Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 12 (Historical Fiction SI)

+++

The thunder of hooves echoed in the air. The earth shook beneath the weight of hundreds of riders, all bearing down upon them. The villagers rushed for cover, fear gripping their hearts, as the village headsman rallied the men to arms. Helmets were donned, shields raised high, and spears pulled from weapon racks. In their minds, they knew they would die at the point of a Roman sword, but if their sacrifice meant their families could escape to safety, then it was a death worth meeting. They had all heard the stories. Tales of their Tsar making war against the Romans and their Emperor, of the fires he lit in their towns and villages. It was only reasonable to believe the Romans would now do the same in return.

The villagers gripped their weapons tighter, bracing for the charge. A wall of cataphracts armored from head to hoof, their contarion spears glinting in the sunlight, moved as one disciplined mass. Behind them, another wave of riders followed in tight formation, horse archers with bows strung and ready. Their banners fluttered in the breeze, golden double-headed eagles in a green field. The headsman crossed himself. Three fingers against his forehead, down to his chest, then to his right shoulder, as the Romans....rode past, ignoring the defensive line entirely. Behind them, the horse archers followed, their sharp eyes scanning the horizon but dismissing the villagers as if they were no threat at all.

A wave of confusion hit the villagers. Did the Romans not want vengeance upon them?

handful of riders broke away, galloping toward the village. The men raised their spears, preparing to fight, but the riders raised no weapons. Instead, one of them called out in accented Bulgarian, a voice that carried over the sound of pounding hooves. "By invitation of Princess Miroslava, we are here to rescue her from the clutches of the usurper Ivan Vladislav who lays siege to Ohrid!"

The villagers stood silent, stunned.

"By the grace of the Emperor, Basil Porphyrogénnētos, he calls upon loyal Bulgarians to come to the aid of his Daughter. Is there any among you who is true and leal?"

The villagers stared at the rider, their silence heavy with disbelief. The headsman stepped forward, his weathered face tight. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his spear, but his voice, though low, did not waver. "What loyalty do you ask of us, Roman? Our Tsar fought your Emperor to keep us free. We owe nothing to him."

"Perhaps not," replied the rider. "But you owe your loyalty to she the Emperor has deigned to adopt into his protection. She is alone now, her father and brother slain in the field by Caesar. Will you let her be? Will you let her suffer the deprivations of a faithless snake who marches now to take by force what he cannot by right?"

At this, a few of the men in the crowd shifted uneasily but some, they lowered their weapons.

The headsman hesitated. "And if we refuse you?"

The rider shrugged. "Then we will leave and continue on our way. But know this. If Ivan Vladislav prevails, he will not stop at Ohrid. He will come here, and degenerate you as well."

Finally, the old man lowered his spear. He stared at the rider, then at the column of cataphracts disappearing into the horizon. This gesture bid the others to stand down as well. "We do not have much men left but boys and old men. Our fighting men have gone and died for the Tsar."

The rider shifted. "Your brothers, sons, and husbands live yet. The Emperor is merciful, and those who were captured are prisoner. They may yet return home to you if you do the Princess and the Emperor service."

The crowd erupted into murmurs at the rider's words. Faces once hardened with suspicion and resentment now shifted to expressions of surprise and cautious hope. Mothers clutched their children tighter, their eyes wide as they exchanged glances with their neighbors. Some of the older men, who had long believed their sons lost to the wars, straightened slightly, their weathered faces betraying a flicker of longing.

The headsman narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp with skepticism. "You speak of mercy, Roman, but we have seen little of it. How do we know our kin still live? How do we know this is not just another lie to bend us to your will?"

The rider met the headsman's gaze, his voice steady and firm. "The Emperor has no need to deceive you. Your men were captured, not slaughtered, because the Emperor knows loss well enough. The city of Beroia has surrendered to him in the past year, and its dignity kept intact. Your kin live, Bulgarian. Rome keeps them, feeds them, and holds them until they may be ransomed or exchanged. Fight for us and you shall see them again, or so decrees the Emperor."

A younger man in the crowd, his face pale but his eyes wide with hope, stepped forward. "Then for my brother, I volunteer! Many years for the Christ-blessed Emperor!"

Then another, then another, all shouting and proclaiming their loyalty, taking up the acclamation with a force of three times.

"Many years for the Christ-blessed Emperor!"

"Many years for the Christ-blessed Emperor!"

"Many years for the Christ-blessed Emperor!"

As the clamor stopped, the rider yelled out. "Then go! Go north, to Ohrid, and let the Usurper suffer righteous Christian wrath!"

+++

One week. It had been one week since word came of his Uncles' and cousins' death. A week Ivan Vladislav capitalized on by taking what support there was and rushing to Ohrid. But the city barred its gates against him, and his infuriating cousin resisted him. And so, Ivan Vladislav besieged Ohrid, cutting it off from the outside world with his army of six thousand loyal Bulgarians. But there was only so much six thousand men could cover and a messenger had clearly slipped through the cracks with a message to the Emperor.

Words could not express how he loathed that bitch. Between her and him, it was he who had a stronger claim on the throne, for his father was the elder brother and Samuel was the youngest. But his uncle was ruthless snake that outpaced his father and was quick to the throne. Now, he was setting it to rights but that scheming traitorous whore was inviting their enemies to rescue her.

"My Tsar, we cannot hold here," advised Ivats, chief of his most loyal boyars. "The Romans will arrive in one day. We do not have the strength to oppose them. We must retreat to the mountains, and continue our struggle there."

A number of affirmations came around the tent. It was the most obvious military solution. Even if they could come out and meet them, he did not have much heavy cavalry and the garrison at Ohrid could attack from the back.

"If the Tsar retreats," came a smooth voice from among the officers. "I am not the only man who sees how this will end in mockery. The city is besieged, my lords, and to run away from the capital will be a theater of humiliation before the people! Would it not be better for the Tsar to meet the Romans in the field, and defeat them?"

A similar number of affirmations came to the support of Theodor, Kavkhan of Bulgaria. Among all the men in the tent, Ivan owed much to Theodor for as Kavkhan, he was the second most important official in the Empire. In fact, the man had left Ohrid to join him, calling all loyal sons of Bulgaria to march for its defense under the rightful Tsar.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that, my lord?" Ivats asked, brows furrowing. "We do not have the military strength to take on ten thousand Romans! If we suffer a defeat here, our power to resist shall be broken!"

Theodor gazed upon Ivats with disgust. "And you dare call yourself a Bulgarian. Do you doubt the strength of our fighting men? Do you doubt our spirit?"

The tent fell silent. Ivan's dark eyes scanned the room, lingering on each man in turn. He saw the doubt in Ivats' furrowed brows, the contempt in Theodor's sharp gaze, and the flickering uncertainty in the other boyars. Weakness. He hated it, especially now when their homeland was under threat of scum and traitors.

He could not afford weakness, not here, and not now!

"The Romans will come," Ivan said at last, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. "And they will expect us to run, like cowards scurrying into the hills. That is what they think of us: that we are weak, divided, unworthy of the lands we conquered."

He stood, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over the gathered lords. The light danced across his face, accentuating the hard lines and the cold fury in his eyes.

"But I am not my uncle, skulking in ambushes to strike from the shadows. I am Ivan Vladislav, rightful Tsar of Bulgaria, and I will not yield my throne to Romans or traitors." He turned to Ivats, fixing him with a piercing stare. "You say we cannot win. I say we cannot lose. The mountains will always be there, my friend, if we need them. But if we flee now, the people will lose faith, and the Empire will crumble. No. We meet the Romans in the field."

The tent erupted in murmurs: some in support, others in protest. Ivan silenced them with a raised hand, his voice cutting through the noise.

"While we have time, a stockade shall be erected to provide our men cover and take away the Romans cavalry strength. While their infantry attack, our cavalry led by Theodor will flank them from the sides." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "We will fight as Bulgarians fight: with strength and cunning. If the Romans think they can crush us, let them come and see what it costs to take this land."

Theodor nodded, a thin smile playing on his lips. "A bold plan, my Tsar. One worthy of your name."

Ivats, though still frowning, bowed his head. "As you command, my Tsar."

Satisfied, Ivan straightened. "Prepare the men. When the Romans come, they will not see our backs turned to flight, but our dignity and fury. They will see our faces, and know that we do not fear them! When they come, let them regret coming into sacred Bulgaria!"

Roars came from the lips of the men, pleased. As the officers dispersed to carry out their orders, Ivan lingered for a moment, staring at the tent flaps. He felt the weight of the moment pressing on his shoulders, but he welcomed it. This was his chance. His chance to prove his worth, to avenge his family, and to cement his place as Tsar. If victory required blood, he would spill it: Roman, Bulgarian, even his own.

He sat back on his throne, an exhale leaving his lips. Despite everything, this was a good opportunity for him. Usurper, Miroslava called him, but in time, the truth would prevail. He would be the grief-stricken kinsman rushing to avenge the deaths of his uncle and cousin while she would be the traitor that opened the gates at Bulgaria's most perilous moment.

But before that...he needed to be victorious.

Amidst his musings, he felt a presence next to him, and a soft gentle voice whispered.

"Will you tell me what weighs so heavily on you, or must I guess?"

He turned to meet his wife and Queen's dark eyes, Maria, standing and looking into him with a smile, a dark cloak wrapped around her slender body.

"Do you not tire of sneaking into my tent unannounced?" Ivan asked, his tone gruff, though a faint trace of amusement flickered in his eyes.

Maria raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Would you rather I announce myself like one of your boyars and wait to be summoned? I think not." She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, and settled herself on his lap, her arms draping around his shoulders. "Besides," she added, her voice soft but firm, "it is my tent as much as yours."

Ivan let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. But the mirth was fleeting, as was often the case with him. His wife was not one for pleasantries, and neither was he. They understood each other too well for that.

"You heard the council," he said, his gaze drifting toward the tent entrance. "They are divided. Some say retreat, others say fight. I have chosen to fight."

Maria studied his profile, her dark eyes sharp and unwavering. "As I knew you would."

"You think me predictable?" he asked, glancing at her, a faint challenge in his tone.

"No," she replied, a subtle smile curving her lips. "I think you are a man who knows what he wants and will let nothing stand in his way. It is why you are Tsar and why you will remain so."

Her unshakable confidence in him settled over Ivan like a steadying hand. He rarely sought validation, but her words filled him with a quiet, resolute strength.

"It is not so simple," he said after a pause, his voice lower now. "The Romans outnumber us. The garrison in Ohrid could attack from behind. If we fail, it will not just be my defeat, it will be the end of Bulgaria as we know it."

Maria's expression hardened, her gaze as sharp as a blade. "Only if you lose," she said, her tone commanding. "And that, my Tsar, I forbid you to do."

She slid gracefully off his lap and straightened to her full height, her presence as commanding as his own. "You are not your uncle, Ivan. You do not hide in shadows, nor do you stab in the dark. You seize what is yours with strength and cunning. That is why men follow you. That is why I follow you."

"And if the Romans crush us?" he asked quietly, his voice heavy.

"Then you will die as a Tsar," she said simply, her tone unyielding. "A man who fought for his throne, for his people, for his name. And I will die at your side."

Her words struck him deeply, stirring a mixture of pride, determination, and a rare flicker of tenderness. He reached out, his hand brushing her cheek before resting on her shoulder.

"You are a credit to all wives, Maria," he said, his voice softening. She smiled faintly, but it faded as his expression grew cold, resolute.

"But hear me," he continued, his tone turning firm, almost commanding. "As much as you forbid me to lose, I forbid you to die. I will not let our children live without their mother, nor deprive our people of their queen. Should I fall, my lady, you will not fall with me. You will live for them. For our future. Do you understand me?"

Maria's lips parted as if to protest, but his gaze silenced her. She saw the iron in his expression, the love buried beneath the weight of his command. Slowly, she nodded, though her own resolve did not waver.

"I understand," she said softly, her voice steady. "But do not make me live in a world without you, Ivan."

For a moment, the harsh realities of war melted away, leaving only the two of them standing together beneath the weight of their shared burden. Ivan reached for her hand, his calloused fingers closing around hers.

"Then let us ensure it does not come to that," he said, his voice low but resolute.

+++

Basil II - The Emperor who restored the power of Rome (ALL PARTS) 2 hour documentary - History Marche

The Battle of Ohrid began in the waning days of 996. Tsar Ivan Vladislav assembled his forces before the walls of Ohrid, where the city's population climbed to the battlements to watch the unfolding confrontation. The Tsar positioned his infantry behind a hastily erected barricade and stood among them, ready to fight at the front. The Kavkhan, Theodor, was stationed with the cavalry at the rear. This was done both to keep them out of Roman sight and to respond in case the garrison of Ohrid attempted a sortie.

The Roman army, under the command of Gregory Taronites, Domestikos of the West, formed its lines for battle. Taronites placed his infantry, led by the experienced Damian Dalassenos, at the forefront to strike the first blow. The Romans launched their attack with precision. Infantry columns advanced, with Damian Dalassenos personally leading the charge against the fortified Bulgarian front. The clash was fierce. Spurred on by the presence of their Tsar and their determination to defend their homeland, the Bulgarian soldiers fought like lions. Despite heavy casualties, they held their ground, matching Dalassenos' seasoned troops blow for blow.

After sustaining considerable losses, Dalassenos was forced to order a retreat. Seeing the Roman forces turning back, Tsar Ivan seized the opportunity. He ordered Theodor and his cavalry to pursue the retreating enemy. It was a sound strategy. Weighed down by the effort of traversing the hilly terrain and the toll of battle, the Roman infantry was vulnerable. The Kavkhan obeyed the order. His cavalry surged forward, their hooves thundering across the earth. Dust rose in their wake as they charged, light cavalry at the forefront and the rest close behind. The soldiers watching from afar saw a promising sight: the Romans in retreat and the Bulgarian cavalry closing in for the kill.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

The cavalry under Theodor turned sharply, shifting direction. Instead of striking at the retreating Romans, they charged directly into the rear of Tsar Ivan's infantry.

The betrayal was swift and devastating. The reason for this treachery was simple. Theodor inherited the position of Kavkhan when his brother Dometian had been captured by the Romans at the Battle of Thermopylae. Theodor, seeking to free his brother, concocted a scheme to deliver Bulgaria's most loyal boyars into Roman hands. He feigned allegiance to Ivan Vladislav, biding his time until the perfect moment to betray him. Now, with the battle joined and the Tsar's forces committed, Theodor revealed his true intentions.

The result was chaos. The Bulgarian infantry, already strained from holding off the Roman assault, was thrown into disarray as Theodor's cavalry tore into their lines. Among those killed in the confusion was Ivats, who had been at odds with Theodor since the beginning of the campaign. Damian Dalassenos, seeing the chaos in the Bulgarian ranks, acted quickly. He ordered his infantry to halt their retreat and rejoin the fight. The Romans, emboldened by the betrayal, surged forward to capitalize on the disintegration of the Bulgarian defense.

But Ivan Vladislav was not going to go down without a fight. Angered by the betrayal and seeing no paths of escape, the Bulgarian Tsar rallied the last of his homeland's most loyal sons and fought as Micheal Psellus notes, "Like men possessed by the devil. They continued the struggle, fighting until their lances were broken. Then they switched to swords, then knives, then to their bare hands. The Tsar was in the thick of it, roaring like a bear, and urging his men to give their all. Amidst the struggle, a stray arrow flew and struck the Tsar down. This only served to enrage the remaining Bulgarians who fought harder. Seeing that they would not surrender, Damian Dalassenos ordered them all killed to a man."

When the dust had settled, a great number of Bulgarians were dead but even more Romans fell to Bulgarian fury. Because of this, Ivan Vladislav is regarded with the same adoration of Gavril Radomir, his cousin, who many Bulgarian nationalists see as a true son of the fatherland, fighting to avenge his uncle and slain cousin. This sacrifice was notable but in the grand march of history, would not stop the Romans from declaring victory. And as the last of the Bulgarian banners fell, the garrison of Ohrid had no choice but to open its gates for the Romans.

Such was the start of the end for the Bulgarian Empire. For the Bulgarian people however, it would be a new beginning. For as the Romans would conquer them, they would also administer, and administer well. Some pockets of resistance would continue however, but they were isolated and brief. Any semblance of organized fighting died with Ivan Vladislav, and when his queen, Maria, surrendered alongside her children.

+++

A/N: Fucking lmao.

Here be notes:

Because the Romans did not wholesale slaughter the Bulgarians, the remaining ones are used as bargaining chips, to obvious benefit.

Theodor, the Kavkhan here, was a real person and did betray Ivan Vladislav. "Basil II soon understood that Ivan Vladislav's letter was a ruse and plotted a retaliatory action, bribing the kavkhan Theodore, who was in Byzantine captivity, to murder the Bulgarian ruler. Theodore in turn paid a trusted man in Ivan Vladislav's employ to commit the murder, but in the event the assassin actually killed Theodore himself."

However, his reasons for doing it would be different.

Ivan will be remembered as a hero instead of a snake traitor lmao. Because OTL, he legit murdered Gavril himself. And his wife, Maria, was the daughter of Tsar Boris. So, another Bulgarian Princess as well. I think we all know where this is going.