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Purple Phoenix Reborn (Constantinople ISOT)

Reader mode
Before we get back to Demetrios...we did a post for the Patreon. Covering the current plan for the Ottomans, though it is subject to change and all that fun stuff. It is an outline that will be built off of and all that. Probably going to make a series on the Patreon, actually, covering the various big and important areas in Europe in the leadup to the main post covering Europe. Gotta give people an actual reason to use it and all that :V

(there will also be, after this post, a little short snip to go with the Patreon post. That one covers the full history (more or less), this one covers the first big divergence)

In that regard, the map for people to make wild guesses on, if one is not subscribed over there:

 
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Fall of the Conqueror
  • Sidestory
    • Fall of the Conqueror
    June 17th, 1462
    ​
    Mehmed II was a broken man. All who knew him well knew this fact. For nearly a decade, he had been a man who sat and brooded upon his loss. He had ruled his state ably, true enough. His Empire had never been so large nor so powerful as it was in that moment. Yet, he still brooded. He still broke. It always came back to Constantinople. No success against the Christians made up for it. No amount of land taken, or enemies slain could ever replace it. He was robbed of his greatest triumph, and he could never, ever, let it go.

    Coupled with the weight of his 'sins' in 'destroying the city'? Mehmed was a man worn down by his failure and by the need to tell a great lie. A lie that would constantly paint him as the worst tyrant in living memory. Worse even than Tamerlane the Butcher. For while Timur killed and pillaged, Mehmed had destroyed the Second Rome so thoroughly that nothing, not a single stone, remained. If there was, perhaps, also the fact that Europeans cared far more about Constantinople than Turks or Assyrians or other such peoples?[1] The point still remained. As someone who always looked to the West, it hurt Mehmed dearly.

    So it was, that when Vlad Dracul began to raid Bulgaria, Mehmed marched against him with a bone-deep weariness that even his men could see. Here was a man who looked decades older than his thirty years. He was tired, weary, and all could see it. Yet he marched anyway. His army, pestered and bled by Wallachian raids, continued onwards. Even as it marched through scorched lands where the wells were poisoned, and the crops and livestock hidden away. An army that grew ever more tired and ever thinner as it moved.

    Mehmed still pressed it forward. His spark was gone, lost a decade ago. But his drive, broken as it was, remained. He was not a man to give up on any task placed before him. If Vlad wanted a battle, Mehmed would bring it to him. No matter how many pinpricks were delivered to his army.

    It was these pinpricks, however, that found the Turkish army camped for the night outside the Wallachian capital of Târgoviște. Tired and worn down from the long march without proper supplies, the Turks were resting in their tents, completely unaware of what Vlad planned or what lay in wait for them. Some sources say that Mehmed refused to allow his men to leave their tents at night out of fear of panic spreading. Was this true? Perhaps. Sources on this battle are sparse and often contradictory at the best of times. What can be said with certainty, however?

    The Ottoman army was caught, ill-prepared and unable to defend itself properly, when Vlad's Wallachian forces shone torches upon it and screamed wild battle cries as their cavalry and infantry stormed the camp. What happened there would ripple throughout history.

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    ​
    So he refused battle once more. The Wallachian is a coward who only knows how to fight skirmishes and intimidate.

    Mehmed II sat in his tent, looking at the elegant and ornate sword in his lap. All around him, his army slept, resting another day of march away. The Wallachian capital was within striking distance and the Sultan had expected his accursed adversary to fight for it. Yet Vlad seemed content to continue to hide. His army was only ever seen in raids before vanishing into the hills. It would have been admirable; had it been directed at anyone else. As it was, Mehmed would have seethed with rage, were he at all capable of it.

    Instead, he sat, and he brooded. He had long ago burnt out his rage. His anger had died the day he did. He had continued on, leading his Empire as best he could, but that changed little. It certainly did not change the face staring back from the clear metal of his blade.

    A face with deep, sharp lines. A beard gone prematurely grey and hair that was soon to follow it. He looked as if he were a man in his fifties, or even older, not his youthful thirty.

    "Here I am, laying siege to another Christian capital. Will I see this taken from me as well?" Mehmed sheathed his blade and stared at the side of his tent. Where he knew the thrice-damned Wallachian lurked in the darkness. "Perhaps I should rest. I will do nothing for my men if I do not sleep."

    He had sworn, after Constantinople, to never be caught unawares at night again. Perhaps he could never have changed things by being awake when the city had been taken from him, yet he would not allow it to happen again. Not without seeing with his own eyes. It was why he remained awake as his men slept. Still...he should sleep. He would be no use to them if he was worn even further down than he already---

    What? This...you cannot be serious!

    Mehmed jumped to his feet, his aging body moving with something resembling his once-youthful energy. Screams. Screams of fear and of triumph. Lights flickering past his tent. That...that Wallachian...

    "My lord, we must move!" A Janissary threw his tent flap open, standing in full armor. He held a horse with his other hand, Mehmed's personal steed. "Come, quickly! Your horse is prepared and ready!"

    Staring at the young man, then at the horse, then at his sword still in his hand...Mehmed made his decision. No. Never again.

    "I will not leave. I will stand and fight with my army." Mehmed knew there was no time to fit armor. He merely girded his sword to his waist and took the lead for his horse. The Janissary stared at his Sultan, as Mehmed climbed the powerful steed. The Sultan stared back, a bare hint of a smile crossing his thin lips, beneath his luxurious grey beard. "Never again. I will not have my glory robbed from me again. Nor will I stand by while my men die for me."

    It was the most life in the man's eyes since the City had vanished. Mehmed kicked his horse forward, riding to fate and his destiny. Riding to...

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    ​
    ...his death. Reports conflict on what happened. All that can be agreed upon is that Sultan Mehmed II would die that night. Turkish chronicles claim he fought at the front of his chaotic army, doing his utmost to restore some sense to the mess. Fighting until his blade ran red with Wallachian blood, as he rallied his men to push Vlad out and bring something out of such a terrible attack. Only to be felled, at last, by an arrow that none know who fired. Even then, he sat atop his horse until it, itself, fell beneath him.

    Wallachian sources, on the other hand, claim that Vlad himself slew Mehmed. That the two came across one another in the battle, the former having been explicitly hunting the latter. Vlad, in his resplendent armor, charging Mehmed in his night attire. The two men circling and charging repeatedly, until Vlad's sword cleaved through the Sultan's unarmored chest. Mehmed fell from his horse and Vlad led his army to slaughter the Turks he had tried to rally.

    The truth is, as ever, likely somewhere between these two extremes. Mehmed certainly died in front of his men. He certainly tried to rally them. Vlad, on his end, was certainly hunting the Turkish Sultan. He had launched this attack explicitly to do so! Did he actually, personally, slay Mehmed? Perhaps.

    The result would be the same, no matter the truth of the events.

    Mehmed's army broke that night and fled back to their homes. The leadership that survived proving more concerned with keeping the army intact than with punishing Vlad and his men. It is hard to blame them for such a decision. Mehmed was dead. His eldest son a boy of the tender age of 15. The Empire needed them more than the Bulgarians did, and it was far more important that the army return, instead of continuing to pursue Vlad. This army and its leadership would be needed in Edirne. The Empire could not be allowed to fragment because of infighting. Fighting the Wallachians was no longer important.

    Perhaps it had only been important to Mehmed. He had to face any challengers. He could not show any weakness. Not after his prize was stolen from him and his legacy tarnished forever. He would only ever be known for one thing. One thing that had always consumed him, his thoughts and dreams and fears. Constantinople.

    Always Constantinople.


    1. European Kings and Princes were somewhat more inclined to care about the destruction of the Second Rome, its churches and history, than to care about the millions of lives that Timur took in his conquests. It was hard, in that time, to care about a bunch of Muslims and heretic Christians a world away. This would, sadly, not change as time went on.


    Again, this is just a bit to give those not on the Patreon something to chew over. In addition to the much more detailed post on the Ottomans over there.
     
  • Sidestory
    • Mehmed just got Kazikli Bey'd by an NP5 RAD VLAD.

    An accurate depiction of the Battle of Targoviste.

    Joking aside, I actually feel bad for Mehmed in the expanded novel. His dream of becoming the Emperor of the Third Rome is gone. All he will be known for is being the beast who destroyed Constantinople. (Well, until the Romans are rediscovered.) That's Innocent Monster there in Fate terms.

    That was an eye-opener of a development. Looking forward to see what this kicks off.
     
    That was nicely done.

    The hell that will be unleashed when the Turks realize that "God" picked up an entire city and moved it halfway around the world to protect it and the people within from them is going to be legendary. All that build up of Mehmed II, all the stories told about the sack and destruction of a city, all being laid out to be lies is going to tear the Empire apart and likely see it shattered.

    I'm curious about how religion was changed by the "destruction" of Constatinople.
    In OTL, due to preexisting tension between the Western European states and the Byzantines, the majority of the Orthodox populations acepted Ottoman rule as preferable to Venetian rule as the Orthodox Church was allowed to maintain its autonomy and land. But -deep voice- in a world where the Queen of Cities faced destruction so great that not a single stone was left, I have to wonder if what remained of the church decided to just accept the inevitable and accept Roman rule, or maybe they face a mass migration north to Muscovite lands.
     
    ….okay…?

    Like, this is still a full update. And the stuff on the Patreon is more behind the scenes stuff.

    …this is why we were leery of doing a patreon in the first place…
     
    Don't mind the complainers. It was an interesting look into the 'behind the scenes' which has me very eager to learn more. Both what's happening back in Europe as Constantinople and the Byzantine Empire finds rebirth in the Americas, as well as what happens once the Europeans and Middle East learn just what actually happened during the Fall of Constantinople.
     
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    Chapter 23
  • Threadmarks
    • Please consider supporting our work on patreon. It really does help now.

    Chapter 23
    March of the Prince
    ​
    By the 1520s, Demetrios Palaiologos was not a young man. He had fought for decades, living in a land completely alien to where he had been born. Lines of age and scars of many battles covered his face and body. His hair was grayer, and his frame weathered by the years. The young man who had so recklessly volunteered to fight in a foreign land had been replaced by an aging lord who preferred times of peace to those of war. Yet, for all that his body changed, his mind remained sharp. The core of adventure never faded. It should surprise no student of Roman history that the Prince would volunteer to meet the Spanish, when it became apparent that this was necessary. He was never the type to let another handle what he saw as his problems.

    This was something he saw as his problem. He did not relish the inevitable result of a native ruler talking to the Spanish. Yiorgos' message had been clear that the Spanish he had worked with preferred his word to those of his own superiors. It would have to be a Roman who spoke with the Europeans. Nothing else could hope to convince them to stay out of Purépecha lands. It would have to be him. As it always was.

    And so, the aging Prince went on one last adventure. All of his justifications merely papering over the truth. That he desired to be the first to see these new men and get the measure of them.

    -Demetrios Palaiologos, Documentary, 1993

    So, here we are. What will our fate be, I wonder? Our lives are soon to change forever. I had thought we were beyond that. There was no way that something of this nature could happen in my lifetime. Even with all the evidence we were still living upon the same world...I had never anticipated men from our old home arriving in our new world.

    Demetrios, Prince of the Romans and Purépecha[1], stared at the sky. Blue and cloudless, it seemed completely at odds with his feelings. Or, for that matter, what he sat upon. The hard stone shifting beneath his wait as pieces fell with every movement. Ruins. That was what he sat upon. The ruins of what might once have been a prosperous village or even a small city. He had no idea of its name nor its story. It had simply been a convenient place to stop and rest while waiting for the Spanish. A place like so many others he had passed on this journey from his home.

    Had it been an Aztec village, destroyed by the Tlaxcala? He did not know. Perhaps it was a forgotten people that had been butchered by the Aztec themselves. It was impossible to say. It would not be a lie to say he didn't even care beyond idle curiosity, at any rate.

    The old Roman dropped his eyes from the sky and looked at the decrepit ruins, his 500 roaming throughout, carting away stones to create a perimeter for their camp. I dearly hope that whoever lived here, they are at peace. We will use their homes to protect ourselves and, I hope, forge a lasting peace. I have no desire to see war with the...Spanish.

    "My lord?" One of the soldiers, his armor flashing in the sun, walked up to his Prince. This man, too, was graying. Yet his eyes remained sharp as he bowed slightly when Demetrios looked at him. "Shall we walk the camp now? You requested I bring news when it was secure."

    Waving his hand dismissively, Demetrios rose to his feet. "So we shall. Have you discovered any---"

    "No corpses, my lord." The slightly younger Roman, his bearded face twisted in distaste, shook his head.

    "I see." Demetrios ignored his protesting bones as his armor shifted along his body. He simply walked to join his comrade, "I must wonder if the lack is due to the faith of these lands. That has been around far longer than we have known, it seems."

    The other Roman said nothing. Only shrugged his shoulders helplessly. He had been with Demetrios on several expeditions around their new home. Even as far south as the lands of the Maya, human sacrifice remained. Why the people of Mesoarcadia were so enamored of it, from Maya to Aztec to even the Purépecha remained a question that they had no answer for.[2] It seemed to be the same no matter how different the cultures otherwise were. Strange and sometimes worrying as it was, though, it was not why they were here. Demetrios pushed it from his mind and walked the camp.

    "Have there been any signs of the Spanish, then?" The prince turned to his loyal bodyguard, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

    A shake of the head said everything necessary, even as the man spoke alongside it, "As yet? No. We have seen no warriors of any description, in fact, my lord. It is...strange." Pursing his lips, the Roman placed a hand on the hilt of his old sword and looked out past the camp. At the distant trees and the open plain. "I--we--were led to believe that the Aztec were at war. Surely, they would not miss the chance to kill someone who has caused them so much harm and heartache. And yet, we have seen not one of their warriors."

    Demetrios gave a distinctly un-royal snort, his soldier roots shining through. "Ah, but that is the issue, is it not? They are at war for their very survival. Their capital besieged and invaded, and their armies spread thin. Our dear friend Yiorgos---"

    "Is a man who abandoned you our friend, my lord?" The younger man held a bitter note to his voice. He bowed apologetically, but continued on, anyway. "He has never fought against us or our people, yet he still abandoned us all to join with another group."

    Letting a soft sigh escape his nose, Demetrios rubbed his brow. No. It wasn't wrong to say that. Still, Yiorgos had come back, in the end. If only in regard to helping his prince, if not physically returning.

    "Be that as it may, he and his people have kept the Aztec more than busy enough to justify ignoring us, I would presume. We should thank Yiorgos for that and for the warning of the Spanish, if nothing else." Demetrios stopped walking, turning his head to look at the younger man. "In the end, his loyalty remains with me. No matter what has changed."

    Knowing better than to dispute that point, the other Roman just returned the stare and bit back a retort. He stepped away from Demetrios and moved to where the temporary camp wall was being erected. Many of the 500 were at work on that wall, carting rubble from the ruins to erect a temporary fortification. Nothing fancy or particularly strong, yet when the enemy lacked cannon, anything was better than nothing. At the least, it would keep out the Aztec long enough for a retreat if necessary. Demetrios sincerely hoped that would not become necessary. If not for his own sake, then for the families they had left behind.

    Watching the men stack stones and thinking of that, the prince smiled faintly. Beneath his beard it would be almost unnoticeable. Ah...family.

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    "We won't be able to convince you otherwise, will we?"

    Demetrios stood from where he placed his armor, plates glinting dully as he shined them. His dark eyes found his wife, arms crossed as a pair of equally dark eyes stared from around her skirted leg. The prince smiled at his wife and that set of eyes, knowing who exactly was hiding behind her.

    "Unfortunately, no, you will not." Demetrios walked over to Shanarani, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. The lines around her eyes mirrored his own, as they were pulled taught and fine. "I understand your concern. This will be the furthest I have ventured from home in...many years."

    His wife frowned deeply, "The distance is not what concerns me. If it were that simple, I would have taken issue when you went on your journeys to the South."

    Placing her own hand upon his, Shanarani pulled it away. Her gleaming eyes stared into Demetrios' soul, searching for something. Or simply judging him. It was never easy to tell with her, even after so many years of marriage.

    "My concern is that you are traveling through Aztec lands. I have not forgotten that battle nor have they. You realize the risk you are taking?"

    Ah. She never had completely forgiven him for the cavalry charge that had ended that grand battle. Where he had nearly perished several times over. Shanarani had a long memory and an ability to hold a grudge that would make Heraklonas envious. Demetrios sighed softly and looked away. In lieu of actually answering, he knelt down and looked at the eyes hiding behind his wife, instead. A pair of eyes that were so much like his own, if set in a face that more closely resembled his wife's.

    "And what do you think, Agapi? What do you feel about your father going on another adventure?" He smiled at the face of his daughter, who stared back with a weakly wavering smile on her dark-skinned face.

    Agapi. His youngest child. Her elder brothers were already learning the art of war while she remained behind to help her mother, too young to do much else.[3]

    "I...I..." She trailed off and hid behind her mother again.

    Demetrios could only sigh and shake his head. He had expected nothing less, in all honesty. Standing back to his full height, he smiled at his wife and shook his head. "I am sorry, truly I am. Yet there is no one else I would trust to do this. If what Yiorgos said is true, the Spanish will not trust any native ruler. It must be me."

    "I question why we should trust them in that case. You are as much one of us as any man with my skin," Shanarani placed her hand on Demetrios arm and squeezed lightly. Her lips remained pursed with concern.

    "Be that as it may, I still need to be the one leading this mission. The Aztec are the enemy we know. I do not relish fighting men we know nothing about." Demetrios didn't need to say that, if Europe was anything like the Romans themselves, these men could be far more dangerous than the Aztec.

    That wasn't even touching on the plain and simple fact that he knew very, very little of the old homeland. No Romans remained who had lived in Europe. All of their knowledge was handed down from their elders and outdated by nearly a century now. Who could say how things had changed in that time?

    Shanarani let out a soft sigh and let go of her husband's arm. A weak smile took the place of the pursed lips as she shook her head. "Very well, Demetrios. I trust you. But I have one request." She narrowed her eyes and stared into his soul. "Do be careful. I do not want our children to grow up without a father."

    Knowing better than to say any blithe comeback, the Roman Prince simply nodded. "I will, my beloved. You have my word on that."

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    ​
    In the present, Demetrios shook his head and stepped away from his men. His sharp ears had picked up on the sound of horses, a familiar noise that was very out of place in this part of the world. Few were the horses in armies outside of the Purépecha. Cavalry was of debatable utility in much of the lands of Mesoarcadia, true, yet it remained one of the greatest advantages of the Romans and their allies.[4]

    If he was hearing the sound of approaching horses, and he knew that his men were all in the camp save for dismounted scouts, it could only mean one thing.

    "To arms, men!" Demetrios pitched his voice over the sounds of labor. It carried as his men dropped tools and picked up weapons instead. "We will greet our guests with weapons ready, should they choose battle."

    The prince was proud of his men. They took no more than a few minutes to stand at attention, bows held ready and hands on spear and shield. Demetrios, himself, was surrounded by his most trusted guards- both Roman and Purépecha -as they held hands upon the hilts of their swords. When the first horsemen came into sight, the Roman could hardly help the amused quirk to his lips, at how the white men atop their powerful horses stared at what awaited them. At least until more horses appeared and the men were pushed forward.

    They clearly did not know what to expect. Does this mean they expected something akin to the Aztec? Or did they simply not believe in our existence?

    Demetrios watched as what could only be the Spanish came to a halt before his impromptu fortifications. There were three hundred of them, all told. Every single one borne atop a horse larger than a Roman steed. It was an impressive show of force, if nothing else, as transporting horses by sea was no easy task. More, even, in that it implied the Spanish held a significant force in reserve. Yiorgos had stated they intended to stay and had already begun to fortify a port similar to Alexiopolis. Unless their leader was a fool of the highest order, he would not have brought even a tenth of his force to do this.

    Not when he was fortifying a permanent settlement in hostile lands.

    "Ah---hello?" One of the Spanish men, a roughly bearded man who looked not far from Demetrios' own age, rode ahead of the rest. He was scarred and an apparent veteran.

    He spoke Greek that was, if rough to the ears and halting in its wording, fluent. Yet it was a...subtly different Greek. Or was it that the Romans had already adopted so much of their new home that their Greek was no longer the Greek of their ancient homeland? It was difficult to say.

    "Hello," Demetrios did not step from his guards, cognizant of his promise to Shanarani. It was still impossible to miss him, with his gilded helmet, prepared by Irepani specifically to showcase his lofty position. "Would I be correct in assuming you are Spanish?"

    The white man took a moment to think, perhaps translating Demetrios words in his head, before nodding. "You would be...correct, yes. Are you the Prince of the Romans?"

    Was he? Demetrios smiled slightly at the thought. True enough, he was and always would be a Prince of the Romans. Yet he had been so long in Tzintzuntzan that he had begun to consider it his home more than Constantinople. Ah. Well, there was no need to confuse the situation. If they preferred to meet with a Roman then he would meet them as such. His brother certainly would never do so.

    "Yes, I am. I am called Demetrios, son of the Emperor Alexios and brother to the Emperor Heraklonas. Do I have the honor of meeting the leader of your people?" Demetrios knew he wasn't, even when he asked the question. The man before him wore grungy and damaged armor. He was no leader. A translator. I can hardly imagine Greek is a common language in Spanish lands.

    A thought proven accurate when the Spaniard shook his head and looked back. His gaze drew Demetrios' eyes upon another man. A powerfully built man atop a fine horse. That man, thick beard covering a heavy-set face, stared back. His eyes were sunken in past high cheekbones as he trotted his mount forward. When he spoke, it was in even rougher Greek that Demetrios could barely understand.

    He, clearly, had only bothered learning the very basics of the tongue.

    "I am Pánfilo de Narváez. I lead these men." He spoke those words, haltingly and slowly. Before turning to the translator and gesturing grandly at Demetrios.

    The translator took the hint and spoke again, "I apologize. Until we arrived, speaking Greek was not something we would have thought to need. I served in Greece and even I find it...difficult."

    "So I see," Demetrios smiled thinly and nodded along. "Shall we settle down and talk over a meal? I imagine you are hungry after such a long journey. Perhaps, then, we can begin discussing more important matters?"

    As what he said was relayed to Narváez, Demetrios watched the man, warily. He would need to be on the top of his game. If this man was anything like the one Yiorgos had worked with...

    Well, Demetrios would not be the one to have his people falter because of his mistakes. He had come to love his new home and new people. They would not suffer if he had any choice in the matter. He would talk with Narváez and discover just what the Spanish intended. And, with that in mind, find a way to keep them away from the lands of his people.

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    ​
    That first meeting, in the nameless ruins, would shape many of the relations between Spain and Tzintzuntzan. Demetrios was a proud man, yet also a shrewd one. He spoke long into the night with Narváez, through the translator whose name has never been recorded. With the shadow of Cortés lingering on the Spanish, they were rather more accommodating than they may otherwise have been. Narváez had been sent to the mainland to apprehend the renegade Conquistador, not to form a Spanish Empire on the Mesoarcadian mainland. While it is impossible to say what he would have done in the face of a successful siege of Tenochtitlan, in the face of the Aztec still remaining, the man had no intention of jumping into another war.

    He spoke frankly of this with Demetrios. Told him that the Governor of Cuba- and through him, the King of Spain -was far more interested in trade for the moment. Was this true or simply a reflection of the fact that the Spanish realized they were outnumbered and facing a much more advanced foe than they had otherwise anticipated? That is one of the mysteries of history.

    What can be said is that, after that first meeting, Demetrios would venture yet further. He would join the Spanish in returning to Vera Cruz, to meet more properly. In that meeting he would work ever harder to secure the safety of his people and home. That is a story for another time, however.


    1. In many ways, Demetrios considered the second title more important. He was a lord of his adopted people more than a Roman Prince, even as he remained the formal ruler of all Romans in Mesoarcadia. It was telling, in this regard, that he had so readily accepted this fate for himself. Perhaps shaped by how he had been treated by his brother, perhaps not.

    2. It is still something of an argument, among historians, how so many cultures that varied so much from one another, all came to have such similar religious beliefs. The finer details varied, naturally. Each of the gods and goddesses were often quite different. Yet the overall thrust, that human sacrifice remained a core feature, was shockingly common. From the Maya to the Aztec to the Purépecha- who were otherwise quite different, culturally.

    3. In later years, Agapi would grow up to become a fine woman and a famous leader in her own right. She took after her mother in this regard, as Shanarani was certainly never a wallflower who stood behind her brother or husband.

    4. Roman cavalry remained a thorn in the Aztec's side. They did develop counters to the Romans, yet it was always an advantage that the Aztec could never fully counter. Not least as the Romans developed new tactics to reflect their new environment as well.


    AN: Sorry for how long this took. Work has been...tiring. Very tiring. There's a reason we didn't take elementary for our teaching degree, but...well. Money. Kinda need it. :V

    (ideally, it won't take this long again. We're also still working on the novel.)
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Hm, yeah that went surprisingly smoothly. Since there's no smooth sailing into imperial dominance of the Americas, I suppose the spanish would be far more cautious than OTL.
     
    Skywalker_T-65 said:
    4. Roman cavalry remained a thorn in the Aztec's side. They did develop counters to the Romans, yet it was always an advantage that the Aztec could never fully counter. Not least as the Romans developed new tactics to reflect their new environment as well.
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    Where is your Feathered Serpent now, Aztec mains? That 3.0x multiplier against cavalry on your Cuāuhmeh ain't shit!
     
    Excellent update. Seeing how Demetrios has changed over the decades of living with the Purepecha (complete with a family, including an adorable daughter) warms my heart. He's the equivalent of a senior statesman now, and it shows in how he personally led his men to meet with Narvaez's group and handled negotiations with a deft hand.
     
    Skywalker_T-65 said:
    "I am Pánfilo de Narváez. I lead these men."
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    Ah yes, the Conquistador that is mostly remembered for murdering a bunch of natives who had come to greet him with offerings of food, and for being very bad at his job, twice.

    Hopefully he proves to be less of an incompetent asshole this time around. (I doubt it.)
     
    maaaaaan, the guy talking up the Spanish on the AH.com version of this thread is...yeah.

    You can go into as much detail as you want about how the historical Spanish fought, and we can just go in return 'yeah, with what money?' here, being as they don't have the Aztec money or the Inca money :V
     
    I guess they will just have to settle for their own native gold and copper mines which weren't insignificant.

    On the bright side for Spain without vast holdings across the Americas Spain's population will be unlikely to drop as dramatically as it did historically from migration which would also help its economy.
     
    Skywalker_T-65 said:
    You can go into as much detail as you want about how the historical Spanish fought, and we can just go in return 'yeah, with what money?' here, being as they don't have the Aztec money or the Inca money :V
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    That's going to have knock-off effects for generations. The Spanish Armada for instance is not going to be as much of an Armada.


    Cheap Orange Knofe said:
    Soo.... How will you deal with small pox?
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    Real Life America couldn't deal with Smallpox nor could Real Life Europe deal with Syphilis. The Columbian Exchange is a force of nature.


    Skywalker_T-65 said:
    You can go into as much detail as you want about how the historical Spanish fought, and we can just go in return 'yeah, with what money?' here, being as they don't have the Aztec money or the Inca money :V
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    On the other hand, with Spain being roadblocked all the other European powers who set up in the Americas will have less Spanish influence to deal with.

    On the Third Hand, who's to say the Spanish won't trigger an earlier Scramble of Africa?

    Things are already off the rails, so much is possible now!
     
    Very, very interesting. Excellent entry!

    The effects of what is currently happening are absolutely mind boggling to think about. The Spanish will most likely focus on the Caribbean, and to a lesser extent Florida/North America. I really wonder who is going to get to Potosi first--the wealth trapped in that mountain literally became the reserve currency of China, and flooded the European market with silver that more than tripled the Amount they had available previously. It doesn't seem like the Empire of the Romans will get to it, they just seem slow going and not in a Conquistador-type of mindset. The Incans historically didn't get it, and likely would not have found it were it not for the Silver and gold hungry Spanish. Will a Pizarro do the exact same thing in this timeline? The failure of the Cortes model says otherwise. It is certain that the slave trade will go roughly the same here however--if not in smaller amounts than it otherwise had. All of this is to say that my eyes are glued on that silver, and its world-changing abilities, although it seems like it will be a year or more until I finally get the answer to that question.

    As a Cuban myself, I wonder how much more effort will go into the island now that the more lucrative colonies will be for the most part in native hands. I wonder, like another commenter mentioned, whether this will now favor the Portuguese model of exploration, or whether the Spanish will have Pacific towns regardless in this timeline. Needless to say, you have had me completely hooked on this story, and with many, many questions. Thank you for that :)
     
    chriswriter90 said:
    That's going to have knock-off effects for generations. The Spanish Armada for instance is not going to be as much of an Armada.




    Real Life America couldn't deal with Smallpox nor could Real Life Europe deal with Syphilis. The Columbian Exchange is a force of nature.




    On the other hand, with Spain being roadblocked all the other European powers who set up in the Americas will have less Spanish influence to deal with.

    On the Third Hand, who's to say the Spanish won't trigger an earlier Scramble of Africa?

    Things are already off the rails, so much is possible now!
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    The main issue in an earlier Scramble for Africa is disease. That's the main reason it took until the 1880's OTL before before European powers pushed beyond the coast of Africa. Now could we see nations like Spain which now having been blocked from the most obvious path of expansion say fuck it and go with high death rate colonies? Yeah if they're desperate enough but I don't really see them doing that until can lower the death rate of their own citizens to something "reasonable".
     
    Hmm, disease that is likely more of a concern for Sub-Saharan Africa than let's say Northern Africa so it's possible that Spain might just focus more of its attention on Moorish North Africa given the moors are a traditional enemy and well establishing enclaves in North Africa seems to have been a European occupation since at least the high Middle Ages.
     
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