Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 18 (Historical Fiction SI)

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The duties of the Eparch were simple, on paper. The direction of the lawcourts, provisioning of the city, and the conduct of trade and industry. A Good Eparch ensured that the courts functioned without interference, the grain stores were full and the hoi polloi could eat, and the guilds wouldn't scream and yell for if that happened, trade would collapse. Fulfil all three, then the Queen of Cities carries on without issue. Fail to do so then the Queen of Cities tears off her proud and dignified vestments to riot in the forum. John was entrusted this task for he knew how to balance all three. Thankfully, God and the time had been merciful to him since his ascension as Eparch. There had been scares but nothing he couldn't handle. 

The issue began slowly at first. A shipment of grain coming in from Moesia, the first fruits of conquest. There had been some grumbling from people for war always affected the economy. But the war had been done with so quick that they barely felt any pains. Now, not a few months in, the aforementioned shipments arrived, brought about by a perfumed eunuch who promised more, courtesy of the Porphyrogénnētos. Normally, anyone claiming credit in bringing food, the most important currency for the average man, was dangerous. But considering he hadn't heard the Emperor gouge out the Porphyrogénnētos's eyes, it was accepted with much fanfare. It was after all the finest grains that the city's traders had seen. The Baker's Guilds delighted in turning them into cakes. 

Then the shipments kept on coming. Not just wheat as well. Oats, ryes, all manners of corn. And soon enough, meats and other goods. 

Hence the reason why multiple shadows were glaring at him, their ceremonial robes tasteful in their eyes but garish to him. 

"If the shipments continue, Eparch, the prices of food will go down!" The representative of the Sitopōlai argued. "We insist, strongly, that measures be taken lest the economy collapse!" 

"Meat as well. The Guild of-"

"You want to talk about meat? That's nothing to the perfumes! This is-"

John resisted the urge to take in a breath, drowning out the angry shouts and yells sent his way. To think now of all time the fucking Collegia would decide to drop in as one. The Queen of Cities had guilds or collegia for the professions. Notaries, smiths of any type, grocers, fishers, there was even one for whoremongers and selling religious artifacts. Each one functionally vital for the city's heart. He held up a hand, silencing them. 

"I understand your concerns, honored representatives," John promised. "And I swear I shall look into this matter forthwith." 

There were some more promises, some more yelling, before John sent them all away. He collapsed, face first, onto his desk, before groaning. He did not understand why they were all coming in now not when everything had happened within regulations. He stood up, and made for the chest in the corner of his office. He leaned down and pulled out a hefty tome, planting it on his desk. The Book of The Eparch was the principal guide and regulations that concerned economic activity within the city. He checked it, again then again and found no wrong from a legal sense. The goods were sold to agents of the grocers and meat collegia. John then shook his head. No, they were not angry because of that. The Collegia would love to skirt around regulations, what good and self respecting merchant would pay his taxes and do his civic duty? 

No, no. They were angry because of who it came from. The collegia's fear wasn't about price drops, but about loss of logistical control. He had heard tell of the Porphyrogénnētos championing new methods that allowed for corn to grow more. If the rumors were true then the collegia's monopoly on the city's stomach was in mortal danger. The guilds' stranglehold on transport, storage, and distribution would crumble, their influence in the forums would wither, and every hungry citizen would look to him instead of them.

He sat back down on his chair, clicking his tongue. 

This was going to be a problem. 

One, the guilds were not going to take this lying down. They would fight this with an inch of their power. He could imagine petitions to the Emperor, bribes to the right chamberlains, blockades at the docks, even the subtle strangulation of supply to stir unrest in the streets. Two, the Porphyrogénnētos was not some minor merchant they could quietly ruin. No, Constantine the Younger was the next Emperor, if things went well or badly, depending on the view. And thirdly, if the average plebe knew that there was going to be economic troubles, they would become afraid. And plebes that were afraid meant riots in the city. And riots in the city meant them coming to him, blaming him for their woes. 

So, what to do? 

He could side with the guilds. Slow the Porphyrogénnētos's tide with a hundred petty obstructions: customs clerks "misplacing" manifests, dockmasters holding ships for "safety inspections," the full weight of the Book of the Eparch swung like a bludgeon on the smallest pretexts. The collegia would toast him for it, perhaps even whisper his name with respect in their smoky backrooms. But such loyalty came at the price of being marked by Constantine the Younger as an enemy, and an enemy of the heir was a man digging his own grave. And since the Emperor said nothing of Porphyrogénnētos acts, at least officially, then there was a chance that this done with his blessing, unofficially.

So, absolutely not. Fuck that. 

His second option, he could throw in with the Purple-Born, grease the channels so the grain came in unopposed, make himself the Porphyrogénnētos's loyal instrument. The goods would flow, the people would cheer, and for a season his name might be gilded with the favor of the future Emperor. Yet every dockside brawl, every sudden shortage, every "accidental" fire in the markets would bear the collegia's invisible fingerprints and they would grind his administration until the Queen of Cities itself howled for his head.

So no. 

Then there was the third option, playing both sides like a juggler. Promise the guilds that limits were coming, let them see him frowning over "measures" in his office, while quietly assuring the Porphyrogénnētos that his hands were clearing the path. It was the sort of game that could keep a man alive long enough to see which side emerged the victor. But one slip, one careless word, and both sides would have cause to unite in hatred. If he were anymore confident in his abilities at intrigue, he would do that. But John was not that sort of man, no, that was ambitious. And being ambitious in Constantinople was like a well put girl deciding to bend over in the Forum, legs open, and screaming business was open. 

He could try and speak to his compatriots about this. But that was frankly a suicidal option as it would put doubt on his own abilities and he knew for certain there were jackals out there that would try to usurp him. He had worked hard to become Eparch of Constantinople, damn it. And so, he thought of something. The Sakellarios. The Finance Minister. Technically, provisioning fell under John's remit. But if the flood of grain and goods was going to threaten the stability of prices, that was also a matter of imperial revenue, taxation, and market equilibrium, matters well within the Sakellarios's reach. All John had to do was frame it properly, dress the whole thing up as a matter of fiscal responsibility. A memorandum, neat and precise, sealed with the Eparch's authority, warning of "potential distortions to the urban marketplace" and "the necessity of aligning provisioning with imperial fiscal priorities." 

Let the Sakellarios take it from there. John would keep to his post, the diligent servant awaiting guidance from above, enforcing the law to the letter, smiling blandly at every complaint, and reminding all parties that he was "awaiting clarification from the imperial treasury." That way, when the dust settled, whoever emerged victorious could find no fault in him. Plus, he could blame the Sakellarios if something went wrong. 

It was not bold. It was not glorious. But it would keep him in his chair.

A smug, satisfied grin went to his lips.

John. You are a savant.

As he drafted the letter to be sent to the Sakellarios, he could not help but wonder. What did the Emperor's silence mean? Was it indifference, or consent?

Surely not indifference. The Emperor Basil was not a man who overlooked the flow of grain into his capital or tolerated discord in his city. If he had not stopped the Porphyrogénnētos, then it was because he wished him to continue. That meant the shipments were not merely tolerated but sanctioned, perhaps even encouraged, a quiet stage upon which Constantine the Younger could parade as the people's benefactor.

But the Emperor was a jealous man. He hoarded power to himself and hated competitors. Basil Lekapanos, the eunuch, and so many others were exiled, blinded, toss into the abyss, all under him. So why tolerate Constantine? Was it family indulgence? No, the Emperor had never been sentimental. Perhaps it was a test, letting the boy flaunt his generosity to see how the city and the guilds reacted, measuring his ability to weather their ire. Or perhaps it was bait, drawing the collegia into opposing the heir so their power could be broken in one clean stroke? 

The more he thought about it, the more uncertain he became. If his suspicion was correct, he was going to step on toes he did not want to step on. 

He took a breath. Then, John dipped the pen, letting the excess ink drip back into the well before setting it to the parchment.

"May it please the Basileus to be informed of matters concerning the provisioning of the capital. In recent months, the city has been blessed by regular shipments of wheat, rye, barley, and other grains, arriving from Moesia and other provinces, conveyed under the auspices of His Imperial Highness and Caesar, Constantine Porphyrogénnētos. These supplies have eased the burdens of the people, kept the price of bread steady, and filled the tables of rich and poor alike.

I note, however, that several of the city's guilds, while acknowledging the benefit to the populace, have expressed concern that continued abundance may lead to adjustments in market rates, and thus affect the established rhythms of trade and storage. Such concerns, though perhaps unfounded, are voiced openly enough to warrant humble mention to Your Majesty.

For my part, I remain vigilant in ensuring that all goods are received, inspected, and distributed in accordance with the laws set forth in the Book of the Eparch, and I stand ready to carry out whatever measures Your Majesty deems fitting in this matter."

He read it twice and was satisfied with how bland it was. By outside read, this was simply him giving a report to the Emperor as a responsible Eparch would do. He was giving Caesar praises while highlighting the Collegia's concerns. If the Emperor had something to say, he would reply back in certain terms. In such a case, then he would crack down on the shipments. If not..then he was not going to interfere in the plans of his patron and liege. He could only hope that if that was the case, he would be brought into Imperial protection from the collegia's wrath.

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A/N: A little short but a little tidbit into how Constantine is already affecting the world. Shoutout to the Book of Eparchs, one of the few direct sources we have of the Queen of Cities. 

JK is also an invention. Wikipedia has a list of Eparchs of the City, who were basically the second most important posts at Constantinople, but no further mention of who. So random Roman noble it is. His character is also to reflect someone that is likely to stay in Basil's administration. Competent enough to do basic functions but needing supervision when something bigger is happening. On one hand, it keeps an unimaginative line of subordinates. On the other hand, it keeps an unimaginative line of subordinates. Basil II was a micromanager though so its perfectly in line. 

Fuck, how I wish my direct sources survived. Secondary ones are fine but they lack the pizazz of direct ones, you know?