Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 36 (Historical Fiction SI)

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Heavy breaths greeted Constantine.

When the cheirosiphōns were deployed, their flames engulfed the charging Germans. The inferno stopped them utterly in their tracks, and the fire consumed the grain field between Constantine's men and the enemy. It was an effective barrier, but Constantine hesitated to send his troops through a burning field. On the other side, Otto managed to steady his forces before they completely routed. Taking up his banner, Otto rallied his men, using it as a retreat point to reestablish control. With the momentum lost, he ordered a withdrawal back through the hills from which they had emerged. By Constantine's reckoning, the Germans were somewhere in the Apennines now.

Meanwhile, Otto's cavalry had been locked in a brutal melee with Constantine's cataphracts. The clash was violent, visceral, and unrelenting. Margrave Eckard pressed his attack, confident that Otto's infantry ambush had succeeded. However, the longer his horsemen fought, the more his men were beaten down by the heavily armored Roman cataphracts. The sheer weight of their armor and discipline began to tell, turning the brawl into a grinding struggle that favored the Romans.

"I am sorry, Caesar," Dalassenos rasped, his voice weak but steady. "I couldn't get the German."

His face was pale, his armor battered and discarded. Bandages, soaked in oils and alcohol, wrapped tightly around his injuries. When Eckard eventually retreated, Dalassenos and only a few of his men remained from his original scouting party, bruised all over.

Constantine shook his head. "No. What matters is that you still live."

Dalassenos gave a shallow laugh, gesturing weakly to his battered body. "Me? Live? Look at me. I've taken blows all over. I am old, Caesar. I am not as hearty as I once was."

"Don't be ridiculous," Constantine replied, though his eyes betrayed his concern. "You are the very image of health."

"Of course," Dalassenos muttered dryly. "Hale, hearty, and just perfect."

Constantine knelt beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Rest, Strategos. Rome is not finished with you yet."

Dalassenos was old. He was born in a time when the Empire was rising. From Nikephoros Phokas to John Tzimiskes, now under Basil and soon, Constantine. As far as he was concerned, the Empire was in good hands. To hear that he was still needed, that his presence was still required, warmed his heart. He reached out, his hand trembling, and placed it on Constantine's own. "I will try to hold through, Caesar. But if I cannot…my sons will be proud to serve the Polis." His voice grew softer. "Do not mourn for me if I shall die. Let no one mourn at all; for the death of one soldier is no great loss to the Republic." 

"Emperor Decius," Constantine recognized. 

"Yes," Dalassenos wheezed. "We are close. So close to the Eternal City. I might see it. I might not. But you will. Continue on, Caesar, and do not let it distract you."

Constantine nodded solemnly, gripping Dalassenos's shoulder one final time before rising.

"Take me to Anatolia," Dalassenos murmured, his voice barely audible. "So that I may rest with my father." With those words, he closed his eyes forever.

Constantine lingered for a moment, his expression heavy with grief. He offered Damian Dalassenos a silent prayer, then turned and stepped out of the tent, Miroslav trailing behind him.

The sun greeted him harshly, its light mingling with the acrid scents of oil, alcohol, charred wheat, and burnt flesh. Constantine moved through the rows of tents, visiting the wounded. He listened to the last words of dying men and gave quiet assurances to those who might yet heal. His presence brought some comfort, though he carried the weight of each loss.

When his rounds were complete, Constantine made his way to the command tent, where the other officers waited for him.

"Damian Dalassenos is dead," Constantine announced.

The news hung over the room. Prince Stjepan swallowed hard. His face was streaked with blood and grime, the marks of a soldier who had fought and survived the chaos. His Croatians had served as light infantry, darting through the battlefield to harass the Germans wherever they could. They had fought valiantly, but the strain of the day was evident on him.

John Ammiropoulos, the Fifth Catapan of Italy, grimaced. He was a middle-aged man whose face bore the lines of long years in a thankless role. As the Empire's westernmost commander, his post was vital to maintaining Rome's grip on Italy. Yet it was an exhausting position, fraught with rebellion, Frankish raids, Saracen pirates, and endless troubles. All of which he was expected to manage with whatever forces he could muster.

When Constantinople was stable and strong, the Catapan could breathe easier, knowing reinforcements might come in times of need. But when the Empire faltered, the Catapan faced these challenges alone.

"But his men?" Stjepan interjected. "Who will lead them now?"

Dalassenos's Anatolians were hardened warriors; stubborn, rough-tongued, and fiercely independent. Centuries of defending the Roman heartland from eastern incursions had forged them into a living bulwark. Many were mountain folk, fiercely loyal to men of strength and character like Damian Dalassenos. It wasn't just Anatolians in his ranks, either. Dalassenos had brought Bulgarians and Serbians into the fold, ensuring they fought side by side instead of against each other. His personal authority, his sheer force of will, had been the glue that held them together.

Constantine leaned back in thought, his mind turning over the possibilities. Finally, he turned to Miroslav.

"Summon Manuel," he said.

The tall Varangian nodded silently and left the tent. Constantine let out a slow breath, removing his helmet and collapsing into a chair. He reached for a cup, poured wine into it, and drank deeply. The liquid burned his throat, but he welcomed the brief reprieve it offered. He was setting the cup down when Miroslav returned, with Manuel following close behind.

Manuel entered the tent quickly. His posture was respectful, but his anxiety showed in the way his eyes darted around the room before settling on Constantine. Snapping a salute, he spoke.

"You summoned me, Caesar?"

Constantine wasted no time. "You know that Dalassenos is dead?"

A flash of guilt crossed Manuel's face. "I.. yes. We were too late."

"This is not a court," Constantine said firmly, cutting off any self-recrimination. "You were too far away to save him anyway. He only survived as long as he did out of sheer spite." His tone softened slightly. "No, Manuel, I've called you here to ask whether you would like to command his Anatolians."

Manuel's eyes widened in surprise. "Caesar?"

"You've been my tourmarches for two years now," Constantine began, his voice calm. "You are from Anatolia which will make it easier for his men to accept you. They know of your defense of Nikea so they know you aren't a slouch. The Bulgarians remember your time with me in their country and as for the Serbians, they're new to you, but they'll likely try to curry favor. They know you're close to me."

Manuel's expression shifted as he processed Constantine's reasoning. Surprise gave way to contemplation. 

​Ambition, such was a double-edged thing. It drove me to the very best to their ability, but usually it was for their own benefit. Constantine of course knew the glorious ages that the Komnenoi would bring in a future he was sure would never come anymore for things now had changed. Any self-respecting Roman noble would grasp at this chance. But it was also dangerous for it announced to the rest of the dynatoi that a new challenger had entered the scene. 

For as long as Constantine knew him, Manuel had been satisfied to serve as his cavalry commander. It was high enough that his boys were getting educated in the Queen of Cities and his family had a comfortable life. A competent man with no higher ambitions. The perfect subordinate and a unicorn among the slimy bastards that were Roman nobles. 

​"What do you say?" Constantine asked. 

"This is not a permanent assignment?" Manuel asked. 

Constantine quickly understood. "No, this is not. We are far too close to the Eternal City to pause our campaign and wait. You shall be their ad hoc commander until such time the Emperor sends a replacement." 

"Then I will do as you order, Caesar," Manuel said slowly after some deliberation, "though I would ask, I do not wish to..."

​Constantine hummed. "Go on." 

"I do not wish to gather the ire of the Strategoi's family," Manuel admitted. 

John laughed. "Oh, what a modest man!" 

Manuel flushed for a second but held his ground. Constantine smiled briefly before continuing. "Again, this is ad hoc until the Emperor sends a replacement. This is only sensible and responsible. Furthermore, your modesty gives you credit. You will be safe, Manuel. I give you my word." 

Feeling assured, Manuel stood a little straighter. "I accept then." 

"Welcome to the big boys club," Constantine smiled as he stood up. "Take a seat, then we shall begin discussing our next steps." 

Manuel nodded dizzily before glancing around, and sat on a available chair. John and Stjepan greeted him in their own ways, John with a small nod while Stjepan offered a smile. All turned to Constantine however as he cleared his throat. "The Germans have fled from the field and will likely be far. Rome is near, gentlemen. The road is clear. I would like to hear some things before we continue on."

He turned to John. "Catapan, what should we expect when we arrive?" 

"We are not resting?" Stjepan asked. 

"For a few hours," Constantine said. "But we must be prepared to move and get to Rome. We cannot allow interruptions like today to happen again. We must strike while the iron is hot."

John Ammiropoulos stood and nodded. "Well said, Caesar. The Germans have been bested twice on the field. The third time we shall face them, their confidence will be found lacking." He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing. "We shall face the Crescentii and the other families that rule Rome. The Crescentii are the most influential but the other families will attempt to jockey for favour." 

"They can try but the Emperor has made it clear that Crescentius shall hold Rome. We are not just here for the Pope but for him as well," Constantine mused. 

"Yes, but Crescentius is a snake that has now twice rebelled against Otto. I foresee that he too will attempt to rebel against us should the opportunity come," Ammiropoulos foresaw. 

Constantine knew of course that the Crescentii were snakes. But they were going after the Pope as well, John XVI. John was loyal as it could be but just because he was loyal did not mean that the next Pope would be. There was a de facto history of the Pope essentially running Rome but if it became institutional, it would officialise what had essentially been a temporary arrangement. He had his orders however. 

​But...

"Would Crescentius be missed should something happen to him?" Constantine asked suddenly. 

The officers exchanged uneasy glances. John Ammiropoulos stared at him, his face unreadable. "Caesar?"

Constantine shrugged lazily, though his tone carried weight. "There are many dangers in the world. Death comes unexpectedly. But on the off chance Crescentius were to meet such a fate, what do you think should be our next steps?"

The room fell silent. Stjepan coughed, drawing attention. "Well… this is just a thought," he began cautiously, "a mere comment from a foreign prince, an outsider. Something the Domestikos will likely ignore anyway."

"And he will ignore it," Constantine said knowingly, gesturing for him to continue.

Stjepan hesitated but pressed on. "Perhaps Rome ought to be controlled by the Urban Prefect." He paused, gauging their reactions. "The position administered the Eternal City, yes?"

"They do," Constantine confirmed, nodding thoughtfully. "The office continues in the Queen of Cities. It might be worth considering such a solution."

"Not Crescentius?" Ammiropoulos asked, his tone skeptical.

Constantine gave him a pointed look. "Catapan, would it not ease your mind to avoid the constant threat of rebellion?"

Ammiropoulos shook his head. "It certainly would."

Manuel, who had been silent until now, furrowed his brow. "I thought the Emperor intended to fold Rome into the Catapanate of Italy?"

The officers turned to Constantine, who confirmed with a nod. "And he does. But what we are debating now is to whom Rome should be directly administered by. Crescentius has sworn loyalty to the Emperor, but he is fickle and will resent answering to imperial authority. Once we arrive, we'll receive a warm welcome for a few days and after that, the nobility will begin conspiring to throw us out. They are loyal only to themselves."

Manuel's face twisted in incredulity. "What an ungrateful bastard."

"Time will wear down their independence," Constantine said evenly. "The Western Army will remain in Italy for the foreseeable future. But it is a valid concern that once we leave, the Romans of the city will forget themselves."

"We avoid accusations of conquest because Crescentius called for help in the first place," Ammiropoulos pointed out.

"True," Manuel said, nodding. "But if I were Crescentius, why would I rebel against my patron? Surely, provoking the Emperor means inviting the fury of the Germans once again. Without imperial protection, he and Rome would be defenseless."

"You're correct," Constantine agreed. "And that logic is sound. But Crescentius is fickle. What is to stop him from revolting the moment the Emperor's attention is elsewhere?"

"And rule Rome for a handful of years instead of a lifetime?" Manuel asked, clearly baffled by the thought.

John Ammiropoulos snorted. "Some people know better than to stick their hand in the fire. Others do it anyway and then have the audacity to blame you."

"That aside, we can continue this discussion after we have finished relieving the city," Constantine hummed. "The Via Appia is open, we must move forward. Tell Taronites and Xiphias to hurry. By tomorrow morning, Rome shall be ours again." 

​Rome was going to be a headache. The nobility was prideful, the Pope at the moment was the Emperor's creature, but future popes wouldn't. If anything, he would rather have them all blinded and raise a new nobility loyal to the Emperor. But then again, there was a certain opportunity here. The Roman nobility despised the Germans as much as they disliked the Emperor. The threat of the Germans would be a constantly looming sword that would keep them in line, particularly Crescentius. If he would pull out, Otto would come back with a vengeance. Future German Kaisers too would wish to return and restore the Papacy as it was, in exchange for a coronation no doubt. 

​Eh.

He would see after Rome was relieved.

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A/N: I would love to hear suggestions on what should be done with Rome. Basil intends to fold it into the Catapanate of Italy but Constantine and the Catapan know it's going to be a bitch to hold because the Roman nobility will hate it and will agitate in the future. Practically speaking, Constantine wishes to empower the Catapanate of Italy and have a permanent garrison that will march north to beat the shit out of anyone trying to rebel. With Serbia, Croatia, and southern Hungary acting as buffer states, Greece will have some time to prepare should any invasion come from the north. 

In the future however, things will be easier for Constantine as his investments in agriculture will mean there will be more people around meaning more soldiers for the army. But now, we are rather limited.