Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 35 (Historical Fiction SI)

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He stood before the statue.

It wasn't particularly large. Without its pedestal, it would have been no taller than him. Time had worn it down, the paint that once gave it life had long faded, leaving behind only the stark purity of marble. The nose was chipped, and the laurel crown, once proud, had been smoothed by centuries of wind and rain. Yet, despite the wear, the face still exuded dignity.

Otto had arrived in Tarracina with his army after a grueling night march. They took the opportunity to rest, knowing there was still time to recuperate before the Greeks came. He and his court had been offered lodgings in a fine house by one of the local magnates. It was a villa, the magnate claimed, that had been in his family since the time of Emperor Trajan. Otto doubted the boast, though the place carried the marks of a storied past: faded frescoes, a chapel awkwardly repurposed from a shrine to household gods, and most striking of all, the statue.

The statue had drawn Otto in. He found solace in its silent strength, its unwavering dignity. Standing before it, he let his thoughts wander.

What if things had been different? What if he had been born in Constantinople instead of Germany? He tried to imagine such a life, his mother never leaving the great city, marrying someone else, and raising him there. Or what if Constantine had been born a German instead of a Greek? Could the two of them, together, have restored the world to its former glory?

The thought clung to him, unwelcome.

Damn it. Here he was, daydreaming of what could never be instead of facing what was.

They were rivals now, Kaiser and Caesar. No matter what he did, Constantinople would never recognize his authority. That much had been made clear with their meddling in Pannonia. Stephen should have been king of all Pannonia, uniting the Magyars under his rule, but the Greeks had treacherously supported Koppány, a man whose claim was marred by incest.

The scandal of it had caused an uproar when news broke, but then again, they were Greeks. They did not think in terms of God or divine order. Their calculations were cold, pragmatic. Koppány was a convenient pawn in the North.

Otto clenched his jaw. He could not afford to dwell on might-have-beens. The Greeks would come soon, and he would meet them, not with idle fantasies, but with steel and strength.

"This is what you would have done, yes?" Otto asked the statue. 

There was no response, but Otto felt the statue radiated approval, as if the marble visage acknowledged his resolve.

Otto turned east, his gaze distant, imagining Constantinople. He was just like the statue now, holding the West while Constantine held the East. He was Augustus, and his foe was Marcus Antonius. And Augustus had bested Marcus Antonius, not with dreams, nor fleeting alliances, but with decisive action, unyielding will, and a vision too great to be denied.

His troops were rested, and their supply lines had stabilized. Yet the setback at the Garigliano still loomed over them. It had not been a crushing defeat, but it had shaken his men. They were wary now, their confidence tempered by the sting of Greek cunning. Otto knew Constantine would have more tricks waiting, and he could not afford to fall into another one. Still, there was an opportunity here. The absence of a bridge meant that if Otto chose, he could force Constantine into open battle. That prospect would surely rally his men, who were weary of Greek guile and eager to prove their mettle.

Then, an idea struck.

He turned from the statue and strode purposefully into the war room, where Eckard and His court were deep in debate over their next move.

"My lords," Otto announced, his voice firm, cutting through the discussion. "Do you remember the lake we passed earlier?"

Chancellor Heribert blinked, puzzled. "Lacus Fundanus? What of it?"

Margrave Eckard, slower to grasp the implication, furrowed his brow. But then his expression shifted, his eyes brightening with understanding. "Your Majesty," he said, leaning forward. "Are you considering a strategy like Lake Trasimene?"

Otto allowed himself a small smile, nodding. "Exactly. Could we pull it off?"

Heribert looked bewildered, glancing between them. "Forgive me, Margrave," he said, hesitant, "but I am not so well-versed. What happened at Lake Trasimene?"

Eckard turned to him. "It was battle between the Carthaginians and the Romans. Hannibal lured the Roman army into a narrow pass, with the Lake Trasimene on one side and hills on the other. When the Romans marched through, his forces descended from the heights and pinned them against the water. It was a slaughter, an entire Roman army destroyed before it could even form a proper line."

Heribert's brow furrowed, his voice skeptical. "But, Margrave, that was centuries ago, and against a Roman army unprepared for such treachery. Surely the Domestikos would not be so easily fooled?"

"Our earlier setback is an advantage now," Otto spoke up. "We have yielded from the field and the Domestikos might think that our confidence is shaken. He might think we would be too paranoid now, preferring to reacting than acting. We must dispel that notion." 

He marched up, pointing at the map. "We could use the terrain near the lake to our advantage. The hills there are steep and wooded, perfect for concealing troops. We could invite Caesar with an attractive target. Perhaps instruct the men to lay out a camp or retreat when we meet them again, lure them in." 

Eckard finished the thought with a murmur. "Then we surround him, and slaughter his army." 

There was a pause as the room absorbed his words. Otto could feel the weight of their hesitation, but he could also see the spark of possibility in Eckard's eyes. "If we coordinate it carefully, it could work. I'll need our best scouts to map the area and find the perfect positions. We'll have to move quickly to conceal our intentions."  

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HistoryMarche - Makedonian Renaissance - 2-Hour Documentary

Having suffered a setback on the river Garigliano, Kaiser Otto pulled back to the town of Tarracina to rest and recuperate. On the other, the Domestikos prepared to march. His army, having been reinforced by the arrival of the Catapan of Italy, John Ammiropoulos. Bolstered with the arrival of fresh troops and feeling confident on the German retreat, Caesar ordered the army to advance, sending messages south to Xiphias to hurry with Gregory as soon as he arrived. Normally patient, Constantine had to keep up the pressure on Otto to ensure that the Kaiser would be on the backfoot lest Otto realize that his army was larger than the Romans. And thus, Constantine chased after Otto. 

In the afternoon, labourers and peasants living within the environs of Lake Fondi woke up to the marching boots of the Western Army. Brimming with confidence, Constantine keeps the march at a steady pace. The day is bright, clear, and hot. They have been marching for most of the day and the men are tired. Thus, Constantine orders a halt for the men to rest and recover. As he does so, he orders Damian Dalassenos to take his contigent of men to scout ahead. 

Dalassenos does as ordered, taking with him lighter cavalry troops to scout. There, he stumbles upon Margrave Eckard and his scouts. Dalassenos, ever the hot-head, takes his cavalry and charges. Eckard is surrounded, but he fights bravely. To the utter amazement of the Romans, Eckard, as Dalassenos describes, "He (Margrave Eckard) severed the arm of one assailant, and when another aimed a blow at his head, he coolly leaned back in the saddle to lie against his horse's rump, so the mace missed him utterly. Later lance-thrusts against him from the left did not unseat him because he was propped up by countervailing lance-thrusts from the right. Then, he directed his horse to leap upon a rock, and looked as if he was riding a Pegasus, then escaped." 

Eckard then takes whatever scouts survive, and flees. Dalassenos orders his cavalry to pursue them. The Germans, seeing Eckard retreating, believe that the Roman Army has arrived and rush out. Lead by Chancellor Heribert, they charge. Damian Dalassenos is caught in the backfoot, and is now the one surrounded on all sides. 

​The charge does not go unnoticed. From his camp, Constantine sees the German Army charge out in the distance and quickly recognizes that Otto had prepared an ambush. He does not hesitate, and quickly orders for all his available cavalry to mount up to rescue Dalassenos. 

Dalassenos meanwhile is fighting for his life. He has lost most of his men, having been lighter cavalry, and he himself has suffered multiple blows. But as the Germans close in, horns are heard in the distance. The future Catapan of Italy, Manuel Komnenos, leads them and they crash into the Germans from the rear. The Germans caught in the Cataphract charge are slaughtered. Otto, having sent only his knights forward, watches the battle from the hills. His foot-men are ready to reinforce the cavalry. But as he prepares for them to join in, they notice that the Roman infantry are rushing in from the South. He has two choices, attack the Roman cavalry busy in the melee or he could turn to the infantry, and destroy the bulk of Constantine's forces. 

He decides on the infantry, and he orders his footmen to charge. 

German infantry rush out of their positions, eager to take revenge. 

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The earth shakes beneath their boots as the German infantry surged forward, their war cries tearing through the air like a storm. The sun beats down on their backs, the glint of steel dazzling their eyes as the Greeks came into view. Fire burned in Han's lungs and legs, his heart pounds, adrenaline pouring through him. The sun dawns above them as if heralding their victory. He clutches his spear close as the distance starts to lessen. He sees the eyes of the Greeks, the whites behind their eyes. They stand in close formation, others hiding behind their shields but others holding aloft strange, long spears unlike anything he had seen before. 

He can hear the Greeks, their officers preparing them. "Σταθερά χέρια!"

"Χειροσίφωνες!"

From behind the wall of spears and shields, strange figures emerged, clad in glinting, scaled armor that shimmered like the hide of some mythical beast. Their helmets gleamed, their faces obscured and in their arms long, bronze siphons, capped with snarling dragon heads that seemed alive.

They were a heartbeat away. Hans hears them cry. "Κάψτε τα!"

And in a world Hans had thought he understood, where war was fought with steel and sweat, dragons roared.

[SPOILER="Cheirosiphons "][/SPOILER]

A jet of flame burst forth, leaping and writhing like a living thing. Hans was the first to be caught by it. The fire struck him before he could even think to raise his shield. It clung to him, a ravenous force that refused to be smothered. He stumbled, the searing heat consuming him as he fell to the earth. Around him, his comrades burned: screaming, writhing, tearing at their own flesh in futile attempts to extinguish the unrelenting blaze. Their lungs, which had carried them this far, now betrayed them, feeding oxygen to the inferno that devoured them from the inside out.

Hans' body betrays him, his brain flooding his system with life-saving chemicals that only prolongs his agony. His mind refuses to accept the horror of it, clinging to the desperate hope that he could still survive. His lips parted, wet with something warm and metallic. Blood, or perhaps the rendered fat of his own charred flesh. He couldn't tell anymore. His limbs moved without him, reflexive, spasming in futile resistance. His knees buckles, and he freezes.

He screams desperately but there is no help to be found. Not here. Greek Fire is merciless. The world around him blurs, the edges of his vision narrowing as his senses begin to fail. 

The last thing Hans sees, before merciful darkness claimed him, were Greeks, staring dispassionately, their eyes shadowed underneath their helms, the Chi-Rho banner fluttering in the wind, the holy symbol glaring down at him, judging him. He begs God for forgiveness as his spirit surrenders.

And then, there was nothing.

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A/N: Fire chapter. 

Lmao.

And for those who didn't know, the Eastern Romans had handheld versions of their flamethrowers called Cheirosiphons. Yes, the Eastern Romans had flamethrowers. Though mostly used on ships, they did deploy them in their battles. 

https://youtube.com/shorts/qp7pwa58C5E?si=zcXuShA1JWcIthW-

And here is peeps testing it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnHCw2in9DU

Fucking wild. 

Oh and Eckard surviving is also how Emperor Alexios survived the Normans in Dyrrachium, word for word. 

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