Shadowhisker
Asylum Escapee
- Location
- The Mines of Mercury
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah, but it's not the absolute bustsed-ness that the silver mines were. It's not an in with the Chinese markets. Who knows how that'll impact the burgeoning world economy?
Purple Phoenix Reborn (Constantinople ISOT)
- Thread starter Skywalker_T-65
- Start date
- Timeline
- Location
- Pacific NW
All those years of 'free' silver ended up causing very destructive inflation not just for Spain and the Holy Roman Empire, but it got exported to pretty much all the European nations. It also caused Spain to ignore having any sort of economic growth in the home nation itself there was so much wealth sloshing in from abroad, there was no need to address the problems going on in the Spanish countryside and peasantry.
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Sounds like someone's bitter, eh?
Someone play a sad song for him… on the world's smallest violin.
View: https://youtu.be/rAlTOfl9F2w
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- Location
- The Old Dominion
Meanwhile I half supect the descendants of the governor that sent an army to arrest likely put out their own history about how it was regrettable is that Cortes was not arrested by the proper authorities to answer for his crimes while scholars supporting either side have academic back and forth throw down disputes over the centuries that is somehow more interesting than Cortes actual final years and demise.
nkd1325
KNIGHT OF ORANGE
- Location
- AT HIS MAJESTY'S SIDE
On the other hand, with the "anhilation" of Constantinople the Turks would have lost both significant economic power and gained a LOT of attention from all of Europe. Hell it'd probably get people like Saknderbeg, Vlad III, and the remaining minor greek states to fight 10x harder and possibly even invoke a renewed Crusade of Varna once Casimir IV takes the Polish throne
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- Location
- Pacific NW
And in the mountains of Bohemia for the most productive silver mine in Europe.
The Holy Roman Empire's problem was that they kept spending their silver like water to pay for the religious wars and the Thirty Years War.
The Holy Roman Empire's problem was that they kept spending their silver like water to pay for the religious wars and the Thirty Years War.
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Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
Actually without the influx of Spanish silver from the New World, Europe is going to have a lot more difficulty buying all those highly desirable Chinese luxury goods, like porcelain and tea, this is likely to have long-term diplomatic consequences, especially the tea: We all know what lengths the British will go to to secure a supply of tea.
Zap Rowsdower
Ex-cultist vagrant
- Location
- Bright lights, big city
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We know what lengths they were willing to go to when they were able to get enough for everybody to become addicted. With fewer luxury goods going to Europe, fewer people will develop the taste for it and so demand won't rise as much.
- Location
- The Old Dominion
Admittedly things not being readily available doesn't always stop from people going nuts over them though.
A good example of that would be the pineapple craze Europe went through for several centuries with the fruit often as not going for the equivalent of thousands of modern dollars each and those who could not buy them rented them or failing that had made art that depicted pineapples and of course we know of the great lengths Europeans went for things like pepper, Saffron, silk, and frankincense since ancient times.
A good example of that would be the pineapple craze Europe went through for several centuries with the fruit often as not going for the equivalent of thousands of modern dollars each and those who could not buy them rented them or failing that had made art that depicted pineapples and of course we know of the great lengths Europeans went for things like pepper, Saffron, silk, and frankincense since ancient times.
Aztez Fan
Self-Requested Ban
- Location
- California
Here's a relavent video adds a bit of a background before the story started. Also I was today years old when I learned that Constantine killed all the Turks and Muslims inside the city of Constantinople...okay then. Though there's conflicting reports on that one.
Keep in mind that by the time the Turks arrived there were only 50,000 people left inside. While it would take me a bit to check how many Turks and Muslims were killed before the city was besieged. That still something I was not expecting, but probably shouldn't surprise anyone.
View: https://youtu.be/GrHO6MTEOCY
Also decide to go down the topic of Byzantine slavery. And also learn that in many cases families would sell their children into slavery because they were so poor. Despite laws being placed in to prevent this those were ineffectual. And as far as I can tell slavery itself was never outright outlawed even at the tail end of the byzantines lifespan, overall a mess.
Keep in mind that by the time the Turks arrived there were only 50,000 people left inside. While it would take me a bit to check how many Turks and Muslims were killed before the city was besieged. That still something I was not expecting, but probably shouldn't surprise anyone.
View: https://youtu.be/GrHO6MTEOCY
Also decide to go down the topic of Byzantine slavery. And also learn that in many cases families would sell their children into slavery because they were so poor. Despite laws being placed in to prevent this those were ineffectual. And as far as I can tell slavery itself was never outright outlawed even at the tail end of the byzantines lifespan, overall a mess.
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Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
We rather substantially doubt he killed all the Turks and Muslims. If absolutely nothing else, Prince Orhan and his several hundred Turks are a very notable thing because Constantine had some ideas of using him to unseat Mehmed.
Overall the Byzantines at the point of their fall were definitely a neutral to good on the relative European moral meter at the time--where the Spanish and Ottomans were downright terrible, the Barbary pirates are terrible as well, and the rest of Europe ranges from bad to good.
As for the slavery thing, I do genuinely wonder how the Columbian exchange will affect the Greeks, especially the introduction of humanities worst stain, chattel slavery spearheaded by the Portuguese. We know that this became prevalent primarily due to the introduction of malaria on arriving ships, which necessitated workers that would survive where the natives and the europeans could not. But that makes me think of what the Byzantines would do in reaction to this, since they are a unique case where this continent is their home--not their land to make a quick buck. That being said they would be just as vulnerable to "tertian fever" as the rest of the Europeans, so I wonder how that will go. (Accounts suggest the bad malaria arrives around 1516 to the Spanish colonies). Another thing that is worth noting is that the West coast itself is not a good place for Malarial mosquitoes to live
Another thing I wonder is who will get their hands on Potosi, and whether that owner will be more responsible with it in this timeline. IRL Potosi was probably one of the largest wastes of wealth in history, as it was sunk into the ocean by pirates, exploited by the Chinese, taken by the many trappings of the boomtown itself, and then finally absolutely wasted in Europe financing dead weight wars. If a polity like this new Rome gets their hands on it (which would take an Inca expedition before Pizarro), they would of course concentrate the wealth onto the West* coast of the US, and would probably avoid most of the trappings that the Spanish fell for. As China literally needed that Silver as their source of currency (they relied on the Spanish to create their own coinage...), plenty of goods could freely flow across the pacific, with perhaps a Greek settlement on the Philippines (or Constantines), or on one of the many pirate islands across the Chinese coast (Alongside the Dutch?). That does make me wonder about the quality of Greek shipbuilding in the bay...
As for the slavery thing, I do genuinely wonder how the Columbian exchange will affect the Greeks, especially the introduction of humanities worst stain, chattel slavery spearheaded by the Portuguese. We know that this became prevalent primarily due to the introduction of malaria on arriving ships, which necessitated workers that would survive where the natives and the europeans could not. But that makes me think of what the Byzantines would do in reaction to this, since they are a unique case where this continent is their home--not their land to make a quick buck. That being said they would be just as vulnerable to "tertian fever" as the rest of the Europeans, so I wonder how that will go. (Accounts suggest the bad malaria arrives around 1516 to the Spanish colonies). Another thing that is worth noting is that the West coast itself is not a good place for Malarial mosquitoes to live
Another thing I wonder is who will get their hands on Potosi, and whether that owner will be more responsible with it in this timeline. IRL Potosi was probably one of the largest wastes of wealth in history, as it was sunk into the ocean by pirates, exploited by the Chinese, taken by the many trappings of the boomtown itself, and then finally absolutely wasted in Europe financing dead weight wars. If a polity like this new Rome gets their hands on it (which would take an Inca expedition before Pizarro), they would of course concentrate the wealth onto the West* coast of the US, and would probably avoid most of the trappings that the Spanish fell for. As China literally needed that Silver as their source of currency (they relied on the Spanish to create their own coinage...), plenty of goods could freely flow across the pacific, with perhaps a Greek settlement on the Philippines (or Constantines), or on one of the many pirate islands across the Chinese coast (Alongside the Dutch?). That does make me wonder about the quality of Greek shipbuilding in the bay...
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Indeed
Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
Much as we just posted in Destiny, apologies on the delay. In the interests of finding more money to be made (can't renew proper teaching license, so full time is out, need to have extra income to go with subbing) we hit upon writing novels of existing ideas. Destiny was one, this is the other. With the material already in place, you're looking at probably at least four books.
(Constantine's reign, Demetrios' adventures, Yiorgos' adventures, Cortes' misadventures)
Possibly more, if more detail is put in or such. Anyway, the point is, we put in the effort of writing potential prologues for both ideas. Will it go past that? Maybe. The idea is certainly tempting. It wouldn't terribly impact the progression of the timeline, since it is fundamentally the same story, but just in novel format. Well. Other than time constraints anyway.
21 April, 1453
Constantinople, Capital of the Roman Empire
Those were the words that Constantine, the eleventh of his name, sent to Mehmed, the second of his name. The gracious Sultan had offered governorship of the Morea in exchange for surrendering the city of his fathers, and Constantine had thrown it back. The message was a sharp rebuke to an upstart boy, convinced of his right to own a city that was not his own. Constantine would not surrender the City to anyone, let alone an impetuous child, high on his own supposed superiority.
Yet, as he walked among his people, he felt the weight of his choices upon his aged shoulders.
Whispers of fear warred with those of grim determination. Some spoke with fatalistic tones, resigned to their potential fates. Others with a desire to fight to the last breath to hold their beloved city. Still others spoke with hushed tones about perhaps hiding until the Turk left, one way or another. Or perhaps even of running from the onslaught.
Those last words prompted Constantine to raise a hand, as a member of his guard began to move with a dark purpose. He shook his head at the questioning glance he received, "Leave them be. I cannot blame anyone for their fear. It would be hypocritical of me in the extreme."
For Constantine felt the same fear every day, since Mehmed had taken up the siege. The gripping fear of the unknown. Constantinople's great walls had repelled many sieges, more than a few by the same foe currently at the gates. Yet, those sieges had been repelled by a far healthier Empire.
I have ten thousand men, most of whom would never be soldiers in any other situation. I can only garrison the outer wall, and even then, thinly. We rely on the Latins to come to our aid, and I do not know if I should expect such a thing.
"We should not fight among ourselves, when the situation is so dire." The Emperor continued, as his guard rejoined the group. He gave a small smile at the annoyed frown the man wore. "Cowardice in the face of overwhelming odds is far from a sin. Not now."
"...as you say, my Lord." The guard sighed heavily, but still kept pace with the Emperor. Even if he sent glances back at the cowed citizens.
Continuing through the City, Constantine frowned deeply at what he saw. So many open areas, given over to farms. The grand city within the walls had fallen into ruin. What should have been many hundreds of thousands, reduced to perhaps seventy-five thousands. Even that only by means of refugees fleeing the Turk.
"God's city has fallen so far…" the aged Emperor grimaced, his hand idly sweeping over the jeweled hilt of his sword. He fully intended to use that blade to defend what little remained, if he must. "Will my hubris be the doom of what remains, I wonder? Have I doomed my heritage, my namesake, to please myself and my own dreams?"
Ascending towards the central wall, Constantine knew that to be true. Much as he mocked Mehmed as a foolish child, the Emperor had acted as one himself, once. Morea had suffered for him and his brother's pride. Would Constantinople suffer the same?
"If I may, the Sultan chose this path for himself." The same guard spoke up, having noticed his Emperor's mood. It was an all too common mood, since the siege had begun.
Constantine let his hand drop and shook his head, "Perhaps it is. Perhaps I brought it on by refusing to submit to his wishes. Regardless, this is where we are now." As they crested the wall, Constantine gestured out at the massive army waiting on all sides. "No army like it has ever been seen. Certainly not one with such a unified purpose. And I have brought it upon our people."
The guard frowned, "Would he not have come anyway? The Turk blocked the strait, he subverted our people at every turn. You have told us, all of us, that he desires nothing less than the City herself."
"Yes, I have." Constantine found himself in a particularly somber mood, however, as his eyes drifted from the mighty army to the haggard and ill-equipped men fixing a rent in the wall. "Even so, I was the one who brought this upon us. I was the one who taunted the Sultan. It is ultimately my responsibility, as it always was."
Even now, he heard the roar of cannon. The Turk had brought many great guns, even now blasting against walls never intended to stand against them. Great Theodosius had erected grand walls that had held against all who dared stand against them. Yet he had never even dreamed of such weapons. The pitiful few the Romans could muster in return could not even be used for fear of shaking the walls apart.
The Emperor feared that, sooner than he hoped, something would break. Either the walls would be damaged beyond repair or the men would finally break from the labor expected of them. What was there to be done? What could there be done?
Constantine had asked himself that very question, every day, since the first barrage of cannon had shook the City.
Perhaps there is nothing more I can do, but pray and have faith in the Lord. Constantinople is God's city on Earth. The Second Rome will not fall so easily. I must believe in that. I must have faith that the Lord loves us as we love him.
And so, Constantine turned from the wall, and faced towards the imposing dome of the Hagia Sophia. The Emperor, dressed as a common soldier, removed his helmet and dropped to his knees. His guards stared at him, dumbfounded, as one found his voice and asked the question they were all thinking.
"My Lord, what are you doing?"
Constantine simply bowed his head and gestured to either side of his bowed form, "Join me in prayer, my friends. We pray for the salvation of our homes."
Realizing, now, what their Emperor intended…each and every one of his guards did just that. The soldiers manning the walls continued their duty, while the Emperor and his guard prayed for them. Smiles came upon tired and beaten faces, as the words of Constantine echoed in the sudden silence.
He prayed for his people. He prayed for his City. The Emperor beseeched the Lord to take pity upon them all and save them from certain doom. Constantinople was His city, not Constantine's, and he prayed that the Lord would save her. That he would deem the Romans worthy of one last miracle.
Constantine did not pray for himself. He prayed only for his people.
Lord, I ask you, in our time of need…save us from our certain doom.
There was nothing different about that night, it seemed. Until it was. The impacts of that night reverberate around the world to this day.
Mehmed stared at the empty land before him. His prize…gone. Stolen from him in his moment of triumph.
"I am sorry, my lord, I came as quick as I could!" A guard had prostrated himself in shame, as if he was personally responsible for the impossibility before them. "I do not know how this happened!"
The City that Mehmed had dreamed of for so long, that had consumed his every waking moment, ripped away and replaced by nothing but forests and strange animals. In the distance, a single tower stood mockingly among smaller structures. His hand, resting beside him, clenched and released. As if it longed to draw his sword. To swing into someone. To do anything at all to deny what he saw.
Impossible. Why? Why would Allah forsake me so? Is this a punishment? Have I not been–
Those who stood beside him swore to their dying breaths that they observed the light in his eyes die. The cunning and intelligence that had drawn so many to him, even as a child, vanished. In its place rose simmering embers. The spark of fire directed at himself, at the perfidious Romans, at everyone.
"My lord?" One of his retainers stepped forward, shoulders squared and prepared for the mercurial temper he dreaded.
Even prepared for it, a drop of sweat still rolled from the rim of his helmet, down to his chin. For as Mehmed's gaze turned to him, the embers grew ever stronger. "Galata remains. Correct?"
"Correct, my lord," the retainer was proud of his voice. It didn't shake at all, as he looked from his lord to the distant forest. The solitary tower. "The Genoans remain across the Bosphorus as they have been."
"Excellent. Rouse the army and march upon Galata. We will seize whatever wealth they possess and take the population as slaves."
More than one man turned to their Sultan with wide eyes. The darkness in his eyes met each of their gazes, daring a single one to speak up. None were brave enough. Or, perhaps, they were simply too loyal to dispute their lord in such a visible way? Regardless of the reason, they remained silent, and Mehmed returned to gazing upon his stolen prize.
His hand did clench on his sword, in that moment, though he did not draw the blade.
"I do not know why Allah has chosen to punish me so." His free hand rose, stopping a protest in its tracks. "Silence!"
The young Sultan did not turn his gaze from the forest and the distant Tower of Galata. His voice grew heavy with regret and a strain of deep pain and confusion, beneath it all.
"This is a punishment for myself and myself alone. It has been my dream to take the City and Allah has deemed that blasphemous. I cannot claim to understand why. Nor why he would punish me in such a visible way." Mehmed shook his head. A bitter smile alighted upon thin lips, clenched tightly over grinding teeth. "We must take Galata or the army will break apart. The Genoese cannot be allowed to speak of what truly took place here."
Turning to face his men, Mehmed's face was drawn tight, his lips pursed ever tighter. He strode up to them, staring at them not as a ruler, but as a man who had lost everything he had ever lived for. His dream was torn from him in such a dramatic way that he could hardly cope with it.
"The tale that will leave this day is that I burnt the City to the ground to punish the foolish Emperor and his pretensions to rule. I tore it down and scattered the ashes to the wind. It was my choice to destroy the Great City." His voice grew heavier and heavier with pain, with every word torn from his lips.
Another retainer, his voice quaking with each syllable, looked his lord in the eyes and asked a simple question. "Will that not bring the Christians upon us in Crusade, once more?"
Mehmed laughed. A short, bitter, sound that grated upon the ears of those who heard it.
"So be it! We will beat them back as we always have!" Angrily waving his hand behind him, he gestured at the strange forest. Spittle flew from Mehmed's lips, as he continued, "I will take the judgment of history upon myself. Allah has already judged me. He has decreed that I am not worthy of my Earthly prize. He has looked upon me and found my faith wanting." Looking down at the ground, his voice lowering and his shoulders slumping, he repeated his earlier words "So be it."
None were brave enough to speak up, in that moment, as their Sultan drew in steadying breaths. He was a young man, not given to fits of this nature, and it only proved further how despondent he truly was. No man could say anything about Mehmed without saying that he was the most pious man in the entire Empire. To so visibly lose the favor of Allah…no. They could not understand.
Who truly could understand how a man would feel when they so obviously lost the Lord's favor?
"I will take this upon myself," Mehmed repeated, with a deep sigh, as he looked up again. His face was set with determination much as it had been when he started this siege.
The light was still gone from his eyes.
"My line will not suffer for my actions. If I am remembered as the worst tyrant in history, I will accept this. So long as my children are able to remember me!" Holding his fist to the sky, Mehmed's voice rose with just a little of the power it was known for. "If my children's children wipe me from history, that is still less a punishment than I have already been dealt. As long as they still rule, I do not care! Let the Ruin of Constantinople be upon my head, and mine alone, so that my line will endure!"
He brought his fist down, as behind him, the mighty army he had gathered marched upon Galata.
So, Galata burned. The Genoese colonists and the Greek natives murdered or taken as slaves. The pitiful amount of gold and silver in comparison to the promised riches barely enough to sate the massive Ottoman army. Men in that army would spread the tale of how Constantinople vanished in the night, yet they would rarely be believed. It was impossible, was it not? No city could simply vanish.
Mehmed the Second would become known as Mehmed the Terrible. He would be known, outside his Empire, as the man who had burned the Second Rome so terribly even Carthage did not compare. It was as he said and desired. He, not his line nor his Empire, would be remembered as a madman who could not accept any dissent.
For a man who had offered leniency and who had previously been considered a fair and just ruler, it must have seemed a terrible punishment. He still bore it to his dying breath.
Yet, the question remained, whispered in dark corners and in every court in Europe. What of Constantinople?
Constantine awoke to the sound of panicked whispers, echoing through his palace. He had retired early the night before, fully intending to wake early and make another circuit through his City. It had become his daily ritual in the siege. To walk among his people and share in their suffering.
However, he could feel a subtle difference in the air. It was…calmer. The scents of smoke and fire were completely absent.
What is this? I do not hear the sound of the Turk's great cannon, either.
The Emperor roused himself, donning his armor on his own. His servants conspicuously absent as the whispers continued. Constantine frowned, unable to pick out more than snippets, as he girded his sword around his waist.
"...impossible…"
"...the army gone…"
"...fog as far as…"
"...empty land…"
None of it made any sense, prompting Constantine to let out a deep sigh. "What has happened as I slept? Has the world gone mad?"
A dark part of him whispered 'madder than it already was?' as he placed his helmet upon his head and swung the great doors open. The sound of wood slamming against marble proved to be quite enough to end the whispers. Courtiers and guards, soldiers and sailors, stood frozen as if a deer sighting a wolf. As one, they looked at Constantine. He stared back.
The faces that greeted him were pale, even beneath the dirt and grime of combat on those of the warriors. Something had occurred and it had driven men mad. Men who had stood on the walls against the Turk were terrified of something outside their control.
"Speak! What has happened while I slept?" Constantine called out, his aged voice still holding its air of authority.
A warrior, his helmet clutched under his arm, stepped forward. "Perhaps it is better to show you, my lord. You will not believe us if we told you, here in the palace."
With a deep frown decorating his face, Constantine nodded. His lips curled above his beard while his hand gestured towards the entrance of his palace, "Lead the way, then. Surely it cannot be that difficult to believe. We already stare our deaths and our dooms in the face every day, do we not?"
"Yes, my lord, but this is…" The warrior shook his head, his mouth clenching tightly shut, as he walked forward.
Constantine followed along, the rest of the pale faces joining him. He once more wondered what could possibly have happened to create such a reaction. He had certainly not felt anything in his sleep that would indicate a breach in the wall or something of that nature. Surely his guards would have awoken him, as well.
So why did they not? A traitorous part of his mind whispered in the dark. Why would my servants not have roused me for something of this apparent…
Even in his own thoughts, Constantine found himself cut off. Tired eyes widened in shock, the moment he stepped forth from the doors of his palace.
"This is what I spoke of," the warrior's words were lost upon the Emperor, as he stepped forward as if in a trance.
"This cannot be…" Constantine muttered, his eyes gazing upon an impossible sight. "Surely I must be dreaming. I have never seen something, never even heard of something, of this nature."
A courtier choked off a mad laugh, "With all respect, sire, if you are dreaming then we all share the same delusion."
Constantine couldn't even reprimand the man. His gaze took in the Hagia Sophia, wreathed in an impossible fog. The dome stood out of the dark mist, the rest of the grand church hidden from sight. As Constantine looked past the dome, he saw the fog stretching over the entirety of the City. From barely visible towers on the Theodosian Walls, to a port hidden completely from view, all the way to the very furthest reaches of the city.
Constantinople was wreathed in an unnatural fog. Yet, that fog could not hide what he saw, further in the distance.
Mountains. Mountains where there should be none. What…no. The Emperor returned to staring at the Sophia, a thought already forming in his intelligent mind. Where are we?
Perhaps that question mattered little, in the face of what had happened. For the old Emperor could decide on only one thing with pure certainty. In spite of himself, a smile formed above his beard. A hearty chuckle forming deep in his chest.
As confused gazes turned to him, the Emperor turned to his followers with the smile firmly in place. For as strange as the surroundings were, the Turk was gone. His cannons and his men no longer stood before the grand walls. Constantinople was free.
"The Lord has heard my prayers, and rescued our- his -City from the hands of the Turk!" Constantine cried out, raising his fist high to the sky. A little of his prideful youth returned to him, in the euphoria of the moment. "Praise the Lord, for he has chosen to save us from our dark fate!"
As confusion turned to wary cheers, Constantine turned back to look at the distant mountains. His mirth tinged with just a little trepidation he hid from those watching.
We are saved…yet where has the Lord seen fit to place us? I must speak with the Venetians and Giustiniani. We should explore this place. Our new home.
(Constantine's reign, Demetrios' adventures, Yiorgos' adventures, Cortes' misadventures)
Possibly more, if more detail is put in or such. Anyway, the point is, we put in the effort of writing potential prologues for both ideas. Will it go past that? Maybe. The idea is certainly tempting. It wouldn't terribly impact the progression of the timeline, since it is fundamentally the same story, but just in novel format. Well. Other than time constraints anyway.
Prologue
21 April, 1453
Constantinople, Capital of the Roman Empire
*
"To surrender the City to you is beyond my authority, or anyone else's who lives in it. For all of us, after taking the mutual decision, shall die out of free will without sparing our lives."Those were the words that Constantine, the eleventh of his name, sent to Mehmed, the second of his name. The gracious Sultan had offered governorship of the Morea in exchange for surrendering the city of his fathers, and Constantine had thrown it back. The message was a sharp rebuke to an upstart boy, convinced of his right to own a city that was not his own. Constantine would not surrender the City to anyone, let alone an impetuous child, high on his own supposed superiority.
Yet, as he walked among his people, he felt the weight of his choices upon his aged shoulders.
Whispers of fear warred with those of grim determination. Some spoke with fatalistic tones, resigned to their potential fates. Others with a desire to fight to the last breath to hold their beloved city. Still others spoke with hushed tones about perhaps hiding until the Turk left, one way or another. Or perhaps even of running from the onslaught.
Those last words prompted Constantine to raise a hand, as a member of his guard began to move with a dark purpose. He shook his head at the questioning glance he received, "Leave them be. I cannot blame anyone for their fear. It would be hypocritical of me in the extreme."
For Constantine felt the same fear every day, since Mehmed had taken up the siege. The gripping fear of the unknown. Constantinople's great walls had repelled many sieges, more than a few by the same foe currently at the gates. Yet, those sieges had been repelled by a far healthier Empire.
I have ten thousand men, most of whom would never be soldiers in any other situation. I can only garrison the outer wall, and even then, thinly. We rely on the Latins to come to our aid, and I do not know if I should expect such a thing.
"We should not fight among ourselves, when the situation is so dire." The Emperor continued, as his guard rejoined the group. He gave a small smile at the annoyed frown the man wore. "Cowardice in the face of overwhelming odds is far from a sin. Not now."
"...as you say, my Lord." The guard sighed heavily, but still kept pace with the Emperor. Even if he sent glances back at the cowed citizens.
Continuing through the City, Constantine frowned deeply at what he saw. So many open areas, given over to farms. The grand city within the walls had fallen into ruin. What should have been many hundreds of thousands, reduced to perhaps seventy-five thousands. Even that only by means of refugees fleeing the Turk.
"God's city has fallen so far…" the aged Emperor grimaced, his hand idly sweeping over the jeweled hilt of his sword. He fully intended to use that blade to defend what little remained, if he must. "Will my hubris be the doom of what remains, I wonder? Have I doomed my heritage, my namesake, to please myself and my own dreams?"
Ascending towards the central wall, Constantine knew that to be true. Much as he mocked Mehmed as a foolish child, the Emperor had acted as one himself, once. Morea had suffered for him and his brother's pride. Would Constantinople suffer the same?
"If I may, the Sultan chose this path for himself." The same guard spoke up, having noticed his Emperor's mood. It was an all too common mood, since the siege had begun.
Constantine let his hand drop and shook his head, "Perhaps it is. Perhaps I brought it on by refusing to submit to his wishes. Regardless, this is where we are now." As they crested the wall, Constantine gestured out at the massive army waiting on all sides. "No army like it has ever been seen. Certainly not one with such a unified purpose. And I have brought it upon our people."
The guard frowned, "Would he not have come anyway? The Turk blocked the strait, he subverted our people at every turn. You have told us, all of us, that he desires nothing less than the City herself."
"Yes, I have." Constantine found himself in a particularly somber mood, however, as his eyes drifted from the mighty army to the haggard and ill-equipped men fixing a rent in the wall. "Even so, I was the one who brought this upon us. I was the one who taunted the Sultan. It is ultimately my responsibility, as it always was."
Even now, he heard the roar of cannon. The Turk had brought many great guns, even now blasting against walls never intended to stand against them. Great Theodosius had erected grand walls that had held against all who dared stand against them. Yet he had never even dreamed of such weapons. The pitiful few the Romans could muster in return could not even be used for fear of shaking the walls apart.
The Emperor feared that, sooner than he hoped, something would break. Either the walls would be damaged beyond repair or the men would finally break from the labor expected of them. What was there to be done? What could there be done?
Constantine had asked himself that very question, every day, since the first barrage of cannon had shook the City.
Perhaps there is nothing more I can do, but pray and have faith in the Lord. Constantinople is God's city on Earth. The Second Rome will not fall so easily. I must believe in that. I must have faith that the Lord loves us as we love him.
And so, Constantine turned from the wall, and faced towards the imposing dome of the Hagia Sophia. The Emperor, dressed as a common soldier, removed his helmet and dropped to his knees. His guards stared at him, dumbfounded, as one found his voice and asked the question they were all thinking.
"My Lord, what are you doing?"
Constantine simply bowed his head and gestured to either side of his bowed form, "Join me in prayer, my friends. We pray for the salvation of our homes."
Realizing, now, what their Emperor intended…each and every one of his guards did just that. The soldiers manning the walls continued their duty, while the Emperor and his guard prayed for them. Smiles came upon tired and beaten faces, as the words of Constantine echoed in the sudden silence.
He prayed for his people. He prayed for his City. The Emperor beseeched the Lord to take pity upon them all and save them from certain doom. Constantinople was His city, not Constantine's, and he prayed that the Lord would save her. That he would deem the Romans worthy of one last miracle.
Constantine did not pray for himself. He prayed only for his people.
Lord, I ask you, in our time of need…save us from our certain doom.
*
The truth of what happened that April night is one we may never know for sure. As the siege continued into the hours of darkness, it must have seemed like nothing had changed. Steady progress continued. The Ottoman Sultan prepared ships to siege the water by force. Cannons fell silent, not willing to waste ammunition and powder.There was nothing different about that night, it seemed. Until it was. The impacts of that night reverberate around the world to this day.
*
This is…impossible. It can't be true. All of my life has been directed here. To have it torn away like this is…I cannot believe it. I refuse to believe it.Mehmed stared at the empty land before him. His prize…gone. Stolen from him in his moment of triumph.
"I am sorry, my lord, I came as quick as I could!" A guard had prostrated himself in shame, as if he was personally responsible for the impossibility before them. "I do not know how this happened!"
The City that Mehmed had dreamed of for so long, that had consumed his every waking moment, ripped away and replaced by nothing but forests and strange animals. In the distance, a single tower stood mockingly among smaller structures. His hand, resting beside him, clenched and released. As if it longed to draw his sword. To swing into someone. To do anything at all to deny what he saw.
Impossible. Why? Why would Allah forsake me so? Is this a punishment? Have I not been–
Those who stood beside him swore to their dying breaths that they observed the light in his eyes die. The cunning and intelligence that had drawn so many to him, even as a child, vanished. In its place rose simmering embers. The spark of fire directed at himself, at the perfidious Romans, at everyone.
"My lord?" One of his retainers stepped forward, shoulders squared and prepared for the mercurial temper he dreaded.
Even prepared for it, a drop of sweat still rolled from the rim of his helmet, down to his chin. For as Mehmed's gaze turned to him, the embers grew ever stronger. "Galata remains. Correct?"
"Correct, my lord," the retainer was proud of his voice. It didn't shake at all, as he looked from his lord to the distant forest. The solitary tower. "The Genoans remain across the Bosphorus as they have been."
"Excellent. Rouse the army and march upon Galata. We will seize whatever wealth they possess and take the population as slaves."
More than one man turned to their Sultan with wide eyes. The darkness in his eyes met each of their gazes, daring a single one to speak up. None were brave enough. Or, perhaps, they were simply too loyal to dispute their lord in such a visible way? Regardless of the reason, they remained silent, and Mehmed returned to gazing upon his stolen prize.
His hand did clench on his sword, in that moment, though he did not draw the blade.
"I do not know why Allah has chosen to punish me so." His free hand rose, stopping a protest in its tracks. "Silence!"
The young Sultan did not turn his gaze from the forest and the distant Tower of Galata. His voice grew heavy with regret and a strain of deep pain and confusion, beneath it all.
"This is a punishment for myself and myself alone. It has been my dream to take the City and Allah has deemed that blasphemous. I cannot claim to understand why. Nor why he would punish me in such a visible way." Mehmed shook his head. A bitter smile alighted upon thin lips, clenched tightly over grinding teeth. "We must take Galata or the army will break apart. The Genoese cannot be allowed to speak of what truly took place here."
Turning to face his men, Mehmed's face was drawn tight, his lips pursed ever tighter. He strode up to them, staring at them not as a ruler, but as a man who had lost everything he had ever lived for. His dream was torn from him in such a dramatic way that he could hardly cope with it.
"The tale that will leave this day is that I burnt the City to the ground to punish the foolish Emperor and his pretensions to rule. I tore it down and scattered the ashes to the wind. It was my choice to destroy the Great City." His voice grew heavier and heavier with pain, with every word torn from his lips.
Another retainer, his voice quaking with each syllable, looked his lord in the eyes and asked a simple question. "Will that not bring the Christians upon us in Crusade, once more?"
Mehmed laughed. A short, bitter, sound that grated upon the ears of those who heard it.
"So be it! We will beat them back as we always have!" Angrily waving his hand behind him, he gestured at the strange forest. Spittle flew from Mehmed's lips, as he continued, "I will take the judgment of history upon myself. Allah has already judged me. He has decreed that I am not worthy of my Earthly prize. He has looked upon me and found my faith wanting." Looking down at the ground, his voice lowering and his shoulders slumping, he repeated his earlier words "So be it."
None were brave enough to speak up, in that moment, as their Sultan drew in steadying breaths. He was a young man, not given to fits of this nature, and it only proved further how despondent he truly was. No man could say anything about Mehmed without saying that he was the most pious man in the entire Empire. To so visibly lose the favor of Allah…no. They could not understand.
Who truly could understand how a man would feel when they so obviously lost the Lord's favor?
"I will take this upon myself," Mehmed repeated, with a deep sigh, as he looked up again. His face was set with determination much as it had been when he started this siege.
The light was still gone from his eyes.
"My line will not suffer for my actions. If I am remembered as the worst tyrant in history, I will accept this. So long as my children are able to remember me!" Holding his fist to the sky, Mehmed's voice rose with just a little of the power it was known for. "If my children's children wipe me from history, that is still less a punishment than I have already been dealt. As long as they still rule, I do not care! Let the Ruin of Constantinople be upon my head, and mine alone, so that my line will endure!"
He brought his fist down, as behind him, the mighty army he had gathered marched upon Galata.
*
So, Galata burned. The Genoese colonists and the Greek natives murdered or taken as slaves. The pitiful amount of gold and silver in comparison to the promised riches barely enough to sate the massive Ottoman army. Men in that army would spread the tale of how Constantinople vanished in the night, yet they would rarely be believed. It was impossible, was it not? No city could simply vanish.
Mehmed the Second would become known as Mehmed the Terrible. He would be known, outside his Empire, as the man who had burned the Second Rome so terribly even Carthage did not compare. It was as he said and desired. He, not his line nor his Empire, would be remembered as a madman who could not accept any dissent.
For a man who had offered leniency and who had previously been considered a fair and just ruler, it must have seemed a terrible punishment. He still bore it to his dying breath.
Yet, the question remained, whispered in dark corners and in every court in Europe. What of Constantinople?
*
Constantine awoke to the sound of panicked whispers, echoing through his palace. He had retired early the night before, fully intending to wake early and make another circuit through his City. It had become his daily ritual in the siege. To walk among his people and share in their suffering.
However, he could feel a subtle difference in the air. It was…calmer. The scents of smoke and fire were completely absent.
What is this? I do not hear the sound of the Turk's great cannon, either.
The Emperor roused himself, donning his armor on his own. His servants conspicuously absent as the whispers continued. Constantine frowned, unable to pick out more than snippets, as he girded his sword around his waist.
"...impossible…"
"...the army gone…"
"...fog as far as…"
"...empty land…"
None of it made any sense, prompting Constantine to let out a deep sigh. "What has happened as I slept? Has the world gone mad?"
A dark part of him whispered 'madder than it already was?' as he placed his helmet upon his head and swung the great doors open. The sound of wood slamming against marble proved to be quite enough to end the whispers. Courtiers and guards, soldiers and sailors, stood frozen as if a deer sighting a wolf. As one, they looked at Constantine. He stared back.
The faces that greeted him were pale, even beneath the dirt and grime of combat on those of the warriors. Something had occurred and it had driven men mad. Men who had stood on the walls against the Turk were terrified of something outside their control.
"Speak! What has happened while I slept?" Constantine called out, his aged voice still holding its air of authority.
A warrior, his helmet clutched under his arm, stepped forward. "Perhaps it is better to show you, my lord. You will not believe us if we told you, here in the palace."
With a deep frown decorating his face, Constantine nodded. His lips curled above his beard while his hand gestured towards the entrance of his palace, "Lead the way, then. Surely it cannot be that difficult to believe. We already stare our deaths and our dooms in the face every day, do we not?"
"Yes, my lord, but this is…" The warrior shook his head, his mouth clenching tightly shut, as he walked forward.
Constantine followed along, the rest of the pale faces joining him. He once more wondered what could possibly have happened to create such a reaction. He had certainly not felt anything in his sleep that would indicate a breach in the wall or something of that nature. Surely his guards would have awoken him, as well.
So why did they not? A traitorous part of his mind whispered in the dark. Why would my servants not have roused me for something of this apparent…
Even in his own thoughts, Constantine found himself cut off. Tired eyes widened in shock, the moment he stepped forth from the doors of his palace.
"This is what I spoke of," the warrior's words were lost upon the Emperor, as he stepped forward as if in a trance.
"This cannot be…" Constantine muttered, his eyes gazing upon an impossible sight. "Surely I must be dreaming. I have never seen something, never even heard of something, of this nature."
A courtier choked off a mad laugh, "With all respect, sire, if you are dreaming then we all share the same delusion."
Constantine couldn't even reprimand the man. His gaze took in the Hagia Sophia, wreathed in an impossible fog. The dome stood out of the dark mist, the rest of the grand church hidden from sight. As Constantine looked past the dome, he saw the fog stretching over the entirety of the City. From barely visible towers on the Theodosian Walls, to a port hidden completely from view, all the way to the very furthest reaches of the city.
Constantinople was wreathed in an unnatural fog. Yet, that fog could not hide what he saw, further in the distance.
Mountains. Mountains where there should be none. What…no. The Emperor returned to staring at the Sophia, a thought already forming in his intelligent mind. Where are we?
Perhaps that question mattered little, in the face of what had happened. For the old Emperor could decide on only one thing with pure certainty. In spite of himself, a smile formed above his beard. A hearty chuckle forming deep in his chest.
As confused gazes turned to him, the Emperor turned to his followers with the smile firmly in place. For as strange as the surroundings were, the Turk was gone. His cannons and his men no longer stood before the grand walls. Constantinople was free.
"The Lord has heard my prayers, and rescued our- his -City from the hands of the Turk!" Constantine cried out, raising his fist high to the sky. A little of his prideful youth returned to him, in the euphoria of the moment. "Praise the Lord, for he has chosen to save us from our dark fate!"
As confusion turned to wary cheers, Constantine turned back to look at the distant mountains. His mirth tinged with just a little trepidation he hid from those watching.
We are saved…yet where has the Lord seen fit to place us? I must speak with the Venetians and Giustiniani. We should explore this place. Our new home.
Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
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Right. Apologies, was planning on getting an update together this weekend. Then these two things took up the time intended for that:
The youtube channel.
and
The patreon.
We've said we were never going to do the latter since we're...uncomfortable with paywalling stuff. But with the whole 'can't teach full time for who knows how long, if ever' we need to get some extra income somewhere. And swallowing our pride is much superior to working retail or what have you (though we'll likely still have to do that, unless the novels sell *really* well).
As for the next update in here, we're looking at working on that this week, alongside the novel. Current plan is to do another State of the Empire (with the Purpecha as well) post. Following that...well. Time to look at Europe. Fun.
The youtube channel.
and
The patreon.
We've said we were never going to do the latter since we're...uncomfortable with paywalling stuff. But with the whole 'can't teach full time for who knows how long, if ever' we need to get some extra income somewhere. And swallowing our pride is much superior to working retail or what have you (though we'll likely still have to do that, unless the novels sell *really* well).
As for the next update in here, we're looking at working on that this week, alongside the novel. Current plan is to do another State of the Empire (with the Purpecha as well) post. Following that...well. Time to look at Europe. Fun.
State of the Empire-1520
Skywalker_T-65
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Please consider supporting our work on patreon. It really does help now.
State of the Empire-1520
By the time Hernan Cortés had died in Tenochtitlan, the Roman Empire had expanded even further. An Empire that had been centered largely on Elysium Bay and some far flung outposts down the coast had become a much more unified state. While control, at the time, remained sharply limited to coastal regions? It was still a control that had begun to link the far-flung pieces together. With no enemies anywhere near the heartland, the post-Relocation baby boom continued apace.
The Roman population, from its lowest point in a ruined city, had blossomed out to unforeseen heights. It was still small, nowhere near the level it had once been, yet it reflected the feeling of the people. A safe home with bountiful resources and seemingly endless land to expand into? It would have been more of a surprise had the population not exploded!
As well, ties between the port at Alexiopolis and the greater Empire grew ever stronger. In spite of Emperor Heraklonas' desire to focus on home and otherwise let his brother do what he wanted, the ties were inexorable. Roman industry, hungry for raw materials, thrived on what the Purepecha could supply. And the natives, desiring as ever a leg-up on the Aztec, eagerly brought in Roman smiths and whatever they could provide.
This symbiotic relationship between the Twin Empires continues to impress us, even so many years later...
-The Roman Empire in The West, 2015, Constantinople
Roman Emperor Heraklonas is generally remembered as a poor Emperor. One who could never match up to the heights of his great-uncle, his father, and certainly not his younger brother. This is not an inaccurate judgment of the man. Heraklonas was a vindictive, jealous, man who always hated his brother. His shunning of Demetrios' wedding was just one in a long line of snubs that continued well after their father had died. His personality and actions did not live up to the lofty heights of his family and in the chronicles of that illustrious group, Heraklonas is viewed poorly.
Why was the Emperor like this?
Historians generally agree that it largely has to do with an inferiority complex. Where Demetrios was dashing, bold and handsome, his elder sibling was cold, distant and hook-nosed. Heraklonas hated the battlefield and preferred court intrigue. So while his sibling amassed glory in the South, the Emperor spent his time with the elite of Constantinople. He amassed power and prestige with those in power. He neglected spending time with the troops as Constantine and Demetrios had. In fact, he rarely left Blachernae and certainly never went on expeditions of exploration like Alexios had in his youth.
Did this make him a poor leader?
This is argued among historians to this day. Certainly, Heraklonas was a less inspiring man than his brother. He did not stand out to his people and his decrees generally made no waves. Yet it cannot be argued that his reign was one of stability and peace...if only because he left his brother to his own devices. The Empire under Heraklonas was an Empire focused internally, and if he was a poor leader, he was at least a decent administrator. There have been, and would be, worse Emperors than that. Even if it does paint him poorly in comparison to his family of the time.
As for the Empire itself, one cannot argue the facts on the ground. Under Heraklonas, it continued the late-Alexian policies of 'consolidate, expand in Elysium, leave exploration to minor levels'. This lead to relatively little spreading of the Empire to the North or the South, while the land already explored began to fill up with more permanent settlements. The territory between the 'core' lands in the Valley and the distant port of Dragases[1] was consolidated, for example. It was the largest the Empire had been in centuries, in terms of raw land controlled. And if most of it remained the coastal strip? It was still an important expansion.
The actual population of Romans on the ground, however, remained relatively bare. The baby boom had shown no signs of abating and more distant native tribes began to trickle in, drawn by tales of what the coastal groups had seen. None of these had proven to be substantially more advanced than the Ohlone. Perhaps they had never needed to be. Even so, practiced as they were, the Romans would fairly easily make contact with these various tribes. Some resisted integration more than others, but none for long. The slow and steady expansion of Heraklonas would continue apace, the baby boom and integration filling up land as fast as it was possible to be done.
It is clear, with hindsight, that Heraklonas was at least responsible for creating a strong foundation for the Empire. If he was a man who enjoyed political intrigue more than getting stuck in the trenches, at least he was good at what he did. It is likely the Empire would not have expanded as easily as it had, were it constantly pushing ever onwards without consolidating what it already held. That much is true. That being said, however.
If there is any one area where it can be said that this system failed, it was in the fact that Heraklonas would be caught completely unprepared when news arrived of the Spanish arrival in Mesoarcadia. A man so focused on slow and steady and on political games had no answer to such a paradigm shift. [2]
Worse yet, the Roman military had severely stagnated in his reign.
The military under Alexios had, of course, arguably not been ready to fight a true war. It was large, but most of the men were used in construction projects, not as proper soldiers. Building roads and villages or hacking down the imposing trees of the Valley were not conducive to sword training or battle tactics. Yet at least there had been men available to fight. They had training from men who had training from veterans of the siege, and it could be reasonably expected they would be up to the challenge of war. Certainly, the 500 of Demetrios had been ready for war. Those men had proven that the army of Alexios was still a potent force, given the chance. The army of Heraklonas?
It was substantially smaller. The men with anything resembling battlefield experience having died or retired. Many of Demetrios' men either stayed with him or retired out of disgust when they saw how little Heraklonas cared for his army. What men remained had poor funding and even poorer training, often times with little in the way of proper equipment, as well. Heraklonas pushed money and resources into his city building. And, as some voices whispered into the dark, into his own vanity projects in Constantinople. Certainly, Blachernae was far more opulent in his day than that of his father or granduncle. [3]
Regardless, the core issue remained. Heraklonas had gutted his military and was suddenly faced with a potential conflict against a power that could potentially rival Rome. What little he got out of his brother spoke of forces that could easily sweep aside what Rome had, were they able to reach the shores of Elysium. That was an incredibly unlikely circumstance, of course. The Purepecha, what remained of the Aztec, and Alexiopolis all stood in the way. Yet...logic was not strong in Heraklonas when faced with something so outside his expectations. He was a man who thrived on the expected. On what he knew.
In the critical moment, Heraklonas was paralyzed with indecision. He would not be the one who spoke on Rome's behalf with the Spanish, even were he willing to sail to Alexiopolis and march overland to Veracruz.
Where Heraklonas would play court intrigue, Demetrios was rarely in Tzintzuntzan. Where the Roman Empire peacefully expanded its borders and integrated curious natives, the Purepecha would war across Mesoarcadia, absorbing their neighbors by force. Why did this change so much from their previous interests? The simple answer is that, with the knowledge of the Romans to the North, it became imperative to expand and gather more resources for trade. Alexiopolis became a boomtown and a cultural melting pot, as people from across Mesoarcadia ventured there to trade with the Romans, and the Purepecha wanted to have a good chunk of this trade for themselves. After all, wealth equated to power, even in Mesoarcadia.
These constant conflicts served another purpose. They allowed the Purepecha to more firmly integrate Roman tactics and equipment into their own armies. While cloth armor predominated, Roman style bows and shields began to appear more and more. Bronze armor was not out of place, nor were iron swords. It is, perhaps, best described as an army that wouldn't have looked out of place in the old Imperial days. A mix of 'barbarian' and Roman.
That it was arguably more effective in its home terrain than a fully Roman army would have been was, of course, not lost on Demetrios.
He remained a focal point and very visible figure in his adoptive home, even so many years after he had arrived. While his brother-in-law took over rulership, it was Demetrios who was often the commander of the armies. He lead many of the campaigns that the Purepecha engaged in over the years. Where Yiorgos was an adoptive Lord of his people, though always something of an outsider, Demetrios was fully one of the Purepecha. He may not have looked like one of them, yet he had married high, and he adopted many of the cultural aspects of his new home...even if he remained a firm Christian.
On that subject, Christianity- of a distinctly syncretic flavor -continued to overtake the native faith. The continued successes of the Romans, in addition to Alexios decree that the Purepecha accept Roman priests in exchange for aid, made that an inevitability. It had not quite unseated the native faith, yet it was getting closer to that every day. If the flavor of Christianity was one that would be considered heretical in Constantinople, it was at least still Christianity. Human sacrifice, once as crucial to the Purepecha faith as that of the Aztec- if to a lesser absolute degree -had vanished entirely by this point.[4]
With this in mind, we come back to the big question of the time: the Spanish.
Where Heraklonas and the Empire in Elysium were somewhat isolated from the problem, the Purepecha were on the frontlines, as it were. Demetrios had received word from Yiorgos during the siege of Tenochtitlan. While the former Roman soldier was very much a lord of the Tlaxcala, he had never forgotten his Prince. And if Demetrios had forgotten him, he had not forgotten the need for allies. When he learned of the Spanish, it meant little in absolute terms to him. His lessons at his father's knee had been half-forgotten, and the idea of anyone in Europe being so far from the old homeland seemed impossible.
When it had properly set in that, no, the Spanish were there to stay? Demetrios moved from confusion to hard certainty. If he still found it hard to believe that the Spanish were in Mesoarcadia or that they could possibly support their colonies, he at least accepted the facts on the ground. Working with Irepani, Demetrios would throw the impressive resources of the Purepecha away from expanding to the north, and instead, to fortifying their border with the Aztec. Old border forts were brought up to par and more of the conquered native tribes were settled in the border lands, as was traditional for the Purepecha Empire. Through all of this, Demetrios and his brother-in-law would meet constantly.
They debated the pros-and-cons of marching on Tenochtitlan while it was weakened. Perhaps it would be possible to seize it? That would certainly secure the border of the Empire and give it much in the way of prestige and resources.
While those discussions were ongoing, the Empire mobilized its considerable resources. A state that was forming into a more modern, European, style was pushing everything it had towards preparing for another massive war. It is in stark contrast to the Roman Empire to the North, paralyzed by indecision at the highest level. Perhaps understanding his blood-brother enough to expect this result, Demetrios would do one further thing, before any decision could be made on Tenochtitlan. He would, personally, take his 500- by now a mix of Purepecha and Romans -and go to speak with the Spanish himself. It only made sense. He was the best for the job, being 'European' himself as well as Christian. They would be more likely to listen to him than to his native brothers.
Or so the logic went.
It would remain to be seen exactly how this would go. Certainly, it was a bold plan. The Purepecha were a unified state and a strong one, at that. Arguably more powerful than the Aztec. Yet a lot of that power came in Demetrios' own tactical ability, and him marching to meet the Spanish themselves was a major risk to take. Was it the only option they had? Perhaps. Certainly it was a strong one to take. He would prove lucky in that the Aztec were far too preoccupied with the roving Tlaxcala to bother trying to attack a force that was proven as superior to their own, especially as they rebuilt Tenochtitlan and fortified it for any future sieges.
And so, as Demetrios marched East, the Twin Empires continued alongside a path that grew only tighter together. Two brothers, so unlike one another that it was sometimes hard to believe they were related, leading their states to meet with Europe. It was a fateful time that would shape the future of Rome and Tzintzuntzan forever.
1. Dragases was, even then, rapidly becoming a port every bit as important as Alexiopolis and Constantinople itself. As a strong midpoint between the capital and the trade port, it only made sense to invest heavily in such a grand natural harbor. This investment would certainly pay off in the future, as Dragases became the Second City of the Empire. As well as a massive military base that would prove near impregnable to attack.
2. Heraklonas was, no matter how one views him, a very cautious and methodical man. He did not do well with surprises nor with quick and decisive actions. It was largely why the arrival of the Spanish caught him so off-guard. He had never, once, expected that contact with Europe would happen in his reign. And he was completely unprepared to deal with it, even as far from Rome as it was.
3. The Palace of Blachernae was still the seat of the Roman Emperors, even as Constantinople was restored around it. Where Constantine's rule was relatively sparse in decoration and where Alexios contented himself with restoring the building...Heraklonas decorated. The Palace was more opulent in his time than that of many of his predecessors. Certainly there was enough gold to go around, as the mountains were explored...yet it still remains. It is hard to deny he spent quite a lot of effort on his palace and not on his military.
4. The Purepecha proved surprisingly willing to end human sacrifice, in the face of the Romans defeating the Aztec at every turn. That the Roman faith promised so much without the need to sacrifice anyone was also a bonus. It is likely that the practice continued in some areas longer than others, but in the core of Tzintzuntzan, it was completely replaced by the 1520s, even if Christianity had yet to completely replace the old faith.
AN: Relatively shorter update this time, but it is fundamentally a side update. Hopefully still good? Either way, this one focused on getting some background on where the Twin Empires (as they're now considered) are, more than anything else. One can hope that came across well enough.
Anyway, the map is still a sign of how much we are not map makers. As for the Roman population...if it is still at roughly a 2% growth rate (reasonable) then it should be somewhere...just shy of 400k at this point? Maybe? Math is a weakpoint
Right. With that done, going to try and get a couple chapters of the novel done, then do Demetrios meeting the Spanish, which is a nice way to segue into how Europe is going.
Also, remember, Dragases is where San Diego would be.
K von Carstein
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Thanks for the update!
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An excellent update! The contrast between Rome and Purepecha -and, by extension, between Heraklonas and Demetrios- during this crucial period is fascinating.
Looking forward to the reaction of Cortes' successor to rhe Romans.
Looking forward to the reaction of Cortes' successor to rhe Romans.
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
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Especially from religious authorities. A material proof of God's love for the Orthodox Church will be difficult to swallow, or to present as a punishment.
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It is certainly, it is more far dramatic than the apparent miracle of Leo the Great turning back Atilla the Hun or the divine punishments that had been believed to have rained down on the Huns.
Still any impact on western Christianity think would likely be minor compared to the Ottoman empire as it is hard to top, leader so evil second Rome gets sent across the world away from him by God, the only thing that could make that worse for the Ottomans would have been if they had tried to take the original Rome only for that to also be transported away.
Still any impact on western Christianity think would likely be minor compared to the Ottoman empire as it is hard to top, leader so evil second Rome gets sent across the world away from him by God, the only thing that could make that worse for the Ottomans would have been if they had tried to take the original Rome only for that to also be transported away.
