for a new Ecumenical Council. But for that, he would need some wrangling. 

Such as it was when the Mass was over, he went ahead to meet the Pope. 

[SPOILER="John XVI "][/SPOILER]

John XVI was an elderly gentleman, with strong eyebrows and a fullface. Constantine was quite sure however that the Pope's external elderly look hid a much younger man. And by young, a middle-aged man. They did not speak at service, but they would in the Lateran Palace, directly adjacent to the Archbasilica. It was a lively building, with well-maintained walls and tiled roofs. To the Romans of the city, it was a beautiful building. But to Constantine and the Strategoi, it might as well be a well-maintained family villa compared to the Great Palace of Constantinople.

Refreshments were distributed. Servants poured wine into cups, and finger-snacks; crispy fritters of nuts and dried fruits, deep fried and doused with honey or plum syrup, bread and cheese. But Constantine ate sparingly. The Strategoi themselves had returned to their own duties. Gregory Taronites took over command of the day, ensuring that Rome and its environs were protected whilst Manuel Komnenos rested. The man had kept the vanguard from collapsing and as far as Constantine was concerned, he deserved to sleep as much as he wanted. Prince Stjepan had been injured as well, and John Ammiropoulos was out to protect the roads North just in case the Germans would come for an assbeating. 

"Forgive the modesty of the Eternal City, Purple-born Caesar," the Pope began, still in his vestments though his hat sat at the side. "She has seen better days." 

"And she will see better days soon, and more, with your assistance, Your Holiness," Constantine addressed. He chose his words carefully. In the Book of Ceremonies set about by his great-great-grandsire Constantine VII, the Pope was addressed as Holy Father. He did not want to give off the impression that he recognized his authority no greater than what his position as Bishop of Rome allowed and Your Holiness it was. For a moment, he wanted to glance at the side but remembered that Miroslav was gone. It took losing something that made one remember how much they valued it. Miroslav's loss was a blow Constantine would have to rectify soon. He was a teacher, first, and a friend second. Trying to find someone with a similar attitude would be a challenge. But he would have to mourn later, not when he had to organize the city and prepare it for the future.

If John was offended by his restraint or noticed the grief in his eyes, the Pope did not show it. Instead, he replied smoothly. "I am merely the Pope. If you wish to bring glory to Rome, then you ought to have spoken with Crescentius first. He has declared himself Consul of Rome, after all." 

Was this a test for him to acknowledge John as the ruler of Rome? Trying to gauge the Emperor's desire? As both Domestikos and Caesar, he spoke with the authority of the Imperial Office and the dynasty. He lifted his cup, dipped it towards the Pope with respect, then drank lightly, before setting it aside. He sat straight, voice imperious with Imperial authority.

"Crescentius," he said, "has declared himself Consul of Rome, and he has requested aid from the Emperor. But just because he declared himself so does not mean he is so." 

John watched him carefully. "Then who leads Rome?" 

"God," Constantine replied simply. The Pope listened to the answer, then nodded, satisfied. 

"It is so," John XVI replied. A diplomatic answer to satisfy him and the Emperor. 

"Now on to business," Constantine shifted. "The request I wanted to ask of you." 

"How may I serve?" The Pope asked. 

"I intend to petition the Emperor to call for an ecumenical council, preferably to be held before this millennium ends," Constantine explained. "Much has changed for the oikumene. Antioch and Jerusalem has returned to the fold. And it would be auspicious to hold such a council in Rome." 

What was left unstated was that the Patriarchal Seats in Jerusalem and Antioch were restored. And now, Rome was going to be in the orbit of the Empire once more. 

John XVI leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his hands in his lap as he considered Constantine's words. "An ecumenical council," he repeated slowly, the weight of the proposal settling in the room. "It is a monumental undertaking, Caesar." 

Constantine smiled. "And auspicious, as I said. For with a new millennium coming to us, old bonds must be renewed, and current ones reforged." 

​Lost territory has been retaken by the Empire, and further ones may be restored again. 

John's eyes glimmered, understanding in them. However, he leaned back. "But reforged bonds often take on a new shape, do they not? One wonders what form such bonds might take." 

What does the Emperor intend for the Papacy?

Constantine met the Pope's gaze. "It is not for one man to decide the course of the Church, Your Holiness. Such weighty matters will be deliberated by the council, guided by the wisdom of the Spirit. But I can assure you this: Rome shall always have its shepherd, for the flock could not thrive without one."

That is yet to be decided, but the Papacy will still exist.

John steepled his fingers, his expression thoughtful, though his eyes never left Constantine. "Encouraging words, Caesar, though I wonder what pasture this shepherd might tend. One must always consider the horizon."

In what form?

Constantine's fingers began tapping his armrest. John stiffened slightly, even more so as Constantine's eyes narrowed. "The shepherd's place, Your Holiness, is to tend to the flock. His voice calls them together; his staff keeps them in order, and his presence guards them from wayward thieves. However, he is not alone. There are other shepherds who help tend to the flock who do as he does, protecting and guiding the flock for their master." 

You serve at the behest of the Emperor. And with the restoration of the other Patriarchs, you will all serve under Him.

John's disappointment was present with the tightness of his lips. But there was really no choice. Basil had rescued him from whatever tender mercies Otto had in mind for him, and this request was something he could not say no to. Rome had returned to its sacred homeland and never again should the Eternal City fall into anyone's hands but their own. The Pope exhaled, his nod slow and deliberate, as though each motion carried the weight of a thousand thoughts. "Then it shall be as you request, Caesar."

Constantine inclined his head slightly, his lips curling in a thin smile. "Thank you, Holy Father. Rome is fortunate to have a shepherd as wise as you. May the oikumene speak as one."

Because of that, you still have your seat. 

John dipped his head. "Rome is please to have served." 

As Constantine stood up, he paused. "I am curious on something, Holy Father." 

"How may I assist?" John asked. 

Constantine glanced outside. "I have often wondered, Your Holiness, what compelled you to contest Gregory V. After all, Otto was not merely your pupil, but your godson. A man you guided, shaped, and blessed." 

Otto and his court were held in Castel Sant'Angelo, protected by his Varangians. They were afforded every luxury due their station, though his Varangians reported that Otto was glum, and barely at the food cooked for him. It was rather understandable considering he was beaten and he was held in the fortress of the Anti-Pope, though that distinction would be lost as word would spread outwards of who won here.

He turned back to John who's face went still, save for the tension in his eyes. Constantine continued, and asked simply. "Why?" 

The Pope folded his hands deliberately, resting them on the armrests of his chair, a gesture meant to project calm despite the weight of the question. "Why, Caesar?" he repeated softly, as though turning the word over in his mind. "That is a question with many answers."

Constantine tilted his head slightly. "Then perhaps you might share the answer that weighs heaviest on you, Holy Father. For surely, a man of your wisdom does not act without reason."

John dipped his head, his tone carefully neutral, though there was an undercurrent of something unspoken beneath his words. "The offer to wear the mantle of St. Peter, Caesar, is not one that comes lightly or often. When it was laid before me, it was not my place to refuse. A shepherd does not choose his flock; he answers when called. And so, I answered."

Ambition, Constantine figured. 

"But surely you would have known what might happen to you and your patron once Otto found out?" Constantine pointed out. "Did you not fear the consequences of such a choice?"

John's hands tightened again, though his voice remained calm, almost detached. "Fear, Caesar, is a part of every man's life. But a shepherd does not act out of fear alone. He acts out of duty, and out of loyalty."

"Loyalty to whom?" Constantine asked, though he already knew the answer. 

​"To God," John replied slowly. "And God's choices are higher, than any man's." 

And there only was one other person that was God's choice.

And each man in the Empire knew who it was. 

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He paced around his room, the sound of his footsteps a steady rhythm of anxiety against the cool marble floor. Crescentius was not a man easily unnerved. Yet tonight, the tension in his chest felt unbearable. The villa, lavishly adorned with the spoils of his family's wealth, seemed to close in around him, the frescoes offering no solace. The Domestikos had chosen to meet with the Pope first. It was a calculated move, Crescentius was sure of it. A statement, subtle but unmistakable, that the Emperor Basil might prioritize the Church over the Roman people.

He could almost hear the whispers of the Tusculani and the other noble families: the vultures waiting for him to falter. They would be watching his every move, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness. They were traitors, the fucking lot of them. When Otto first besieged them, he had caught the bastards trying to enter secret negotiations with the Kaiser. Further attempts were only halted when news broke out the Emperor in Constantinople had sent an army to reinforce him. 

For Rome, for the Crescentii, he had to stay ahead of them all. He stopped pacing and gripped the edge of his window, his knuckles white. His mind raced, searching for an answer. 

"It is good, you calmed yourself. All this pacing will wear a hole in the floor, and what good will that do us?" A voice teased behind him. 

Crescentius turned to find a soft, cherubic face staring at him, mischief in her eyes, and hair as black as the night outside. 

[SPOILER="Stephania de Crescentii"][/SPOILER]

She strode in, joining his side, her soft palm cupping his face. "How long have you been pacing?"

"Enough," Crescentius answered. 

​She scoffed, eyes flickering, then glanced outside. Night had fallen on their city, and the stars were shining bright with the Moon. But there were other sources of light now. Torches illuminated golden threaded crosses and double-headed eagles. 

"Tell me what weighs on you," Stephania whispered, her head resting against his shoulder. 

Crescentius exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Constantine," he muttered. "He met with the Pope first. Do you know what that means? What message that sends?"

Stephania tilted her head, studying him. "It could mean many things. Perhaps it was simply a matter of protocol."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Protocol? No. It is a signal. To me, to the Tusculani, to anyone who dares to think they might hold power in this city. It says that the Emperor and his heir will decide Rome's future, not us. And the Tusculani will seize on this. They will twist it to undermine me."

Stephania stepped even closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "You are still the Consul of Rome. You have been acclaimed by the People."

"But do they care?" Crescentius snapped, his voice rising. He caught himself and softened his tone. "Forgive me, Stephania. It's just...if the Domestikos sees me as expendable, everything we've built will crumble. The Crescentii will be nothing."

Stephania's gaze did not waver. "Then we must ensure they see you as indispensable. You need to remind them why Rome needs you."

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind churning. Suddenly, an idea formed, bold and dangerous but perhaps the only way forward. "There is a way," he said slowly. "A way to ensure Constantine sees things our way."

She raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

Crescentius hesitated, his pride warring with his desperation. But this was not the time for hesitation. Not if they wanted to stay ahead of their rivals. He reached out, taking her hands in his. "You must make him trust you. Win him over. Make him see the Crescentii as his strongest allies."

Stephania's brows furrowed, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "You mean...?"

"Yes," he said firmly, though his voice softened as he looked into her eyes. "You must charm him, seduce him if you must. Wrap him around your finger, Stephania. You have the wit, the beauty, the intelligence. You can do this."

Her eyes searched his, and for a moment, silence hung between them. He could see the conflict in her expression, the tension between her love for him and the gravity of what he was asking. But then she nodded, her resolve hardening. "For you," she said quietly. "For us. For the Crescentii."

Crescentius cupped her face in his hands, his voice thick with emotion. "You know I would not ask this of you if there were another way. I love you, Stephania. You are my heart, my soul. But Rome is a battlefield, and we cannot afford to lose."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes glistening. "I know. And I love you, Crescentius. That is why I will do this. For you, for our family, for the Crescentii. But promise me one thing."

"Anything," he said.

"Promise me that when the time comes, you will not let them destroy us. That you will not let them destroy me."

His jaw tightened, and he nodded. "I swear it. On my life, I swear it."

Stephania stepped back, her demeanor shifting. The hesitation was gone, replaced by the confident, calculating woman Crescentius had fallen in love with. "Then I will make Constantine see reason. Greeks are a passionate people, after all. And Constantine is no different."

Crescentius allowed himself a small, grim smile. "If anyone can do it, it is you. But be careful, Stephania. Constantine is no fool."

Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Neither am I, my love. Trust me."

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​A/N: The fire is barely cooled and the political games are starting.

Now, as for Stephania, I have found no actual wife for Crescentius the Younger. I only stumbled upon her in the wikipedia page for Crescentius. It was a poem called https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Tales_and_Historic_Scenes/The_Widow_of_Crescentius. I am unsure of the historicity of it but then again, it's still plausible for a Roman noble such as Crescentii to be married.