Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 31 (Historical Fiction SI)

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[SPOILER="Ottonian Army "]

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They came down from Rome in an ordered march, Otto rode ahead with his bishops and nobles. Heribert had the honour of carrying his standard, and his chancellor held it fiercely. The army was confident for they were heavy with cavalry. The sun glinted off conical helmets and the rims of heavy round shields. Mail shirts hung to their knees, with axes and swords at their hip. They were secondaries however to what truly made them deadly which were the long lances that rested against their shoulders, upright so that it made them look like horse-borne porcupines. Following after them were the infantry. Some were Germans, tall and blonde-haired. They wore mail as well, with long spears at the ready, and kite-shields offering additional protection. Others came from his Italian vassals, lightly armed but swifter. Archers too, strong bows made from German wood. And behind them, a long baggage train carrying the armies supplies. Heavy wagons pulled by oxen and a bevy of camp followers. Some were families of then men, their wives and children. But also merchants and tradesmen too. Cobblers, smiths, priests, and ladies belonging to the world's oldest profession, all vying their services. Some more sought out than the others.

The army marched slower than Otto would have liked. But it was within accepted delays for uprooting an entire army from a siege to an offensive posture took time. To watch over the city, Siegfried, the Bishop of Piacenza, would stay with a small force, alongside his sister with whom he had brought. He had enough troops that while not overwhelming but were enough to keep pressure on the city.

They passed by the Italian countryside, the sun casting golden light upon Italy's vineyards and valleys. They passed by awe-struck peasants looking upon Rome coming, and travellers from the south. Some were Norman pilgrims, a common sight for the south had many shrines. Others were merchants, their ilk becoming more frequent with the apparent stability in the east. All told the same story. The Domestikos threatened to march upon Benevento, and its Duke, Pandulf the II, had opened its gates. Laidulf of Capua had fortified his city, not letting anyone pass, and Guaimar of Salerno had called his forces, but made no attempts to march out of his territory. The Duke of Naples, Sergius, was also opening his gates to the Domestikos, and was rushing to join him with the Catapan of Italy, John Ammiropoulos. Margrave Eckard attempted to invite the Normans to join them going south. Some accepted it, but many would not budge, all citing the same reason, and that being the Emperor's armies were too strong.

"We should not be surprised that Pandulf has aligned himself with the Domestikos," Otto's chancellor muttered. "His lands are closest to Bari, and he hadn't the time to muster a proper defense."

"He ought to have fought," Eckard snorted. "At least to protect his honor."

"There is a difference between defiance and folly," Otto replied. "Pandulf was caught off guard. His decision was not dishonorable." He frowned. "What is dishonorable is Guaimar refusing to meet us. He is my vassal."

"He is likely afraid," Heribert suggested. "With Benevento under the Domestikos' influence and their army nearby, he fears his seat will be besieged."

"And Laidulf closes his city because he fears you, Your Imperial Majesty," Eckard laughed.

"Laidulf is a murderous kinslayer," Otto growled. "We must not tolerate such creatures."

Laidulf had murdered his brother, Landenulf II of Capua, to seize power. Landenulf had been Otto's ally, and Otto intended to punish Laidulf for his treachery once Rome was back under imperial control.

"Perhaps save such tolerance for the Greeks; snakes that they are," Eckard quipped.

Otto said nothing, but his silence was rebuke enough. He intended to marry into the Macedonian dynasty, and such talk was ill-fitting. To deflect, he turned to strategy. "Does His Imperial Majesty suggest we attack Capua? We could march there from Minturno."

Otto shook his head. "We must not deviate from our plans. Capua is too far from our current position. However, we could send riders to skirmish and harass Laidulf's lands to remind him of our reach. Also, send envoys to John III of Gaeta. He must support us, or at least close his ports to the Domestikos."

Gaeta, though nominally sworn to Constantinople, often shifted allegiances based on circumstance. Otto knew John III had little choice but to comply if he wanted to avoid a siege.

"Your will be done," Heribert replied, barking orders to a rider, who nodded and rode off.

"Are there any passes nearby the Domestikos might use to outmanoeuvre us?" Otto asked.

"He could attempt to cross the Liri River," Heribert replied after a moment's thought. "It's close enough that we could intercept him. Otherwise, he would have to retreat into Benevento and march north into Spoleto, or find a pass through the Apennines. The former would cost him time; the latter would delay him significantly."

"Then he will have no choice but to face us in battle," Otto said, his voice firm.

"It does appear so, Your Imperial Majesty," Heribert nodded.

And thus Rome marched. Otto's message towards Gaeta was well-received, and John III gave his assurances that the Emperor in Constantinople would not find a port in his city. They arrived at Minturno late in the afternoon and Otto wasted no time. Existing castles were fortified, with temporary outposts established. There were only so few bridges on the Garigliano that could be crossed, let alone by an army. If the Domestikos would come, his forces would be sighted. The promised raids against Capua were materializing as well with his faster knights. Capua come to learn there was a price with sin.

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HistoryMarche - Makedonian Renaissance - 2-Hour Documentary

The Battle of Rome could be categorized into two phases. The initial skirmishes south then finally, the Battle of Rome. In this part of the documentary, we will discuss the events that led to the Battle of Rome.

As Otto marched south with his army, the Domestikos was busy reminding the Lombard rulers of South Italy of where their allegiances truly lied. Benevento opened its gates, a literal Roman army heading for it and its Duke, Pandulf the II, could not organize his forces on time. With Benevento secured, Constantine marched south towards Salerno. There, the Catapan of Italy had met him and their forces linked up. Guaimar of Salerno had closed his gates, proclaiming neutrality in the face of the conflict. Not wanting to spend more time there, the Domestikos left behind a token forced to watch their rear, then marched up towards Naples. There, he was received by Sergius the III who swore his soldiers to the Domestikos' cause.

At the same time, Otto had arrived at Minturno and fortified the town, with outposts stretching across the Garigliano. He was not totally on the defensive however and sent forces south to Capua to raid it for its ruler, Laidulf, had allegedly murdered his brother for the position. With his side chosen for him, Laidulf sent desperate messages to the Domestikos for help. Cries of help that the Domestikos would answer.

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The fields burned.

They fanned out through the vineyard, tearing down stakes, setting fire to drying huts, scattering peasants who fled shrieking into the hills. A wagon creaked with the weight of stolen barrels, mules dragged by the reins.

Garland reined in atop a small rise and wiped his face with a mailed hand. "Burn it all!" he roared. "Capua must be reminded of the cost of its sin!"

His troops obeyed. He had to himself knights, but also footmen and skirmishers as well. They were swift, methodical. Such was the quality of men directly serving the Emperor. As they sowed terror, a faint tremor ran through the air. Garland looked eastward, hand rising to shade his eyes. Over the far vineyard walls came a line of riders, low in their saddles, the sun flashing on the bronze of their helmets and the recurved limbs of their bows.

Greeks.

"Greeks!" Garland growled. "Skirmishers, behind infantry, now!"

His troops tightened ranks, shields lifted, spears angled outward. "Miles, follow me!" Garland roared. His riders nodded, their assent and rushed just as arrows fell against shields, glancing off mail, thudding into horses. One Frankish destrier reared, screaming, a shaft jutting from its neck. The rider fell backward with a curse.

"Hold, you bastards!" His Sergeant roared from the semi-circle rapidly forming with the infantry. And they held as Garland cried out.

"Riders, with me!" he roared, spurring his mount forward. His cavalry surged, hooves tearing up the scorched earth as they thundered toward the nearest cluster of hippotoxotae. The Greeks wheeled back, their bows snapping shots at the charging knights. One arrow zipped past Garland's head, close enough to slice a line across his cheek. He ignored it, gripping his lance tighter as the distance closed.

But the distance did not close as the horse archers wheeled away, letting lose Parthian shots at the charging cavalry. They broke into smaller groups and scattered. Garland cursed as his men gave chase, their cohesion breaking apart in the pursuit. They were out of the vineyard now and on open ground, their horses needed rest from the exertion. Garland was about to call for a retreat but then a horn sounded off. A horn Garland was not familiar with.

Further away and held in reserve, another contingent of Greeks appeared. Their armor gleamed in the fading light, and their lances were long and deadly. They advanced at a steady trot, their formation tight, shields interlocked.

​He swallowed.

He could retreat. But the Greeks would be upon them. Or he could charge and fight, rely on their superior swordsmanship and lances.

He took a breath.

For the Emperor.

"Charge!" he roared. "CHAAARGE! FUR DIE KAISERRRRRR!"

The cry rolled through the burning vineyards like thunder, swallowed by the crackle of flame and the pounding of hooves. Garland spurred his destrier, the beast snorting steam as it tore forward, mud and grape pulp spraying beneath iron shoes. The cataphracts responded in kind, charging as well. The two lines thundered closer, and Garland saw his enemy, faceless behind their masks, but eyes white. His heart beat slowed, calm descened.

His lance lowered.

BOOM

The clash was deafening. The shock when they met was like a mountain splitting apart. Iron crashed on iron. Shields splintered. Horses screamed. Men flew from saddles. Garland's lance struck a cataphract square in the chest and his lamellar shattered, the man thrown from his horse. Garland roared then drew his sword in the same motion, slashing right, catching another across the neck where the plates joined. Blood sprayed hot against his face. The Franks pressed hard, snarling, heavier men on heavier horses. Individually, they were stronger, fiercer. A Frankish knight swung his longsword two-handed, cleaving through a cataphract's shoulder down to the rib. Another drove his spear clean through a horse's skull.

But the cataphracts were disciplined. They rotated ranks like clockwork, front line absorbing the impact, then wheeling aside as the second line surged through, lances stabbing into gaps left by fallen knights. The Franks started to unravel and found themselves hemmed in by an enemy that moved like a wall.

"Back! Regroup!" he roared, slashing down another spear that came for him. His voice was drowned by the roar of battle.

The cataphracts pressed in, shields locking again, lances thrusting in rhythm. Their coordination was terrifying. One knight's horse stumbled on a corpse, and before he could rise, three lances pierced him through his arm, through his belly, and through a bloody gurgling throat. The Franks duelled, but the cataphracts fought as one.

A Knight to Garland's left broke formation and rammed his lance beneath a cataphract's arm-pit seam. The impact threw both men from their saddles, rolling in the dirt, punching, stabbing with daggers. A boot stamped on a faceplate; the scream that followed was more animal than human. Behind him, a Frank's axe crashed down onto a Greek helmet, denting it in like tin. But before he could raise it again, another cataphract's spear burst through his back, jutting red through his chest.

Them, just as quickly as it happened, another horn sounded. To their utter stupefaction and disbelief, the cataphracts were retreating. Garland sat motionless in the saddle, chest heaving, blood roaring in his ears louder than the clash that had just ended. Why were they retreating? THEY WERE NOT DONE YET!

"OY!" a knight cried. "WHERE ARE YOU ALL GOING! COWARDS!"

​The knight's question was then quickly answered as multiple horses drew up in the distance. In the melee, the Franks had forgotten about the hippotoxotae who were now raising their bows.

"Shields!" Garland shouted, voice raw. "SHIELDS UP!"

The order barely escaped his throat before the sky turned black. They slammed into shields, bit into mail, sang off helms. Horses reared, screaming, impaled. One knight toppled backward with three shafts in his chest, his body drumming the dirt. Another raised his shield too late; an arrow caught him in the eye and he collapsed without a sound.

"Forward! Charge" he bellowed, dragging the rein, urging his men to move. "Close with them or we die here!"

"RAARR!" The knights obeyed, surging ahead, trying to close the gap, but the archers melted away, swift as smoke, wheeling back to loose another volley.

"CUNTS!" a knight cried out, an arrow sticking into his knee.

His cries were drowned out quickly as the same horn from earlier sounded off. Then came the thudding of earth. Garland raised his head, and saw the cataphracts advancing once more, shields interlocked, lances gleaming. They charged. Garland's knights charged as well. But they were too tired now, too exhausted.

They died.

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HistoryMarche - Makedonian Renaissance - 2-Hour Documentary

Skirmishes broke around in Capua, to varied effect. Individually, the Franks were superior cavalry men. But the Romans fought through combined arms, their horse archers drawing out the Franks far afield to be surrounded by cataphracts. It was a unsustainable thing however. For every one knight, he could take down two or three cataphracts with him before going down. As the knights battled, the Frankish infantry retreated to the nearby castle of Mondragone, a fortification established in the 8th or 9th Century. There, they barred the gates and prevented the Romans entry. What knights that did survive retreated across the Garigliano, bearing news of the infantry stuck behind to the Kaiser. The Roman vanguard however returned to Capua, welcomed with open arms by its ruler.

Otto however would not risk his defensive positions and held position. When morning came, the rest of the Roman army had caught up and surrounded Mondragone, besieging it. The Franks stubbornly kept the gates closed, even as Constantine promised them good treatment. Constantine however would not spend precious time and material there and directed Laidulf to surround the castle instead. With that, he packed up his forces and headed north.

And there, over a single bridge, met the army of Otto.

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Dew clung to every blade of grass, and the air smelled of damp earth and iron. The bridge ahead was ancient, its arches weathered but unbroken, spanning the narrowest bend of the river like the spine of some forgotten titan. Moss grew thick between the cracks, and where time had eroded the marble facings, the raw grey stone showed through. Normally busy with crossings of pilgrims and merchants, none of those crossed it now.

Otto sat atop his horse, his face stern, the very image of a strong Emperor. His knights fanned out behind him, the morning sun glinting off lances held upright like a forest of spears. Mail rustled, horses snorted steam, and hearts thumped as ahead, a rumbling of a titan.

On the other side, he saw it. The Chi-Rho, the double-headed eagle in purple. Then the army that carried those banners, their armor catching the light in muted flashes: rows upon rows of cataphracts, shields overlapping like scales, lances level. Infantry marched as well, men behind shields and curiously, polearms he had never seen before. They marched...then they stopped.

Silenced descended. The air went still, thick with the sound of running water. The cries of birds carried in the air.

Otto took a breath. "My council," he spoke. "With me."

And with that, he spurred forwards, his nobles riding forth.

Across from him, Constantine raised his head, and turned to his strategoi who nodded.

They strode forward.

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A/N: Next chapter, Otto and Constantine trade words.