Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 39 (Historical Fiction SI)

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HistoryMarche - 2 Hour Documentary - The Battle of Rome

[SPOILER="Pain is Salvation"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:oBWraed3l_0"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBWraed3l_0[/URL][/SPOILER]

The march to Rome was delayed but it could not be denied. Once Xiphias's brief rebellion was quelled, Constantine rallied his forces. Like most Roman armies of the time, it was cavalry-heavy: six thousand cataphracts and two thousand horse archers, supported by twelve thousand infantry. The infantry consisted of thematic troops, soldiers from the Catapanate of Italy, the newly introduced halberdiers, and a detachment of the Varangian Guard. Additionally, three thousand troops came from persuaded Lombard lords, comprising two thousand five hundred infantry and five hundred cavalry. In total, Constantine commanded a force of twenty three thousand men: a far cry from the massive armies of Rome's past, but a formidable force for the era. Constantine's reforms and innovations greatly bolstered the army and kept it stable considering the biggest threats to armies at the time was disease and supply shortages.

With his troops rested, Constantine ordered a direct march north toward Rome. As they marched north, the officers he had left behind did everything they could to frustrate the Franks but there was only so much Manuel Komnenos and Stjepan Trpimirović could do. Reinforcements streamed in from his northern Italian vassals as the Kaiser fortified his position. With the city of Rome at his back, Otto constructed an extensive defensive system, including trenchworks, palisades, and ditches along the Via Appia. These strongpoints effectively served as ad hoc castles, the plan being to force Constantine to divide his forces to deal with the strongpoints or attack them one by one. Either way, the rest of his army would frustrate his attempts. The Army of the Reich slightly outnumbered the Romans. Otto's initial twenty thousand men were bolstered by troops from his northern Italian vassals and mercenaries hired to reinforce his defenses. In total, he had twenty-five thousand, the additional windfall coming from the North. 

With the two armies prepared, the battle was set. By mid-day, Chi-Rho standards were spotted by scouts. After three hundred years since the reign of Emperor Constans the Second (641-668 AD), the Eternal City was once more host to an army of Romans. 

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Constantine's throat tightened as if a fist had closed slowly around it, a pressure that grew heavier and heavier with every mile his army marched on the Via Appia, the road groaning beneath boots and hooves just as the land itself seemed to groan beneath the weight of memory, and he felt that memory climb his spine like cold fingers tracing every vertebra as he looked upon what remained of the world that had once sung with the pride of his forebears

Crumbling ruins sagged, dead and whitened from time while headless statues stood along the roadside like ghosts, their armless stumps reaching toward nothing, their once imperial profiles reduced to blank dissolving faces that the wind scraped at relentlessly, and Constantine could not stop himself from imagining their lost expressions, wondering if the stone heads lay somewhere in the grass staring upward at the sky they once commanded. A part of him wanted to dismount, to wander through those broken places, to run his fingertips along the shapes his ancestors had shaped, to whisper to the ruins that someone still remembered them, someone still loved them, that the dream remained alive. But he could not. He had a mission to accomplish.

Rome. The very word tasted like ash on his tongue, sweet once, bitter now, a name so heavy with centuries that even the thought of approaching its gates made his chest hurt, because he knew he was not riding toward the Rome of Augustus or Trajan or Constantine the Great, but towards a relic that had forgotten its glory. A shining star now dimmed, a roaring fire that was now a mere ember.

But embers, even small ones, has the potential to transform into a roaring inferno once more, as long as there were those willing to feed the flames.

And speaking of flames...

The army halted, camp set up to rest and resupply. Under the shade of olive trees, Constantine sat before a campfire. He was not alone, Miroslav standing behind him and his other strategoi eating lunch close to him. Constantine ate lightly, and was staring into the flames before glancing up as men stood before him. Manuel and Stjepan looked battle-hardened, with Manuel looking much more worse for wear. "We tried, Caesar," he began, his voice tight with frustration. "But the Franks are relentless."

"I will not fault either of you," Constantine replied, calmly. "Otto will defend his prize fiercely. You cannot be blamed for not stopping a flood."

Manuel hesitated, then nodded in reluctant acceptance. "Thank you, Caesar."

"We did map them. The Franks did not bother to hide what they were doing," Stjepan revealed. Constantine's brow furrowed then gestured to the men to join him. Miroslav tapped his axe on the ground, and that got the strategoi to gather.

Manuel knelt, drawing a rough map in the dirt with the tip of his sword. "The southern approaches are fortified," he began. "Five or six strongpoints, facing the south along the Via Appia. Trenches, palisades, and ditches. Each one is a miniature fortress."

"The gaps between the strongpoints are patrolled by cavalry," Prince Stjepan added. "They'll spot any attempt to bypass the strongpoints and counterattack before we can regroup."

Gregory Taronites bit into an apple, chewing slightly, then swallowed. "We'll have to assault them directly to clear the way forward."

"And suffer casualties," John Ammiropoulos added grimly. "With every man we lose, Otto gains the advantage."

Constantine folded his arms, his gaze fixed on the crude map. "I need more details," he said firmly. "Numbers. Distances. Which strongpoints are the least defended? Which are the most heavily fortified?"

Stjepan rubbed his chin. "The strongpoints aren't far apart," he said. "Close enough to support each other, but far enough that their flanks are vulnerable. The ones on the wings are the most isolated, but…" He glanced at Manuel, who continued the thought.

"…any attempt to approach them will be seen," Manuel finished. "The Franks have scouts everywhere. Their eyes are sharp, Caesar. They'll know we're coming long before we reach them."

"So our enemy has strong defensive positions and are dug in like ticks," Constantine hummed. He glanced up. "Ideas?"

Taronites turned ahead, towards the North, then down on the map. "I am of the mind that the Franks intend for us to throw our men into the strongpoints and suffer casualties. Lose men with each one."

"And how'd you know that?" John asked.

"They're clearly made to be sponges. Tire us out in taking one," Taronites pointed out.

"I would have to agree," Manuel nodded.

"I as well," Stjepan said.

"Plans then," Constantine reminded them. "Plans, gentlemen."

Stjepan took a step forward. "How about we wear them down? We harass their patrols, attack at night, keep them exhausted and hungry."

"Turn this into a war of attrition?" Taronites asked.

Stjepan nodded. "Yes. Do we necessarily have to defeat them in one day? We already know that the Franks do not have the stomach for it. And if I dare say so, Caesar's stores are much more lasting than Frankish patience."

"That is sensible, and something the Emperor would do," Constantine commented. The Emperor mastered the art of slow, but sure progress. "But there is something that must be achieved before the walls of Rome, gentlemen."

The strategoi focused on their Domestikos. "We are establishing a precedent here that will influence events in days to come. We need to solidify our power before the eyes of the Romans. We must ensure that they understand that Constantinople may be far away, but when push comes to shove, we will dominate. A long term strategy that Prince Stjepan proposes is logical but hardly impressive to them and the rest of the West."

Taronites grimaced. "We cannot just rush in and crash against the Frankish defences. That is playing to Otto's advantage."

John threw in his hat to the ring. "But what if we didn't play by Otto's rules at all? We could feint an attack on one strongpoint, make him think we're committing to a direct assault, while a smaller force strikes elsewhere. With the Franks distracted and scrambling, the main force could exploit the chaos and take the true weak point."

"That's risky," Gregory said curtly. "If the Franks see through the feint, we'll be divided and vulnerable."

Constantine stood. Eyes turned to him.

"We enjoy significant advantages," Constantine began. "We are better supplied, equipped, and morale is high. We have cherisophons to burn them out, should we have to deploy them. We have talents, from siegeworks to roadworks. I think we should put pressure on them. We have stores of supplies and it would be ill to not use them. How long would it take to construct mangonels?"

Mangonels?

"Quite some time," Gregory Taronites. "But not too long. Why?"

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Conrad of Bohemia squinted.

"What's...what's that?" someone asked.

They had been watching the Greeks set up positions ahead of them. Not exactly camps, but battle lines. If anything, that indicated to them that they were going to attack. But no attack came. Not yet, at least. But the sounds of construction wasn't exactly something that anyone could hide. Then, he saw  something in the sky. At first, it was just a shadow. But as more of them appeared, arcing high above the Greek lines, his blood ran cold.

"Take cover!" Conrad bellowed, his voice breaking with urgency. "Everyone, down! Get down now!"

The men froze for a heartbeat, confused and startled by the sudden outburst. Then the first projectile hit. The first to go was Jurgen. His head literally exploded into a gruesome mist of red as the rock shattered his face. He fell back on the ground, dead. Then more landed, splinters of wood and shards of stone shot outward, cutting down two men where they stood. But that was not over.

Conrad barely had time to react before the first clay pot shattered. It struck near the center of the strongpoint, and for a moment, there was silence. Then the flames erupted. Liquid fire sprayed in every direction, clinging to the ground, to shields, to flesh. The soldiers caught in the blast howled as they tried to beat out the flames, but it was useless. The Greek fire burned too hot, too fast, and it spread with terrifying ease. Conrad grabbed his shield, a vinegar soaked hide over it, and raised it over his head. The shield hissed as droplets of Greek fire struck its surface, the soaked leather resisting the flames. Around him, others did the same, the acrid smell of vinegar mixing with the stench of burning wood and flesh. Word had spread that vinegar would protect them from the flames and it did resist. Not everyone was so lucky however.

To his left, a soldier frantically beat at the flames spreading across his wooden shield, the fire climbing up his arm. He screamed as the flames licked at his face, and moments later, he collapsed, writhing in the dirt. Another man tossed his burning shield away and tried to run, only to be struck down by a shard of wood from a nearby explosion.

"Water! Get the water!" Conrad shouted, scrambling to his feet. His voice was drowned out by the chaos. Another pot exploded near the trench, igniting the wooden stakes and sending black smoke billowing into the air. The palisade was burning. Flames licked at the wooden walls, casting a hellish glow over the strongpoint. The trench was filled with wounded men, some writhing in agony, others lying still. A nearby soldier staggered past, his arm engulfed in flames, before collapsing into the dirt. Men prayed, cried out for God or for their mothers.

"We have to fall back!" someone cried.

"Hold your ground!" Conrad roared, grabbing the man by the shoulder and shoving him toward the barricade. "We can't retreat! Not yet!"

Another pot of shattered against the palisade, and the flames surged higher. Conrad turned to the nearest group of soldiers, his voice hoarse from shouting. "Get those fires out! Dirt, you morons! Use dirt!"

Then as if things weren't bad enough, he heard trumpets in the distance.

The Greeks were advancing.

This, Otto saw, and he bit his lip in utter frustration. He occupied the third strongpoint, centrally located in his line. He could see the furthest strongpoint getting hammered by rocks and grenades. And he could hear the Greek trumpets. The sound of horse hooves entered his ears and a rider approached.

"My Kaiser!" the rider cried. "Count Englebert requests reinforcements! The Romans are attacking!"

Beside him, his council urged for him to send it. But he held up his hand.

"This could be a strategem that the Domestikos is employing," Otto urged them. He turned to Margrave Eckard. "Send a detachment, but nothing more."

The Margrave nodded and barked his orders. Otto's fist tightened. He was not going to fall for another trap, if this was one. A detachment would be enough reinforcements to dissuade further attacks, but nothing more. 

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The Strategoi watched from their horses, not even wincing as the Frankish reinforcements crashed onto Komnenos's troops. Steel rang, and men screamed as they fought. Ahead of them, Greek Fire had utterly consumed the first strong point, thick plumes of smoke rising like pillars to kiss the sky. 

"Only a detachment," Gregory commented as they watched the Franks and Anatolians brawl. 

"They are growing wiser," John grunted. 

​Constantine did not listen however. His mind was on other things. "I do not think we will find ourselves victorious on this day," Constantine commented. "The Franks are fresh, motivated. They will face no issues of supplies as their backlines are closer now." 

"Do you intend to send men to harass their rear lines then?" Gregory asked. 

To his surprise, Constantine shook his head. "No, I think we should be bold. If we cannot find victory, then we will make it." 

This battle had reminded him of something back in his old life. The Battle of Nancy, wherein Charles of Burgundy prepared strong defensive positions southwards to a Swiss Army. The Swiss however went another way, surprising him. This also happened in Kleidon as well. Facing strong Bulgarian defenses, Basil had ordered Xiphias, funnily enough, to lead cavalry that circled around the Bulgarians and charged them from the rear. 

​"Stjepan, did you see paths towards the other strongpoints?" Constantine asked quickly. 

The Croat nodded. "Yes, Domestikos. But it will take some time to get there. Why?" 

"It is something for later," Constantine said as he drew his sword. "Taronites!" 

"Caesar?" 

"Take your men to the right. And give me your Varangians." 

The Armenian blinked. "How many?"

"Everyone."

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The sound of their trumpets carried on the wind, shrill and piercing, accompanied by the steady thud of boots and the clamor of marching men. Orders rang out across the Greek lines, and Otto saw them march out in force.

"They're throwing everything at us," Otto muttered, his voice low, tinged with both surprise and disbelief.

"Then let them come!" Eckard roared, his sword raised high. His defiance rallied the men around him, their shouts rising to meet his.

But Otto wasn't so sure. Something about this felt wrong. Romans rushing into battle in full force? Their entire army? It wasn't their style. It wasn't Constantine's style. Yet, there they were, marching to reinforce their earlier force. 

The Skoutatoi surged forward, their spears thrusting in disciplined unison. Otto's men met them with a roar, swords and axes hacking at the spear points, shields slamming into shields. The clash of steel on steel was deafening, the air filled with the screams of the wounded and dying. The trenches were chaotic, men fighting shoulder to shoulder, slipping on blood-slicked earth as they grappled and struck at one another. There Otto saw the utility of the new Roman axe-weapon, grappling and pulling down men from their horses. Then as if it was not bad enough...

Otto's eyes narrowed.

Constantine.

Caesar himself, his Chi-Rho banner fluttering behind him. He wasn't watching from the safety of the rear as Otto had expected. No, he was marching with the army, riding at the front. He was not alone however. Towering men with hard eyes and great heavy axes accompanied him, their helmets glinting in the sun. The Varangians.

Unease flowed through them but Otto would not let that, and the childish wonder in his heart, interfere with his duties. 

"Order half the men forward," Otto commanded, his voice steady and cold. "We'll crush them before they can fortify."

The order spread quickly, and the Frankish forces surged forward, their war cries echoing across the battlefield. Otto remained at the center, watching as his soldiers charged, swords and axes raised high. The Greeks, however, did not break.

Constantine's men dug in with disciplined precision, their shields forming an unyielding wall. The Varangians moved to the front, their axes swinging in brutal arcs that cleaved through shields and flesh alike. The Frankish charge crashed into them with a thunderous roar, and the battle descended into savage, close-quarters combat. Men screamed as they were cut down, their bodies trampled into the blood-soaked dirt. A Frankish knight swung his sword at a Varangian, only for the axe-wielding giant to catch the blow on his shield and respond with a devastating strike that split the knight's helm in two. Another Frankish soldier drove his spear into the belly of a Greek, only to be run through by another's sword moments later. The trench became a graveyard, filled with the dying and the dead, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat.

Otto's fists clenched around the hilt of his sword as he watched the battle unfold. His men were pushing hard, but the Greeks weren't breaking. But as Otto watched, he realized his mistake. In his caution, he had only sent half of the men necessary to fight them. They needed more. 

"Eckard!" Otto cried. "Reinforcements!" 

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HistoryMarche - 2 Hour Documentary - The Battle of Rome

​And thus, the battle began in earnest.

While suspicious of the sudden Roman advance, Otto could not resist and committed the bulk of his forces, determined to crush Constantine and the Roman army in one swift blow. The Frankish reinforcements surged forward in a thunderous charge. Otto himself rode at the center, his banner held high, confident that overwhelming pressure would shatter the Roman lines. 

The Roman army, though appearing fully committed, had been maneuvering carefully under Gregory Taronites and John Ammiropoulos, both of whom were instructed to oblique march to the right, intending to turn the Frankish flank and collapse their lines. However, such a manoeuvre required time and time was what Constantine needed to buy. And buy he would. 

The Frankish charge struck the Roman line like a hammer against stone. Under flaming pots of Greek Fire, and the burning Frankish strongpoint, it was like battling under stars. The Romans fought with discipline, but even that started to crack under the sheer weight of the Franks. Amidst the battle, Margrave Eckard, who had been leading the charge with Otto, found an opening towards Constantine. Seizing the moment, and displaying the finest equestrianship of the Germans, the Margrave rushed forth into the Roman lines, and vaulted his spear straight towards Constantine's chest, before he was cut down.

The spear struck, tasting blood and flesh. But it was not Constantine's. The Varangian, Miroslav, and Constantine's bodyguard, shielded Caesar. 

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Men died, and screamed. Steel sang, and blood dripped. 

Constantine stared, wide-eyed. 

Miroslav still sat upright on his horse, but only barely. 

"...Miroslav?" Constantine whispered. 

Blood poured down his side, running over his saddle leather in dark streams. His horse's flanks trembled under him, trying to stay steady as men crashed and hacked all around them. His massive frame sagged forward over the pommel of his saddle, nearly toppling, held upright only by a last flicker of strength. Constantine lunged and grabbed his forearm to steady him.

"Someone get him out!" he cried, voice breaking. 

They seized Miroslav's reins and began dragging him backward, his horse snorting and foaming, its flanks splattered with blood not its own. Miroslav's head drooped. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Caesar…the line…hold it…"

Then his chin touched his chest, and he was gone, unconscious or dying, Constantine could not tell. There was no time to check, however.

Because the Franks hit again. A monstrous impact, like a mountain sliding. Otto had committed everything; every knight, every squire, every desperate scrap of strength. Horses crashed into the Roman shields. Spears shattered. The Varangians were the very elite, and the skoutatoi and halberdiers had been with him since he was a boy-prince in Bulgaria. But they were only human, and in the face of power, humans could either break or hold. 

And they will hold. 

He glanced to his side, seeing the banner of Rome flying, and he seized it. Rushing into the struggling lines, the Chi-Rho blazing gold on purple, he screamed. 

"ἐν τούτῳ νίκα!!!!!!"

In hoc signe, vinces. 

By this sign, conquer. 

The men heard him, and then they saw it. 

[SPOILER="Constantine the Great"][/SPOILER]

The Chi-Rho. Perhaps it was familiarity that has made the symbol lose much of its power. But here, between total victory, or ruin, the men are reminded. It is Constantine at the Milvian Bridge, it is three centuries of emperors, and now it is here, in sight of the Eternal City, raised over their heads. It is glory and grandeur of thousands of years. Everything has lead to this moment. From the highest conquests to sinking lows, to a world long gone, and now, restored if only they fight a little longer. 

This is what Caesar asks of them. 

And the men of Rome will provide. 

They hold their weapons tighter, their eyes turn to steel, and hold.

And history...is reversed.

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HistoryMarche - 2 Hour Documentary - The Battle of Rome

This would be the last of the close calls for the day for enough time was bought. Drained of men to reinforce their center, the Frankish strongpoints on the flanks were left vulnerable. Gregory and John seized the moment, their forces moving with precision and speed. The Roman oblique order crashed into the the exposed sides of the Frankish defenses. Taronites however, feeling shame for being late to Italy and allowing Xiphias to shame the army, took his cavalry heavy force to bee-line straight towards the Frankish lines. Men screamed as they were ridden down, trampled beneath iron-shod hooves or gutted by Taronites and his bloodthirsty riders. The Roman cavalry showed no mercy, cutting a swath of destruction through the enemy ranks.

The Frankish line, already buckling under the coordinated assault, finally broke. Soldiers threw down their weapons and fled in all directions. At the center, Otto fought desperately to rally his men, attempting once more to direct them with his own personal banner. But it was futile. The tide had turned. Seeing the battle was lost, Otto turned his horse to flee, with his men. As he rode however, an injured Frankish soldier stumbled into his horse's path. The animal reared, throwing Otto from the saddle. he Kaiser crashed to the ground, his banner clattering from his grip. Before he could rise, Roman soldiers surrounded him, capturing him. 

He was imprisoned, though with far better conditions than the rest of his army. Among those captured was his Chancellor, as well as other members of the court, and his sister, Sophia, with whom Otto had bought into Italy with him. Constantine did not focus too much on the prisoners at the moment however for he took his troops and entered Rome triumphant, the Crescentii opening the gates after seeing the Frankish collapse. 

Finally, and after three hundred years since Emperor Constans, since the conquests of Belisarius...

The Eternal City...

Was...

RECLAIMED.

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[SPOILER="Ti Ipermaho"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:uMFFROx72EQ"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMFFROx72EQ[/URL][/SPOILER]

[SPOILER="Light of Rome"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:lfLOhgwdxlA"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfLOhgwdxlA[/URL]
[/SPOILER]

[SPOILER="Italia has been reclaimed"][/SPOILER]

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A/N: No other words need to be said. 

Roma, Aeterna. VICTRIX.