An Age of Miracles III: The Romans Endure

[Basileus444]

When are we going to see the reforms proposed by Sophia? It was mentioned a while ago by @Basileus444 that we would some reforms proposed by her, in order to gain extra support.

Winter of 1662-63. I'm catching up all the various areas up to that point first before proceeding.

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Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 16.2-The Other Fires, part 3: ​

The rebellion in southern Italy was a parallel conflict with the War of Wrath. By themselves, there was little direct connection between the two but the rebellion functioned in much the same way, albeit in reverse, as the continuing Ottoman war in eastern Anatolia. Despot Andreas III of Sicily supported Sophia but most of his resources were tied down dealing with matters in his own realm, unable to give aid further east.

The bulk of the Sicilian fleet was tied down blockading Naples. This was tedious and unglamorous work but a very important countermeasure against the rebels. There were already tensions between the two main rebel factions, led by Masaniello and the Duke of Maddaloni, Simone Galamini. The blockade adds another.

The blockade prevents grain from being imported into Naples by sea. Some of the city’s grain had come from Sicily, which came solely by water, but even some food grown locally was delivered by coastal craft. For estates near the coast, it was easier and cheaper to send grain to nearby local harbors and send it on small coastal craft, rather than carting it all the way to Naples. These small and ungainly coasters were easy pickings for light Sicilian warships standing offshore watching for them.

Even with small craft and undeveloped local harbors, this coastal traffic was still literally an order of magnitude cheaper than overland transport. Diocletian’s Edict on Prices listed sea transport as twenty times cheaper than land transport. The blockade thus massively spikes the cost of shipping foodstuffs into Naples. The spark that had lit the initial rebellion had been over food prices and Masaniello’s adherents demand cheaper bread. However, Galamini is the quintessential rural magnate who wants the highest price for the produce of his estates. Selling cheap when expenses are high is not what he and his colleagues want.

These internal tensions keep the Neapolitan rebels from expanding their rebellion, but their actions thus far still spark copycat outbreaks in other areas. The first though ends up being the one that fizzles.

Apulia is an exceptional region of the Despotate. Its urban population is heavily Sicilian-Greek and Orthodox in culture and religion. This by itself is not exceptional, but it also has a significant rural population that is the same way. In the countryside this is not dominant as in the towns, but the population here is highly mixed. Orthodox villages lie next to Catholic villages and many communities are mixed in their faith.

But what makes Apulia truly distinctive is the structure of land ownership. The rural upper class of the area had been annihilated during the early years of Andreas I, to a degree unparalleled even in neighboring territories. While there are a few large landholdings worked by tenant farmers, their numbers and sizes are dwarfed by their counterparts in Campania or Sicily proper. There are still many landless laborers and poor peasants eking out existences on marginal plots but there is a large swath of ‘zeugaratoi & mesoi’ landowners, rich peasants and middle-class.

As a result, when some do rise up in rebellion, there is a significantly wider swathe of the population benefiting from the current social order and thus willing to defend it. The flare-ups that do spark to life are quickly doused, none catching fire.

The situation is quite different in Calabria, the rebellion here showing the importance of socio-economic factors, rather than religious. Unlike the Neapolitans, the rising Calabrian peasantry have no interest in Catholic rights, because they are Orthodox. Calabria has little in the way of urban life, but the region is the most Hellenized of the Despotate of Sicily. Much of the population are of Greek ancestry, with Calabrian-Greek spoken in the villages having more in common with that spoken in Patras than in Bari.

The Calabrian peasantry are overwhelmingly poor tenant farmers working plots and paying rents to landlords. Those landlords are also mostly Greek Orthodox but that commonality hardly solves tensions. One key demand of the rebels is that rents be capped at one half of the tenant’s harvest. The rebellion here is more scattered and diffuse, with various peasant bands rising up and attacking their landlords, burning their houses and all the records which contain their owed rents and arrears. There is little coordination between bands, with the actions of one inspiring another to take up the example.

The next major area of rebellion doesn’t start within the Despotate of Sicily, as it begins with the Roman enclave that is the Kephalate of Rome. The Eternal City has clearly seen better days. In 1660 it is a rather seedy-looking city of 16,000. The image of sheep grazing amid the ruins of the Roman forum is hardly a new one but even medieval glories, paltry though they may be compared to ancient grandeur, have departed.

Rome has never developed much of an economic base. Its economy had come from being the seat of the Papacy, with all the wealth and services that conveyed, including a pilgrim traffic. The loss of the Roman Papacy and its consolidation at Avignon, which took all of the papal business and most of the religious relics in the process, and the transfer of the city to Orthodox control, has thus utterly gutted the city’s economy. One visitor describes it as a town of beggars, interspersed with wrinkled prostitutes and thieves too stupid to thrive anywhere else.

The Kephale of Rome, Theodoros Lazaros, has tried to improve the situation, hoping to attract a different kind of pilgrim than the religious. The glories of ancient Rome should certainly attract educated young noblemen, who tend to be heavy spenders. It is a project that will bear fruit as the concept of the Tour catches on, but by the 1660s little progress has been made.

Efforts to suppress news of events in Naples fail. While the initial riots are over increases in bread prices, due to the loss of grain imports from Campania typically shipped out of Naples, they snowball quickly. Lazaros, fearing that his small garrison will be overwhelmed if it stays in the city, retreats to the port of Civitavecchia. He is safer there, at least so long as the insurgents lack artillery to breach the port’s defenses, while the much smaller urban population can be kept in check by the small garrison.

The insurgents in Rome declare a Roman Republic but this is understood as a temporary gesture. What they really want is the return of the Papacy, which is expected to bring wealth and prosperity back to the Eternal City. The local landed families also want the Papacy to return. The countryside outside of Rome is actually part of the Despotate of Sicily and the notables here dislike being relegated to a provincial backwater as opposed to residing next to the heart of Latin Christendom, with all the opportunities for prestige and profit that offers.

The emissaries from Rome hit Avignon like a bombshell. The rebellion in Naples had already drawn some interest; the plight of Catholics could not, in good conscience, be ignored. Still, the Curia had been hesitant. Naples was an important part of the Despotate and interfering would certainly invoke the ire of Messina and Constantinople. It might be done, but support from Arles and Spain would be needed and that had not been secured.

But in terms of emotional pull, Naples is as nothing compared to Rome. Pope Callixtus IV, the Pope who had reunited the two branches of the Catholic Church and Papacy, died in 1654 to be succeeded by Pope Clement X. He has been working hard to revitalize the Catholic Church and to expand it, supporting wholeheartedly missionary efforts in Terranova and in the east. He, along with many in the papal curia, feel that the reunited Papacy’s proper place is in Rome. Avignon is not; the Papacy’s relocation here is what had started the problem in the first place.

Clement X isn’t willing to commit yet to a return since the area is not secure, but he immediately throws himself into supporting the Roman rebels in other ways. Four hundred Swiss mercenaries, along with some more money and military materials, are sent by ship to bolster the Eternal City’s defenses. The Sicilian navy, tied down either blockading Naples or trying to counter the Tourmarches’ fleet in the Adriatic and Aegean, is unable to stop them.

The Pope also sends a missive to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, asking him, as a faithful son of the Church, to do all he can to aid the Roman rebels. With the previous Grand Duke, this letter might not have worked. But the new Grand Duke, Galileo II Galilei, is not like his ex-pirate father, who’d gained his title in large part to Roman support. Galileo II feels much less gratitude to Rhomania for his rank and he is also much more religious.

He is not willing to invade central Italy, which is what he would do if he followed the Pope’s letter to the letter. But he does provide a small quantity of military material in addition to the Pope’s and allows his territory to be used to transfer more.

The Grand Duke hesitates to be more overt for the same reason that the Papacy had been hesitant when the matter was just over Naples. Intervening directly without more powerful support is just too risky. The aid of either Arles or Spain, or preferably both, is required.

 

[Basileus444]

I admit I'm undecided as to the long-term fate of Rome and the Papacy. There are several options. The status quo could continue indefinitely or the Papacy could relocate but have no political power outside of a micro-state (OTL-like). Given that Italy uniting into a single state isn't going to happen (unless I drastically change plans), I'm somewhat attracted to the idea of a smaller Papal State (Lazio but nothing east of the Apennines) being what controls Rome and its environs in the present day, with the Pope being a secular ruler of a small state in addition to his religious role. But this is an area where nothing is set for sure.

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Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 16.3-The Other Fires, part 4: ​

The King of Spain, Joao I, has been following the situation on the other side of the Mediterranean with a mixture of concern and interest. Opportunities present themselves but also dangers as well. The mixture makes it hard to be sure what is the right course of action.

He has several different motives, which certainly do not help in clearing the air. On the one hand, he is interested in the welfare of Sicilian Catholics, out of sympathy for his co-religionists. There is somewhat more to the matter than that alone too. With the end of the Catholic Schism, in theory the most powerful Catholic monarch is the Holy Roman Emperor Leopold von Habsburg. Joao concerns him an arrogant and ungrateful parvenu who should’ve been left in the Swiss foothills. The true power of the Catholic world, measured in terms of real power, is Spain, but such preeminence requires deeds. But on the other hand, the lure of returning the Papacy to Rome itself has no emotional resonance for him.

Joao is interested in shifting borders but in a peninsula much further away. The restoration of Malacca, once the jewel and anchor of Spanish authority and commerce in eastern waters, is an ambition of his. But he would prefer to accomplish this by diplomacy rather than war, on the grounds that diplomacy will likely prove to be more effective if he can organize it. But that means he can’t afford to antagonize the Romans too much on the Sicilian Catholic issue, lest he jeopardize his hopes regarding Malacca.

And looming over all of this is a far more pressing matter, the Arletian succession. With each passing day, the odds of the Kingdom of Arles falling by marriage and inheritance into the hands of the Plantagenets rise ever higher. Joao absolutely does not want that to happen. But to prevent that he will need allies, with the Romans being an obvious choice, again if he can organize that. But this also means he cannot push the Romans too much on other issues as he needs them sweet.

As a result, thus far the King has studied and observed and calculated, but made no move to intervene. He knows that the Romans will fiercely resent foreign meddling, particularly Catholic meddling. He will wait until he is approached, as he expects he will be, before acting.

The initial approach comes from Messina. Despot Andreas III wants to ensure no Spanish involvement on behalf of Catholic rebels and also desires to recruit Spanish mercenaries for his army. At this stage, Joao wishes to keep all his options open. He promises to be neutral and allows the Sicilians to attempt to recruit mercenaries, but also does nothing to hamper papal efforts to gather volunteers and supplies for the rebels at Rome. Doing anything else, after all, would not be evenhanded.

The Despot is also trying other strategies to combat the unrest riling the Despotate. The rebellion in Calabria is probably the least structurally-threatening, but smoke from the fires lit by it can be seen from the towers of Messina. This helps to concentrate the issue.

Andreas III has heard of many of the rebel grievances and demands and is sympathetic to many of them. A rent cap at half the harvest seems more than reasonable to him. He also is inclined to offer amnesties and perhaps even plots of land to own outright to those rebels willing to instead fight under the Sicilian banner against the rebels around Naples.

The landowners of Calabria are absolutely incensed at these Despotic proposals. The idea of amnesty and even land grants for those who’ve burned their manor houses and assaulted their families is sickening. They want revenge; they want reprisals. They want the peasantry bludgeoned and cowed so that they accept their proper place. And any effort to cap rent would be a restriction of their property rights, which is completely unacceptable.

Andreas listens but then remarks that if the peasants are to be ‘reduced to obedience’, that will require more troops that will need to be paid. Spanish mercenaries do not come cheap. Would the landowners be willing to contribute to the effort? Most balk, arguing that after their sufferings and losses it is not right to expect them to give up more. The Despot should pay what is needed.

An increasingly exasperated Despot then queries if the landowners would be willing to pay more in tax after their positions are restored, to pay down the resulting debts. That would also be unfair and unreasonable is the counter-claim. After the reprisals, necessary though they are for justice and social order, their incomes will be reduced. That is hardly a time when they should be expected to pay more in taxes.

Despot Andreas III decides that the revolt in Calabria can wait. After the alarm of seeing the smoke wears off, and after that whole experience, he doesn’t feel much urgency in dealing with this matter. He is going to concentrate on what started this whole debacle, the revolt in Naples.

The naval blockade of Naples has continued ever since the beginning of the revolt, but by summer 1662 little pressure has been placed on its landward frontier. The mainland tagmata had been understrength to save costs while what troops had been available had been distributed with a focus on preventing more rebellions from starting, as opposed to containing and reducing what had already begun. Notably, the two areas that had been largely devoid of troops, Calabria and Lazio, were where the copycat rebellions managed to find success.

With the situation in the rest of the Despotate seeming more secure, Andreas is ready to be more proactive against the Neapolitans. It is just in time. The Duke of Maddaloni, seeking to break the naval blockade of Naples, is marching on Salerno with an army. Salerno is the main support base for the blockade and while not irreplaceable, any alternative would be further away and more inconvenient. Furthermore, a victory that he does not have to share with Masaniello would significantly bolster his authority and prestige within the rebel movement, perhaps giving him the heft he needs to dispose of this annoying and presumptuous fishmonger.

As a sop to the Calabrian grandees, Andreas appoints the richest of their number to command the relief force that will reinforce the Salerno defenses, the Duke of Rende. It does not go as the Despot planned. The Duke thinks that the expedition should be redirected to northern Calabria rather than Salerno and does so. That most of his landholdings are in northern Calabria may have something to do with that choice. The Sicilian troops march through the region, easily scattering the rebels, hanging those who don’t flee into the hills fast enough. Within a month, the northern third of Calabria has been cowed into rough obedience, although many of the peasants who fled are rapidly transitioning into bandits.

Meanwhile the Duke of Maddolini overruns the undermanned defenses of Salerno, capturing a huge quantity of war materials and, more importantly, the stockpile of rations for the Sicilian fleet. The naval blockade of Naples is forced to pull back to Sicily in order to secure new lines of supply and while they eventually return, the blockade is weaker due to the new longer supply lines. Also, that window gives Maddolini the perfect opportunity to ship the captured foodstuffs, along with other provisions stymied by the blockade, into Naples in a very public and dramatic fashion. This is a crucial boon to the hungry city and massively raises the Duke’s stock in the eyes of the Neapolitans, particularly at the expense of their earlier favorite Masaniello who notably has failed to deliver on the demands for bread.

Simultaneously, the Despot in Messina is so enraged he is reported to have shredded a pillowcase with his teeth. The Duke of Rende is summoned back to the capital, where the Duke clearly expects congratulation for his pacification of much of northern Calabria. He requests more troops so that he can continue the work in southern Calabria. When questioned about the matter of Salerno, the Duke is clearly confused about why Salerno is considered important. Restoring the proper social order in Calabria, as well as his own property, clearly is the most urgent task. Alexios, whose mood is not improved by this display, has the Duke hurled into one of the basement cells of Mategriffon Castle, shocking treatment considering his rank.

After that emotionally satisfying moment, the Despot returns to the task at hand. More troops are to be recruited, mostly from Sicilian and Apulian peasantry. Notably the senior officers for the new units are disproportionately Catholic. Partly this is done to avoid creating the impression of a Catholic-Orthodox war, which would alarm and alienate the Catholics still supporting the Despotic government. But Alexios III is now highly suspicious of the Calabrian elites, removing them from consideration for military posts, and they are mostly Orthodox. Ironically, in the wake of a rebellion that had much root in Catholic animus for the Orthodox slant of the Sicilian elite, said Sicilian elite are becoming more Catholic.

The initial thrust, a direct landward assault on Naples from Apulia, is parried skillfully by the Duke of Maddaloni and driven back into Apulia. As the Sicilian casualties are relatively low, the Duke isn’t willing to press the attack into Apulia, especially as he lacks the naval support he would need to restore the key coastal positions. However, the capture of the artillery and much of the baggage again makes for a good show on the streets of Naples.

Alexios III is unable to quickly make up the losses in Apulia, small as they are. Troops are needed in southern Lazio to prevent the rebellions in Naples and Rome from linking up, although fortunately the two groups are focused on their own affairs and interests. Also, he cannot ignore what is happening on the other side of the Adriatic. Four Sicilian tourmai are dispatched to reinforce Sophia, which is one of the reasons why fresh recruitment drives are so important. Of the four tourmai, only two make it. The transports for the other pair are intercepted and captured by Constantinople-loyal warships operating out of Patras.

 

[Basileus444]

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 17.0-Sustaining the War, Part 1: ​

The siege of Adrianople begins on September 27. The besieging army, although large enough to completely invest the Thracian city of fifty thousand inhabitants, is in poor shape. Strategos Nereas has done a thorough job of stripping the countryside of provisions before withdrawing eastward, holding position along the Via Egnatia. Forage and fodder for Pirokolos’s men, already in short supply, becomes even scarcer. In contrast, the larders for the garrison of Adrianople are well laden, to the point that occasionally they even cannonade shot made of bread and cheese into the siege lines to mock the besiegers.

There are shortages in other ways, with a frequently noted one being the lack of good footwear. After a season of campaigning across Bulgaria, the boots of the Macedonians have worn out with very few getting replacements. There are boots back in Macedonia but these cannot get to the men outside Adrianople. The most fortunate soldiers have looted shoes from the peasants of Bulgaria or northwest Thrace; the least fortunate are reduced to cloth wrappings.

Quantity of powder and shot are, surprisingly, less of a problem. The issue here is the quality of shot, and what is shooting it. Pirokolos has only a pair of cannons firing shot weighing more than fifteen pounds; the rest of his guns are light field pieces. For smashing down any respectable modern fortress, much less one as formidable as Adrianople’s recently improved battlements, this is utterly inadequate.

The Domestikos hopes to counter this with a group of miners from Upper Macedonia, many of whom are ethnic Serbs. If the walls can’t be battered down, perhaps they can be undermined. However, this contingent does not perform as well as he had hoped, making slow progress with the work that is done constantly hampered by countermining efforts of the garrison. Attempts to bait out the garrison also go nowhere; they have strict orders from Nereas to hold their positions.

Then winter hits with the full might of the Little Ice Age, with November opening with blasts from the Arctic. The siege camps are covered in snow while the ground freezes, making even the previous slow digging rate impossible. The freezing temperatures take no sides but the Adrianople garrison at least has solid shelters and a decent supply of coal and firewood for heating. Nereas and his men, camped to the east of Adrianople to cover Constantinople and harass Pirokolos, are much more exposed but at least have fresh shipments of boots and fur-lined mittens and coats. The furs are Siberian, purchased from Scythian merchants and shipped to Constantinople where the thousands of textile workers in the poorer districts and suburban settlements set to work combining fur and cloth. Gyranos arranged the drive, the first batch arriving just before the snows, although later deliveries came afterwards.

Pirokolos persists with the siege, loath to abandon it as to do so would be to acknowledge that a relatively quick knockout blow and an end to the war is impossible. But progress is nonexistent. Mining efforts have come to a halt while damage inflicted by his limited artillery is repaired as quickly as it is made.

On December 10, the Domestikos gives up; the siege is destroying his army faster than it is reducing Adrianople. The decision marks the end of the first phase of the War of Wrath. Both sides had hoped for quick decisive blows, with the assault into Thrakesia and Pirokolos’s march on Constantinople. Both had now failed. The war would drag on, a war of grinding attrition.

But first, the retreat, which turns into a nightmare. Nereas harasses the Macedonians but is still reluctant to commit to a major engagement, but the harassment is bad enough. The snow is bloody from the exposed and frostbitten feet of the wretchedly-shod Macedonian soldiery. There are many stragglers; unlike in Anatolikon most are captured rather than killed, with the majority ending up as forced laborers in Bithynia, with those who recuperate more fully switching to serve in the ranks of their captors.

Pirokolos withdraws into eastern Macedonia, where more supplies are available and where he can cover Thessaloniki. Nereas then launches an offensive into Bulgaria. The winter conditions are hard on his soldiers even with their new equipment, but conditions are much better for them than for their demoralized and exhausted opponents. In three weeks, he sweeps through the theme, retaking what had taken Pirokolos three months to take. By the time he comes to a halt, with supply constraints and winter conditions biting hard, all of Bulgaria answers again to Constantinople.

This is good news for the capital, met with great relief. The threat has been thrown back, although not eliminated. The Tourmarches and their supporters have been doing much to stoke that fear in recent months as Pirokolos hammered at the walls of Adrianople. The Tourmarches know they need to do more and better at rallying support for their cause and they show a noticeable improvement as fall turns to winter.

They take a page from Father Andronikos Hadjipapandreou; his disappearance still sparks many conspiracy theories but with no evidence or anyone able to rally a crowd like him, these go nowhere. The Patriarch clings to life, breathing raggedly, but his strokes leave him incapacitated, a political nonentity. Meanwhile the Tourmarches hire charismatic priests who think the right way to encourage support. None of them are the equal of Hadjipapandreou, but they don’t face competition from him and are far more numerous.

Their argument is a simple one. Emperor Herakleios III, supported by faithful Romans, wanted to strengthen and secure the Roman Empire and people. Sophia was against that, because she was in league with foreigners, and she and her supporters were either traitors or dupes. They had sabotaged the war effort in Mesopotamia and, not content with that, then risen in open rebellion against the legitimate Emperor. Sophia was essentially a new Elizabeth of Bavaria, and the latter at least had the excuse that she was of Latin blood.

This mixture of xenophobia-stocking and fear-mongering explodes on November 15. The nature of the spark is disputed, but the most common version is that some children of resident Latin merchants threw some stones and made mocking comments of an Orthodox religious procession. Matters escalate quickly and soon mobs are tearing through the districts of Constantinople where foreign Latins reside.

It is a pogrom, with Latins dragged from their homes and offices and torn to pieces. A few are given mock trials and condemned as spies for Sophia, on no evidence whatsoever. Specific tales of brutality abound, although many copy details from the anti-Latin pogrom of 1183. The two events, in broad scope, are extremely similar, but many historians are skeptical that the specific details would repeat so precisely. Foreigners from Orthodox and Muslim countries, who tend to live in different parts of Constantinople from Latin foreigners, are mostly untouched, although one Russian merchant found sheltering a Genoese family is badly beaten with three broken ribs, at least as many lost teeth, and a broken leg that never heals properly.

While estimates vary, the most accepted figure is that the Constantinople mob kills three hundred and injures another thousand, with massive property damage as well. The authorities notably do little to curb the violence unless it threatens to dissolve into indiscriminate looting, on the grounds that given the size of the mob, more was not possible. The violence, after lasting an evening and night, peters out the next morning.

Foreign opinion is, naturally, outraged. In Tuscany, Genoa, Arles, Aragon, and Spain, Roman merchants and their assets are seized in reprisal, with the announcement that they will not be released until satisfactory compensation has been made. Triune, Scandinavian, and Hansa merchants had also been attacked but lack this way to retaliate as there are no resident Roman merchants in their territories. But the Dutch can retaliate by intensifying their attacks on Roman holdings in Island Asia and they are always open to investors.

The Russians and Georgians also condemn the pogrom, with a growing view that the government in Constantinople is a rabid dog, a threat to its neighbors. The war hawks though are not concerned. Latin hostility is a given, but the provocation is not strong enough to incite military intervention in the heartland, so it doesn’t matter. Russian and Georgian displeasure is more of an issue and prompt apologies and damages are given for any and all instances where their persons and properties were affected.

Aside from dangerous and treacherous foreigners, the priests argue that the problems assailing the Empire are caused by the moral failings of the Romans, like drunkenness, promiscuity, and sodomy. These must be stopped. Several prostitutes and known homosexuals are paraded and whipped through the streets of the capital in the weeks after the pogrom. While these do continue afterwards, their frequency drops substantially after the failure of the siege of Adrianople reduces tensions in Constantinople.

When it comes to currying favor, the Tourmarches face a problem connected with the reform actions in the adjacent three kephalates of the Optimatic theme. Earlier the Tourmarches had won support with a section of the economic elite that wanted laws regarding just profit and price to be eliminated, making for a more free and open trade. Primarily this was in land but the program was to be expanded to other commodities.

However, those same elites attracted by this program are outraged by the provisions of the land reforms. Reclaimed land is to be sold in small plots, with sales to be reserved for those with no land or only smallholdings. This is hardly an open market for land sales and many had hoped to buy up reclaimed land plots for cheap in bulk and sell them later for handsome profits. They are now denied that.

Plytos is busy for some time allaying their concerns but is successful. He points out that the initiative is purely local, restricted to those three kephalates. It is absolutely not an indication of a change in policy. He shows them new initiatives that will widen the possibilities of privatizing common lands that lack clear ownership beyond traditional peasant usage, plus all the opportunities available from confiscating the assets of the many traitors and rebels. Once the war is won, the possibilities are vast.

 

[Basileus444]

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 17.1-Sustaining the War, Part 2: ​

When Sophia arrived in Thessaloniki, the first order of business was to establish a new court and administration, a copy, as close as possible, of what had been left behind in Constantinople. New Logthetes and Domestikoi were appointed to act as senior officials and to staff the Imperial Council (Cabinet). The Patriarch of Constantinople was unavailable to fill his position; the Metropolitan of Thessaloniki took his place as a stopgap measure.

Sophia’s court, though smaller in scale to that of the White Palace, continued forms and ceremonies. Herakleios III was recognized officially as the legitimate Emperor, but here Sophia functioned as de facto Emperor. One good example comes from the ceremony of the Nineteen Couches. The most detailed account of its original form dates from 899, but it may date back to the early 400s.

Between Christmas and Epiphany the Emperor held 12 dinners in the Triclinium of the Nineteen Couches (dinners ate reclining in the classical fashion). There were nineteen couches with twelve seats each, plus another same-sized couch where the Emperor and special guests ate. Each dinner had guests of different types. For example, one dinner was for military officials. Another was for metropolitan monks and abbots. The “hairy banquet” was for barbarians in Imperial service. One dinner was for selected members of the poor, in addition to one table at every other dinner specifically set aside for the poor. [1]

The original version is not attested after 1040 but it was revived by Andreas Niketas. In the construction of the White Palace, a dining hall was constructed to the same specifications as the original Triclinium. While the various groupings for each dinner changed, such as the elimination of the dinner for court eunuchs, the overall concepts were quite similar. One major innovation was the creation of a female version of the dinners, attended usually by the wives of the invited male guests, and presided over by the Empress.

When it came time for the Triclinium, Sophia presided over the traditional dinners as if she were an Emperor. For the dinners for women, her best friend and lady-in-waiting Zoe acts as ‘Empress’. (This helps spark rumors of a Sapphic [2] relationship between the two women, with several historians believing the rumors have a strong basis in reality.)

Some historians have argued that the dinners of 1661, where Sophia presents herself as Emperor in fact although not in name, provide a useful framework to understand her view of governance. The dinners, as modified by Andreas I, covered the gamut of society, at least that of the capital city. It was not proportionally representative. The poor segment (defined as the portion of the population eligible for the bread dole) only got one dinner, plus the reserved table at all the others (it should be noted that this reservation though was given only to the poor and to no other group), but was certainly more than one-twelfth of the population. But all of Roman society was represented and considered worthy of an invitation.

The fact that it is Sophia and not Athena presiding over this court allows for new opportunities. The question of foreign policy and the Roman Empire’s place in the world had been the issue that had led to the rise of the war hawks. In earlier centuries, the Roman Empire had been presented as ‘the civilized world’, although perhaps sharing that with the Persians and then the Caliphate, surrounded by barbarians of various types; note the ‘hairy banquet’. The Office of Barbarians was still, in 1662, the name of the department that dealt with foreign espionage.

That civilized vs. barbarian dichotomy had been breaking down for quite some time. Including Persian and Caliphal Arab societies as part of the civilized world had been the start, but by 1662 the Romans formally recognized the rulers of Persia, Russia, the Holy Roman Empire, the Triple Monarchy, Ethiopia, Vijayanagar, China, and Japan as equals to the Roman Emperors. The foreigners might be irritating and weird, but their development was such that the barbarian label didn’t seem to fit.

Demetrios III had framed it differently. In his history of Roman-Latin relations, he had projected an image of a Roman Empire faced by a Latin ‘world’, diverse in some respects and politically fragmented but with many basic commonalities. One of these was a general antipathy to the Romans, as shown by their repeated acts of aggression over centuries. His views grew more nuanced toward the end of his reign, particularly as the matter of Italy came to the fore, but his earlier presentation was by far the most well-known and accepted by the Roman people. That was the crux of the war hawk position: if the Latin world, by definition, was inclined to be hostile to the Romans, with only differences of degree and ability to act on that hostility, then diplomacy was a frail reed on which to lean. Only force was reliable.

A new understanding of Roman-Latin historical relations is presented at the court of Sophia, with its most articulate expressor being Zeno Chrysaphes. He is emblematic of a new generation of Roman intellectuals, who may have some childhood memories of the War of the Roman Succession, but are not profoundly shaped by it like their elders. Chrysaphes argues that the causes of Roman-Latin hostilities are far more contingent and specific. The Wittelsbach Emperors and Venetian Doges were both Latins, but the former’s dynastic claims and the latter’s willingness to use mass violence to secure trade concessions otherwise had nothing else in common.

Roman-Latin hostilities thus needed to be understood on a case-by-case basis, not as part of an overarching pattern with inherent premises. Because the causes of hostilities were complex and varied, the tools for dealing with them also needed to be varied. And if the causes were varied and not inherent, the possibility of peaceful and more stable defusing was significantly greater than that presented in the worldview of the war hawks.

This presentation was part of a wider presentation that looked at the world not as divided not just between civilized and barbarian, or between cultural worlds, but between political states. In the context of Roman-Latin relations, the Roman Empire was, really, just one state among many. It may be far older, but it was still just one state among many. It was not, in that respect, inherently special, with the instinctual hostility that special-ness tends to arouse.

The Romans, as a state actor in a system of states, would inevitably incur hostilities at certain points. An example of this was the souring of Roman relations with the Spanish and Arletians over Roman expansionism in Italy. This was a product of Roman action within the state system that threatened Spanish-Arletian relations. If the hostility was the result of innate Latin hostility to the Roman ‘world’, why had the Spanish and Arletians not expressed it earlier during the height of Theodor’s invasion, when it would have been much more dangerous?

One counter-argument was that Rhomania had already acted as a member of the European state system with Helena I’s diplomatic initiatives and marriage alliances, which had then ended with Theodor’s justification for invasion. Zeno concedes that but argues that this shows the danger of dynastic entanglement but does not invalidate the wider model. Helena’s diplomatic initiatives had resulted in the best Roman-Latin relations overall for over seventy years. The war with Hungary during that period had been a result of disputes over Serbia, a state action. No innate Latin hostility to Rhomania expressed itself during the Eternal War, which if one wishes to do the most harm to the Romans, would have been the time to do so.

This model admittedly does a much better job of explaining Roman-Latin relations in more recent years. A model that contains only state actors acting on political motives cannot accommodate the Crusades, although Roman-Italian disputes over trading rights in the medieval period fit better. But Zeno and his like-minded contemporaries aren’t trying to create a single model to explain all of Roman-Latin relations, as Demetrios III had tried to do. They are trying to create an intellectual framework that explains more recent Roman-Latin relations, particularly the last 50 years, in a way that justifies a more flexible and diplomatic approach than that presented by the war hawks.

This approach proves popular among the officials of Sophia’s court. The need for good foreign diplomacy becomes particularly clear after news of the anti-Latin pogrom in Constantinople arrives in Thessaloniki. Foreign diplomacy is harder for Sophia because the foreign ambassadors are all resident in Constantinople and officially recognize the government there as the legitimate authority in Rhomania. But there is a Spanish consul that provides a channel for diplomacy.

When the news arrives, Sophia offers condolences to the consul. There are some awkward moments when the consul desires compensation, while Sophia doesn’t think she should have to pay for something done by partisans of the opposing side in a civil war. That matter ends up going nowhere for the time being.

Shortly after this audience, Sophia proclaims two reforms that, by themselves, are far more symbolic than substantive, but they are quite symbolic. In one, she pledges to abolish the Ambassadorial Quarter once she is in control of Constantinople. This had been a section of Constantinople where foreign ambassadors had been forced to reside, with imposed Roman staff. This had been to make it easy for Roman authorities to spy on the ambassadors.

This has been fiercely resented by foreign ambassadors. Everyone knew that ambassadors also engaged in espionage; that was how the game was played. But in other capitals, ambassadors found their own residences and staff. Roman treatment, one Russian diplomat complained, made one feel more like a prisoner than a guest. Roman abolishment of the Quarter is meant to demonstrate that Rhomania will act like one of the players in the established diplomatic system, not demanding special treatment.

The other change is more cosmetic, but still shows the willingness to act as one of the players, not a special entity. The Office of Barbarians is renamed, eventually settling much later on the Office of Foreign Intelligence Services. Absolutely nothing else is changed about the department but the switch to a far more neutral title is noticed and appreciated by foreign observers. Said observers know the Romans are spying on them. That is just how the world works. The gratuitous insult on top of that was what was irritating.

Foreign affairs and how Rhomania should interact with the world, particularly the Latin world, had been what had fueled the war hawk faction from its outset. But the General Crisis had raised other concerns as well which would also need to be addressed, one way or another.


[1] See “Court Society and Aristocracy” by Paul Magdalino in A Social History of Byzantium.
[2] TTL term for lesbian.

 

[Basileus444]

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 17.2-Sustaining the War, Part 3: ​

While the role of the market in Roman society was hardly a new thing in the mid-1600s, it had grown substantially in the last century. For some people, some of the time, this could be quite a good thing. For some people, some of the time, this could be quite a bad thing. Free market enthusiasts might ignore the last part, but most other people did not. The role of commerce in society, while maintaining a just and fair society for all, including consumers, is a constant question across time and space.

Confucians notably were heavily biased against merchants, since they didn’t produce anything themselves. Christianity didn’t have the same extent of bias, but there was certainly suspicion, with the Catholic Church’s abolishment of usury, lending money at interest, being the best-known example. (This also led to the development of the stereotype of Jewish moneylenders and bankers, since they weren’t bound by anti-usury laws.)

Rhomania was hardly exempt, but followed a somewhat different tact. Merchants and commerce were recognized as providing a useful service. They didn’t make anything, but they did move goods and services to where they were needed. Thus, a certain extent of profit, as compensation for their efforts, was justified. But beyond that was price-gouging. It was the same with loaning money at interest. A certain amount of interest on a loan was acceptable, with the understanding that the payment of interest was compensation for the possibility of default on the principal. The lower the risk, the lower the acceptable rate of interest, and vice versa.

The rise in importance of the market and of a more capitalist [1] economy is also taking place in the Latin west, but Rhomania’s circumstances are somewhat different. A complete abolition of lending money at interest was clearly unworkable as it disincentivizes any loan activity, with the result that in the west the anti-usury laws went completely out the window. The more moderate Roman strictures gave them significantly more flexibility and staying power.

The issues over what exactly the just profit and just interest should be, how to enforce them, or whether to completely jettison them as was happening in the west had been growing for decades. Demetrios III and Athena had been somewhat cognizant of this, but had not addressed it adequately. Partly this was because there was no sharp shift to make the process obvious; instead, the temperature of the water in the pot was ever so steadily increasing.

Demetrios had made some effort in this regard with his development of differential taxation and his prioritization of repaying wartime loans to common folk in the form of war bonds over the repayment of large loans to major moneylenders. But that had been the extent of his efforts. The focus on winning the war, foreign policy, and ill health had prevented more work being done in this regard. Athena, for her part, followed in her father’s footsteps.

The sharp shock that brought the issue out in the open was the tourmarches opening up of the land market, completely eliminating the concept of the just price in regard to the sale and purchase of real estate. This won them the supporters of those who wanted to get rid of the restrictions entirely. Sophia, for her part, had to respond in some way.

No observer ever credited Sophia with the intelligence of Athena or Demetrios III, but she was better than her mother or grandfather at listening to the advice of others. The university at Thessaloniki provided a plentiful supply of learned men who had thought a great deal about the issues facing the Empire and the ways in which they should be addressed. One of these learned men who quickly came to prominence was Manuel Strymbakon, the Prokathemos (second-in-command in a Kephalate’s administration) of Chalkidiki.

He is credited with the statement: “The welfare of the people is the supreme law.” This is quite a contrast with the idea that the autocrat’s will is the supreme law, but the actions of Herakleios III lately are doing a good job of illustrating the flaw in that model. Strymbakon is also a strong advocate of the epanagogue, an argument that had been postulated by Patriarch Photius eight centuries before which stated that while the Emperor did make the law, he was also subject to said law.

These arguments Sophia finds intriguing for two major reasons. The first is the Army of Suffering. Outside of the Anatolikon theme, Sophia’s government has done practically nothing to curb the rebels, all resources desperately being needed elsewhere. But by the middle of 1662, she is in possession of a report on the Army of Suffering, much of it written by Kastrophylax of the Cilician Gates Leo Theosteriktos, the official with the greatest personal knowledge of the Army of Suffering. The report is highly detailed with a variety of sources, including interrogations of captives of the Army of Suffering.

The report pulls no punches, making clear the conditions in southern Anatolikon just prior to the rebellion, showcasing that many rebel grievances were amply justified. Sophia is forced to agree. She will not condone the actions of the rebels, but admits that the long career of corruption, extortion, and abuse of Kephale Kalos Papadopoulos is something that the central government should’ve ended long before the rebels did so. Constantinople’s failure to do so is to its shame.

The other reason derives from the conditions Sophia had seen on her journey from Constantinople to Thessaloniki. This had not been a carefully staged and planned visit along the Via Egnatia, but a hurried scrabble along the backroads of Thrace. Sophia had been horrified by the conditions of poverty and squalor she had witnessed, far outside of her experiences. And this is in Thrace, one of the richest of the themes.

It is a mark of Roman pride and claim for superiority that they were the ones to teach the Latins how to use forks, although Henri II is the first monarch of France or England known to regularly use the utensil. But is it really true that half of all Romans are too poor to even have their own fork? And if that is true, what does that do to the claim of Roman superiority?

Sophia thinks that the Roman governments needs new channels of information to resolve these issues and prevent similar crises from occurring into the future. Exactly who proposed the reform is unclear with several different claimants but the basic structure is quickly established. The first version is a group of sixteen individuals, each one selected randomly from the Macedonian tax rolls, one from each of the sixteen tiers of the tax system. Exactly how each person is chosen randomly from the records is unclear, but the plan is that this will be expanded to have sixteen members from each mesazon of the Imperial heartland. The inspiration for much of this seems to be derived from the Festival of the Nineteen Couches, including the use of sortition which is how the poor attendees for the dinners had been selected.

The purpose of this grouping is to provide a broad cross-current of Roman society that can bring issues and concerns to the Roman government’s attention. This setup is believed to be more efficient than having petitions needing to be issued from the provinces as needed, an often-tedious process that especially the poor and undereducated find difficult to manage. Proposed legislation can also be presented to provide feedback.

It must be emphasized that the group’s function would be purely advisory. It can propose legislation or critique legislation, but cannot issue or revoke legislation. This helps give rise to its name. Since its function is to provide counsel, it is to be called a Council, but to distinguish it from the meeting of key Roman officials called the Imperial Council, it is called the Lower Council. Eventually the implied link between the Imperial Council, which does have lawmaking powers, and the Lower Council, will bear fruit, but not at this time.

Many are greatly skeptical of the plan, particularly of including the lower rungs of society, but Sophia forges ahead. Providing a way to get information from the lower rungs of society in a more-timely manner is a significant point of this idea after all.

There are some growing pains. It quickly becomes apparent that the government will need to pay the attendees, most of whom cannot afford otherwise to be away from their homes and livelihoods. Also, the representatives of the poorest tiers are illiterate and focused entirely on local affairs, which is a problem for someone who is supposed to represent a wider group. This does not mean the representatives are stupid, but intellectual snobbery has a field day.

The result of these initial teething problems is a compromise between Sophia’s original model, which had embraced all sixteen tiers, and those who wanted something more modest. The revised Lower Council will have a representative, decided by sortition and serving for a year, from all four tiers of the dynatoi and mesoi, but only from the upper two tiers of the banausioi and paroikoi. That is to ensure that representatives have at least a certain amount of education and ‘imperial-scope mindset’, rather than fixating on purely local interests.

[1] I am defining capitalism here as an economic system where the dominant actors in said economy are private actors operating on a for-profit goal.

 

[Basileus444]

Thanks for the kind words of support. I appreciate them.

March is going to be a hiatus month for this TL. For patrons, please note that means there will be no update to Not the End: The Empire Under the Laskarids for this month, but there will be no charges either.

Thank you.

 

[Basileus444]

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 17.3-Sustaining the War, Part 4: ​

The establishment of the Lower Council in late 1662, despite its quick revision from the initial plan, created several long-term implications for the future of Roman governance. The Lower Council was hardly proportionally representative. The twelve tier-representatives retained represented at most half the population, with eight of the twelve (dynatoi and mesoi) representing roughly a tenth. Yet it was a crack in the autocratic-bureaucratic makeup of the Roman government.

The concept of broadening the franchise had also been planted, even if after a couple of weeks this would go dormant for quite some time. The concept of the need for education for representatives was also established, as was the idea of selecting representatives via sortition instead of election. The last would become a particular feature of Roman government.

The earliest Lower Council meetings did provide some useful advice, which certainly helped in giving the new institution desperately needed creditability. It was decided in consultation between Sophia, various officials and courtiers, and the Imperial and Lower Councils that the concepts of just price, just profit, and just interest could not be abandoned. To do so would be to abandon justice and that would simply invite more Armies of Suffering. (That the Tourmarches in Constantinople had elected to remove these restrictions provided a strong contrarian reason for their retention.)

But the current setup needs to be revised. What exactly constituted the line between just and unjust profit was debated, with 10% being a common figure. But the representative for the Paroikoi Tier IV pointed out that in sales of olive oil, a common farmer could often get a profit of 25%, with that high rate being a strong incentive for olive oil production and a significant source of income for the wealthier peasantry. It is agreed then that the just profit rate is 25%, with the increase being considered also a good compromise for those who do feel that the just profit concept discourages business initiative.

Another reform that aims to win the support of those who want to lessen restrictions is to abolish all non-governmental rights of ‘first purchase’ and ‘first sale’. The exception for government institutions, including civic authorities, is to ensure that public granaries will be stocked. These rights, particularly that of ‘first sale’, have been commonly bestowed on religious institutes, especially monasteries. This was a common complaint for said monastery’s neighbors, since they were unable, legally, to sell their own produce until the monastery had done so, and the uneconomically-minded monasteries, secure in their privilege, sometimes were rather dilatory in bringing their own products to market or merchant. This also attracts those government officials who are keen to curb the economic power of the church.

These reforms encounter the same issues of enforcement that had been present before with the concepts of just profit. Large-scale purchases, such as that of landholdings and of wholesale merchandise, and transactions in cities and towns can be much more easily policed. A farmwife selling eggs or eggplants or a peddler selling needles in a hill village is a different story. But such small-scale transactions are less of a worry, simply because of their small scale. There is quite a big difference between being cheated of a few folloi on a pair of scissors and being gouged of hyperpyra on a vineyard or a consignment of Thrakesian textiles. What is far more significant, both then and for the future, is the affirmation of an ideal, even if said ideal is never fully realized, even in the present.

Partly based on advice from the Lower Council, another reform, this one aimed squarely at the countryside, is the authorization for what become known as ‘country banks’. These are small-scale local credit unions. Previously, capital throughout much of the countryside had been limited and loan opportunities outside of a loan-shark who heartily ignored the concept of ‘just interest’ very scarce. These are designed to eliminate the issue.

These country banks are administered locally and have only a little capital, boosted sometimes with small government grants. Their administrative success is often hit-or-miss, but locals tend to find them more trustworthy than banks off in distant cities. After all, it is much easier to give Andronikos down the street a good thrashing for mismanaging the bank as opposed to some man in an office a hundred kilometers away.

But they do provide, when successful, a useful injection of capital. Their stocks may be small, but they are not financing massive loans. The loans are for local initiatives, the improvement of a road, financing an olive grove, or paying for the breeding of mules. These are the kinds of projects that would never get the attention and support of government officials who want something more grandiose, but they support initiatives that materially improve the lives of those locals who know their needs and are better able to address them.

This is very much a long-term process, with clearly noticeable-by-outsiders fruits taking decades to ripen. The country banks themselves eventually largely disappear as communications and transportation improve (partly as a result of initiatives financed by the country banks), being replaced by larger and broader credit institutions, but, in the words of one historian, ‘in their time they paid for the forks that ended up in the hands of the half of the Romans that previously did not have one’.

Another economic reform is interesting because Constantinople implemented an identical measure at practically the same time, late 1662, and with near-identical results. This was the issue of paper money to make up for a shortage of bullion and to pay for needed supplies and salaries. Merchants are instinctively skeptical of the paper notes and despite government pressure were unwilling to take them at face value. Their market value relative to their face value plummeted rapidly.

Eventually, in both areas loyal to Constantinople and Thessaloniki, they stabilized at half their face value when both governments, desperate to save this expedient, make a substantial concession. Paper currency that stands in for gold and silver currency can be used to pay tax liabilities, although at their market, not their face value. This makes the paper notes substantially more useful to consumers and halts the collapse in value, although suspicion keeps the market value from climbing back up closer to the face value.

This does present the temptation for both governments to try and print their way out of financial shortfall, but here the mirror continues. Both are worried about a backlash like that caused by the IBC scandal, where imperial bank certificates flooded the market in quantities much greater than expected, causing faith in all of them to collapse. Given the clearly established issues of trust, both governments are afraid of ruining this expedient by pushing it too far. (This emotional-economic scar proves to have a long half-life.) But even with this caution, these measures do help to expand the supply of credit and capital, helping economic growth over the long-term.

Another issue that comes up is the matter of common lands. Village commons are an important part of village life and the resources gleaned from them are often essential for the sustenance of the poorer peasants who have little or no land of their own. In a process that can be seen, to varying degrees, from Caledonia to Cilicia, these commons are often under threat.

There are many who want to enclose common lands and turn them into private landholdings, whether for farming or other purposes; sheep-grazing meadows is a typical goal. Those who wish to do so are aided by the fact that most common lands don’t have clear documentary proof of ownership. After all, there is no individual owner; it is held in common by the village as a whole. Its usage as common land is dictated by ancient custom and tradition, but without documentary support such arguments carry little weight in law courts. Many richer landowners use this loophole to take common lands and turn them into their own private property, with a practically-universal indifference to the sufferings of those dispossessed of their customary rights.

This issue, amongst others, played a major role in the formation of the Army of Suffering. Sophia and her counselors are not willing to roll back already-existing enclosures, viewing that as too much of a legal can of worms. There would be all kinds of issues of compensations for improvements and in many cases the damage has already been done. Those affected negatively have already decamped or died.

But that doesn’t mean that future abuses should be tolerated. Common lands by customary usage should be protected, but at the same time there is a strong interest in protecting private property. The solution here is the concept of communal-private property rights. Effectively, the village, as a sort of corporation, assumes the private property rights of the common lands with the villagers acting as shareholders, with appropriate documents being drawn up to that effect. Once established, attempted enclosure of common lands without agreed legal compensation would be no different from the theft of land from a private landowner.

This does not end the issue. Drawing up documents to establish claims across the whole Empire would be a long process, with many peasants not understanding the need, and their suspicions of the whole affair which would slow matters even further. That this often ended up being to their own cost, as many took advantage of the slow closure of the loopholes to wiggle through beforehand, did not help reduce said suspicion.

But it does lower many concerns. It does eventually raise others as some argue that communal lands are inefficient and would be better-utilized in private hands. Rhomania has a tradition going back centuries of allowing unutilized waste hands being transferred, despite ownership claims, to those who have proven able and willing to develop them. But that is for waste lands not being used at all, not for lands being used but not being optimized to their maximum extent. Inefficiency is to be deplored but does not justify expropriation.

 

[Basileus444]

I just hope that the Romans don't go down the same road as France when it comes to cultural homogenization. Wiping out minority languages to make everyone a Constantinopolitan doesn't sit right with me, at all.

I don't know; I haven't given much thought to this. There are lots of different ways this could go over the next few centuries; we'll see what develops organically.

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 17.4-Sustaining the War, Part 5: ​

These economic measures are not the only item on the agenda. Herakleios III is still publicly recognized as the legitimate Emperor and no one directly challenges the principle of de facto hereditary autocracy. However, having a weak-willed autocrat being bent by a clique of ambitious and unscrupulous favorites is clearly not a good system.

Sophia has another reason for being interested in curbing the powers, and thereby the responsibilities, of the Imperial office. She is too young to remember her grandfather, but she has been told stories about him by her mother and others, and she also witnessed the strains on Athena before her untimely death. She wants to avoid such a fate herself. Yet just sitting back and doing nothing, much like Herakleios III, feels unethical and as her husband’s example shows, potentially hazardous.

The ideal would be a system that can be directed by a skillful autocrat, but does not require said autocrat to operate effectively, and capable of curbing a decidedly-not-skillful autocrat. Expanding the responsibilities of the Lower Council beyond an advisory capacity is not seriously considered by anyone. (Historically minded officials point out that one time the mob chose Imperial leadership, the result was the Angelos dynasty.) Even the most diplomatically minded courtiers would agree with the most ardent war hawks that the world is a hazardous place; the leadership of the Empire must be educated and trained for the task.

The result is a series of measures designed to strengthen the Imperial Council, although not so much that it can override an Autocrat. With the quasi-exception of the Patriarch of Constantinople, all the members of the Imperial Council serve at Imperial pleasure, but any appointments within their departments must now be approved by the appropriate senior official. The Megas Domestikos is chosen by the Emperor but the tagma strategoi are chosen by him; by law, the Emperor cannot skip over the senior official. The idea is that the Emperor can still retain control of officialdom but sweeping changes in administration to favor a ruling clique would be harder to arrange.

Another measure is a decree that states that any decree signed by all members of the Council has the same weight in law of a decree with an Imperial signature. This is so that the participation of the Emperor is not necessary for the Council to function fully as the Imperial government. Related to this is another measure that states that all official issues of the Imperial budget, even with the Imperial signature, require council signatures as well to be considered valid.

None of these measures are particularly innovative; the mindsets being them are still rather conservative. The aim is to reform the autocracy and render it less open to abuse, but not to significantly move away from that model. These actions, like that of the early-model Lower Council, are more significant in the long-run as precedents rather than for what they represent on their own merits.

As 1662 turns into 1663, the mood in Thessaloniki is grim. A harsh winter again has descended on the city, with parts of the upper city so buried in snow it takes days to shovel them out and restore access. This hardly helps the atmosphere. Domestikos Pirokolos remarks that he feels they are reprising the civil war between Michael the Amorian and Thomas the Slav, and their side is playing the role of Thomas, who lost.

A brief boost in morale comes in April with the largest-profile mid-war defection, that of the Andreas Niketas. The Andreas Niketas is the oldest three-decker in the Roman fleet and arguably the first of its type in the world. That shows in the design. The number of guns had to be reduced and others replaced with lighter calibers, shrinking its broadside throw-weight by a fifth, to make desperately needed improvements to seaworthiness. Nevertheless, it is still a powerful warship, and Sophia’s loyalists make much of the defection, Doux Kanaris taking it as his flagship. But this is a one-off event due to personal foibles of the ship’s command, not emblematic of a wider shift in loyalty in the Roman navy.

Sophia and her supporters want something with far more weight. And so, on May 29, 1663, she is crowned. She has already had a coronation as Empress, but this is different. Here, now, she is crowned by the Metropolitan of Thessaloniki, in the Cathedral of St. Demetrios, as Basileus, as Emperor of the Romans. Outside the city, she is acclaimed by the gathered throngs of commoners and by army units and is raised on a shield by guard units as the assembly, which numbers in the tens of thousands, shouts out its loyalty.

New coins are minted. Herakleios III is still recognized as an Emperor but the new coins show both Sophia and Herakleios on the obverse, both with the imperial aura and of equal size. The reverse shows a cross plus the winged goddess Nike. The reverse image is unusual with its pagan symbolism but is a reference to some rare coinage issues of Andreas Niketas, struck to commemorate his victories over Venice and over the Crusaders.

In Constantinople, news of this is belittled as a desperate grab for legitimacy. Sophia’s descent from Demetrios III Sideros means nothing; even if Herakleios III was actually incapacitated, which his regular processions through the city show that he is not (although his mistress Anastasia is ubiquitously at his side), Sophia would not be his heir.

That would be Prince Demetrios the Younger. Little has been heard or known about him since he left the Empire but, in the spring of 1663, the Tourmarches play up reports that he is somewhere in northern India, defeating Sikhs and Gurkhas. This makes it clear that he is far away and that rightful sovereignty rests with Herakleios III. Exactly what these reports mean though is unclear to most in Constantinople, where information on northern India is sparse. (Southern India, due to longer contacts with Vijayanagar, is better understood.) As one wit popularly puts it, a Sikh is what one does to your lover, while a Gurkha is what one does to her husband.

* * *​

The War Room, White Palace, Constantinople, June 1, 1663:

Andronikos Gyranos looked at the report in front of him, repressing a sigh. His desk, set in a corner of the chamber, was covered in similar material. Russian shipments, primarily grain but also metals, were vital components of his logistics network, but Russian merchants were nervous ever since the anti-Latin attacks. Mobs were rarely good for warehouse inventories. Which meant that while they were still willing to operate, the Russians were more likely to demand payment up front, and in bullion, and with certain guarantees of protection… All of which made everything take longer than it should.

In the center of the chamber was the massive Map Table, which showed a detailed map of the Imperial heartland and surrounding territories. Flags of various colors and markings indicated known and suspected position of forces friendly, hostile, and neutral. Surrounding it were some smaller tables that had more detailed maps of high-importance locations.

He usually preferred working in his office, which was private and quiet, although it was less efficient for getting things done quickly. But that wasn’t why he was down here in ‘the Pit’. Quiet wasn’t something he wanted right now; quiet made it too easy to think, and that was something he wished to avoid.

The main door opened and in walked his wife Irene. She was as tall as the average man normally, but the platform shoes she was currently wearing put her above everyone in the chamber, although if Little Stavros wasn’t sick with an ague, he’d still win that contest. Even so, she glided across the chamber as she strode toward him. Her hair was down, the black streaked with silver-gray. That was an indicator it’d been a while she had last dyed it but Andronikos preferred this look.

“Clear the room and secure it,” she said loudly. “I have private business with the Director.” She did not have the authority to do that. Everyone obeyed her anyway.

After everyone else had left the room, she looked at him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yes, I have.”

“It’s a stupid reason.”

“I’m a stupid man.”

“Sometimes, yes, you are.” She paused. “Both sides in this war aren’t willing to do all that is necessary, but the other side is willing to do more. But we’re on the wrong side. We can’t defect. If we fail, and we’re already on notice, we’ll be killed here. And if we succeed, they’ll just kill us there, because Sideroi don’t do forgiveness. So really our only good chance of survival is based on making the more wrong side in this stupid civil war win. Does that sum up our predicament?”

“Yes, it does.”

“And how does avoiding me help improve that? I make you happy, so all that does is make you unhappy. Punishing yourself won’t help.”

“I know. Like I said, it’s a stupid reason.”

“At least you admit it. But it stops now.” She sat down on a corner of the nearest map table to his desk.

“I’ve got a couple of more inventories to assess, so I can be home in an hour and a half.”

She cocked her head slightly. “Yeah, I don’t feel like waiting. A woman has needs and they haven’t been met lately. I’m currently sitting on…” She shifted a bit so she could read the map under her. “…Pannonia. Seems a good a place as any.”

“Lucky Pannonia,” Andronikos replied. “I’m jealous.”

“I knew you’d be. So how about it?”

“Here? Now?”

“Why not? Do you really think in all this madness and stupidity, the threat of death in case of misstep, that it matters, that you truly care?”

Andronikos thought for a moment and then answered. “As usual, muffin, you’re absolutely right.”

The War Room stayed cleared and secured.

 

[Basileus444]

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 18.0-Shall the Sword Devour Forever? Part 1:​

The 1663 campaigning season holds a frenzy of activity but the resulting violence is mostly void of decisiveness. In Roman Europe, skirmishes abound along the frontiers of Bulgaria, Macedonia, and Thrace but Domestikos Pirokolos’s efforts to launch another offensive are constantly hamstrung. Incessant naval attacks on the coasts of Macedonia and Hellas play havoc with supply lines and require constant detachments to safeguard assaulted areas. Patras, captured by the Constantinople navy last year, is a particular problem. Containing its garrison consumes two thousand men alone.

Nereas in Thrace has an easier time organizing his forces for an offensive and launches an attack down the Via Egnatia straight for Thessaloniki in June. Pirokolos meets him in battle with a force inferior in numbers but equal in artillery thanks to the output of Macedonian foundries. With those guns, Pirokolos cracks Nereas’s lines, forcing him to retreat. However, the battle began in the evening, with limited daylight remaining after the serious fighting, making an effective pursuit impossible.

Nereas withdraws eastward, setting up a more heavily fortified position. He still has superior numbers and is able to stymie all of Pirokolos’s efforts to outflank the position, which Pirokolos does not want to assault head-on. Even if he wins, the casualties would almost certainly make such a victory pyrrhic. Meanwhile Nereas, chastened by his earlier defeat, is reluctant to go back to the attack without substantial reinforcements. The result is stalemate.

In western Anatolia there is more movement. The commander of Constantinople-loyal forces in the region is Manuel Grammatikos, Strategos of the Opsikian tagma. While he only has the resources of the two northwest Anatolian themes on which to draw, the two regions have a combined population of over four million and are well-developed by pre-industrial standards.

Grammatikos thus has a material and manpower advantage over his opponent to a degree Nereas does not enjoy in Roman Europe. That opponent is Strategos Basil Andronikopulos of Thrakesia. After the withdrawal of Constantinople-loyal forces in 1662, he had taken command of all Thessaloniki-loyal forces in the theme. He has spent the time since then frantically building up the Thrakesian tagma. The theme of Thrakesia is also highly populous and well-developed, more so than both the Opsikian and Optimatic themes, but the area had been heavily disrupted by operations last year and is also only one theme to two. The prospect of reinforcements, which had been so crucial in 1662, is also unlikely. All other theaters loyal to Sophia have their own problems and are unable or unwilling to send aid.

Andronikopulos tries to lure Grammatikos into attacking heavily-fortified positions but with no luck. Grammatikos prefers to force the Thrakesians out of position by flanking their line, which he successfully does at several points although he is unable to pin and hold the Thrakesians for a serious fight. As a result, the Thrakesians retire and the Opsikians advance, but at a slow pace and with few losses here.

Andronikopulos is effectively trading space for time, but what good that time will do is unclear. He is slowing the enemy advance but not halting it. Six weeks after major operations begin, Smyrna is once again under threat. Andronikopulos is willing to let the great city be placed under siege; its fortifications and supply situation have been improved since last year. He is also hopeful that even though the supporting Constantinople fleet can blockade the port, the strain of besieging Smyrna and facing the Thrakesian field army will be enough to overtax the Opsikians. It is not the most promising strategy but given the context it is unclear if better options are available.

The monkey wrench that gets thrown in these works comes from a toolbox nobody in western Anatolia expected, although that is partially because they have not been paying attention. The Army of Suffering has, by this point, spread its actions across all of Anatolikon but its only effort to move beyond the theme boundaries was the attempt at the Cilician Gates which failed miserably.

Misery is the theme of the Anatolikon theme in these years. Chaos and insecurity have caused food production to crater and local trade to collapse. Crop yields continue to be bad even by the low standards of central Anatolia. Famine stalks the countryside. Peasants cling ever more tightly to their lands, whether long-held or recently-gained, and are loathe to give up food. Movements of people, whether members of the Army of Suffering or civilians seeking shelter or sustenance, encourage the spread of disease, especially deadly against malnourished bodies.

The Army of Suffering needs to find greener pastures if it is not to collapse. The Cilician Gates are a no-go. Kastrophylax Theosteriktos has improved his position. With fresh recruits from Cilicia, he has refurbished the medieval fortifications at Loulon, using it as a base to assert Imperial authority in the region. Notably, a key part of his strategy is guaranteeing the land reforms implemented by the Army of Suffering. He has absolutely no authorization from higher authority to do so but given his limited resources, not doing so would have fatally undermined his efforts to expand beyond the Gates.

Going north would require breaking through the Pontic Mountains, which even if successful would not yield much. Pontus has many thriving coastal cities, chief of which are Trebizond and Sinope, but they are heavily dependent on Scythia for grain. To the east lies the Armeniakon, which is in a similar position as Anatolikon, with Ottoman raiders added to the mix.

That leaves the west. The Army of Suffering marches northwest to Bithynia, often known as the Beautiful Province. There is a serious question about exactly how much control the army is under and there is certainly little evidence of an effort to implement any sort of social or economic program. The chief goal is apparently to plunder for provisions, and in this the Army of Suffering proves to be highly effective. As former peasants, they know all the tricks of hiding foodstuffs from requisitions.

They head towards Nicaea. Attacking Constantinople and overthrowing the Imperial system is clearly impracticable; the Army of Suffering has no way of crossing over into Europe. Perhaps the Grand Karaman and Konon hope that once their forces have settled down, they can implement their program in Bithynia, giving it the resources it needs to become a staying concern.

The defenses of the area are woefully inadequate. Untouched by war since the Time of Troubles, fortifications are under-maintained and typically obsolete, and that’s if there are any forces to garrison them. Most available units have been posted to the Thrakesian offensive. As terrified refugees fly before the Army of Suffering, they spread panic and confusion.

Grammatikos is horrified when he receives news that a host is barreling down on Nicaea, which only has medieval fortifications with several large gaps, plus an urban militia of limited armament and even more limited training, to defend it. He tries to negotiate a truce with Andronikopulos, arguing that the Army of Suffering is just as much an enemy of Sophia as it is of Herakleios III.

That may be true but after the depredations in northern Thrakesia last year, the Thrakesian Strategos does not care. Anything that hurts the forces of Herakleios III is good; other problems can be dealt with later. Andronikopulos demands that Grammatikos not only withdraw from Thrakesia entirely (which is what Grammatikos seems to have expected) but that he cedes the entire Opsikian theme as well. These terms are absolutely ridiculous and probably meant to be rejected, which they are.

But this leaves Grammatikos still facing a dilemma. Having advanced to the gates of Smyrna through a tedious march and maneuver and seriously frustrated by Andronikopulos’s intransigence, he is loath to give that up. But he cannot leave his rear undefended. While his forces are concentrated in one mass, he has clear superiority over any foe in Anatolia not commanded by the Shah, but dividing it makes defeat in detail possible.

It is a gamble he elects to take. Half of the army will remain at Smyrna to continue the siege, supported by naval units. Given its weakened state, it is doubtful that the siege will be successfully prosecuted in the interim but it will prevent any progress from being lost and keep the Thrakesians occupied. The other half, under the command of Grammatikos, will march north to deal with the Army of Suffering.

 

[Basileus444]

I didn't respond to some comments because they'll be covered in the update below.

Off topic but I’m thinking about how the current Rhomanian emperors are descended from Timur and how the OTL Mughal dynasty was descended from him. Any Siderot equivalents to the OTL Mughal emperors because of this?

Demetrios, younger brother of Heraklios III is currently in the northern India, so maybe that's gonna be a start of the new dynasty.

I've been waiting for someone to notice that the Sideroi are effectively TTL's equivalent of Mughals in terms of relations to Timur. But I haven't been basing any characters off of OTL Mughals-no Greek Akbar for example.

Are there any lingering effects of the brutal treatment of civilians around Smyrna? I know it caused issues last campaign season, but didn't see it mentioned this time around.

There are lingering effects (northern Thrakesia is a right mess now) but they aren't as significant this time around.

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Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 18.1-Shall the Sword Devour Forever? Part 2:​

Grammatikos marches hard but it is a long way from Smyrna to Nicaea, even on some of the best roads in the Empire. And he has been delayed by the failed negotiations with the Thrakesians and the subsequent pause when he decided how he should act. A few raids by Thrakesian cavalry don’t help, although Andronikopulos quickly shifts most of his energy against the forces remaining in his theme, rather than those exiting it.

These delays might not have been significant if Nicaea had defenses comparable to that of the typical border fortress on the western or eastern frontiers. But the last time Nicaea’s fortifications were substantially improved were with earthen redoubts piled up during the Time of Troubles and those have long since been allowed to erode away. (This is a major weakness of earthen fortifications, their brevity.) The extant fortification at Nicaea in 1663 predate the Black Death and these are no longer complete, with breaches punched in them to facilitate access as the early modern city expanded well beyond its medieval bounds.

Exactly what happens prior to the Army of Suffering’s attack on Nicaea is unclear. Accounts more sympathetic to the Anatolikon uprising claim that negotiations were proceeding well, with the city pledging to pay an admittedly hefty ransom in exchange for being left alone, when word arrived that Grammatikos was on his way with a relief force. With this, the Nicaeans reneged on their agreement.

In some versions, the Nicaeans compound this by treacherously murdering the envoys of the Army of Suffering who had been sent to negotiate the ransom, a group which includes Stefanos Karamanlis. Stefanos is the last of the ‘big three’ leaders of the Army of Suffering, an elderly cousin of the Grand Karaman. He had been instrumental in the formation of the Army of Suffering as an army, with long experience as a Roman drill dekarchos with turning farm boys into soldiers. Much of the cohesion and organization of the Army of Suffering, such as it is, is due to his person.

According to other accounts less sympathetic to the rebels, the ire of the rebels had only increased as they entered Bithynia. These lands were richer and more bountiful than what they were used to in Anatolikon, the sight only increasing their greed and rage at those who had hoarded such bounty. They were no mood to let Nicaea off; they wanted to sack and loot it most thoroughly. In these versions, Stefanos is killed by Nicaean defenders somewhere in the approach to the city, the details varying but all agreeing it was before the rebels had entered the city proper.

All agree on what happens next. Help was on the way but it was not fast enough, the Army of Suffering pouring over the paltry defenses and into the city. The rebels are condemned, then and now, for what follows, but by all the laws of war as they existed at the time, what follows is predictable. Cities that have to be stormed can expect, and are due, no mercy; that’s the incentive to surrender beforehand.

Nicaea in peacetime has around 100,000 inhabitants although in these circumstances the population has been swelled by refugees from the countryside, but historians dispute by how much. There is more consensus on the number slain, somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand. The worst carnage is on the shore of Lake Askania, where panicked city dwellers desperately seek out boats to escape. Some boatmen make huge sums of money by demanding exorbitant fees to take on passengers while other boats are swamped by too many people and capsizing. Very few can swim and it is reported that islands and coastal hills of corpses form in places before decomposition works them away.

Those who flee north on the Nikomedia road have better luck since the Army of Suffering hadn’t fully invested the city before attacking. Their attention moreover is focused on the opportunities for plunder. By Anatolikon standards, particularly those of these straitened years, Nicaea is incredibly well-stocked with all kinds of foodstuffs and the wine cellars are also in good condition as well. Also, by the standards of the poor Anatolikon peasantry, who can’t even afford a personal fork back home and have possibly never tasted any meat other than pigeon, if that, even mesoi Nicaean houses are incredibly well furnished. Even though they may have grown cotton, this is the first time most have had the chance to wear cotton clothes.

After five days of carnage, the Army of Suffering has mostly calmed down from the storm and sack, but that is not the end of the matter. Both Konon and the Grand Karaman show signs of depression. Both genuinely, particularly Konon, were interested in reweaving the fabric of Roman society but the Army of Suffering is not being the tool for that task they want it to be.

More immediately, a vengeful Grammatikos is now approaching. The Army of Suffering has not confronted a regular force of such size head-on and its earlier experiences confronting Theosterikteros at the Cilician Gates are not promising. If they fight around Nicaea, they risk being pinned against the city and destroyed. Furthermore, the rebel soldiers are interested in safeguarding their newly acquired plunder by transporting it home.

The Army of Suffering retreats from Nicaea seven days after the initial attack, its progress slowed by a massive baggage train of plunder from the city as well as the surrounding countryside. But for his part, Grammatikos is slowed by columns of refugees clogging the roads and seeking shelter behind his army, making it hard for him to move forward. As a result, despite some clashes between forward and rear units, the two forces never seriously engage before the Army of Suffering crosses back into the Anatolikon, with Grammatikos breaking off the pursuit.

He does that so he can immediately pivot and march hard west back the way he came; his gamble to try and keep his earlier gains in Thrakesia before the Army of Suffering invaded Bithynia has failed dramatically. Andronikopulos had massed men and guns and broken the siege of Smyrna, defeating the Constantinople-loyalist force again after it consolidated north of the city. They are now in full retreat, hotly pursued and harassed by Thrakesian units. Despite Andronikopulos’s best efforts he is unable to bring them to battle again before they can link up with Grammatikos, although he does snap up a decent amount of baggage, artillery, and over two thousand prisoners, many of them wounded left behind in the rush to keep moving.

What follows is another series of desultory marches and skirmishes which do little beyond tiring the soldiers and growing the casualty lists. Both sides are showing clear signs of demoralization. The movement of troops and refugees with the attendant disruption of trade and agriculture is causing food shortages and also spreading outbreaks of disease, including the dreaded plague. The shattered survivors of the sack of Nicaea are hit the hardest, with a comparable number dying of deprivation and disease over the rest of the year as were killed in the sack. But they are unique only in extent, not in concept. Western Anatolia, more geared toward producing for the market than for self-sufficiency, is more vulnerable to food shortages caused by disruption in trade.

Similar issues are present across all the Empire with almost no area being spared entirely. The coast of Hellas is hit repeatedly by naval raids while even Pontus is struck by Ottoman forays. Trying to defend the entire length of the Pontic mountains is a good way to be defeated in detail and while some are driven back, others break through. The coastal cities themselves can defend themselves and can rely on still-dependable Scythian imports for basic foodstuffs, but the countryside is more vulnerable. The inhabitants of Kerasous pay a hefty ransom to an Ottoman column to spare their valuable suburban market gardens and orchards from burning.

The situation in Syria is also degenerating into a series of raids, with the objective of plundering an often plague-wracked countryside rather than of changing the strategic situation. Troop and refugee movements are also spreading disease through Syria and then to Egypt. To make matters worse, the arid conditions of the Little Ice Age (more moisture locked up in ice) makes the 1663 Nile flood a devastatingly paltry one, hammering Egyptian agriculture, which has knock-on effects for areas of the Imperial heartland accustomed to being fed by Egyptian grain. In Crete, which only produces one-third of its cereal needs (growing wine is much more profitable), there are reports of cannibalism with a poem later saying ‘the flesh of a son was more welcome than his love’. [1]

The situation in Syria is still dangerous enough to Sophia-loyalists that Theosterikteros is forced to send many of his newest recruits to bolster the line against the Egyptians, denying him the reserves he feels he needs to push further into the Anatolikon. He had hoped to strike into the heart of Karamanid Isauria, possibly with the goal of sponsoring a new Grand Karaman by finding an ambitious cousin, but marching into that area without plentiful rear-echelon guards is an expensive but effective way to commit suicide.

The year 1663 is often taken as the nadir of the Roman General Crisis. While disease outbreaks and food shortfalls are nothing new, even without the Little Ice Age, the Little Ice Age and the War of Wrath sharply exacerbate their effects. To be accurate, years surrounding 1663, particularly the next couple, are probably comparable in terms of deaths from disease and deprivation. Yet the memory of those years is partly compensated with events of high drama and import, with things clearly moving toward resolution, while 1663 just feels mired. Theosterikteros’s inability to do anything in Anatolikon because of the need for damage control in Syria that year is an example of that malaise which only breaks the next year.

Both sides are looking for a way out, with some groups trying to find a way to a negotiated compromise. The most significant of these is an effort sponsored by the Patriarch of Russia who manages to get delegates to meet under his auspices in his palace in Kiev but even his august presence and earnest cajoling can get nowhere. The Tourmarches and Sophia have committed too much to be able to compromise; one must destroy the other.

But both sides are too evenly matched for any military victory to come quickly and cheaply. New weights must be added to the scales if the balance is to be tipped. Accusations of foreign collusion are already old hat in propaganda by this point, particularly that of Constantinople against Sophia, but with no basis in fact. Neither side has been willing to take that step. Yet now, as 1663 spirals toward its end, the unthinkable is looking more and more essential.

[1] The poetic quote is taken from a poem about a south Indian famine around this time IOTL.

 

[Basileus444]

Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 18.2-Shall the Sword Devour Forever? Part 3:​

The one area of the wider Roman world that sees significant shifts in the situation in 1663 is Italy. The anti-Latin pogrom in Constantinople made staying neutral in the Catholic rebellions in Naples and Rome much more difficult for King Joao, with results that quickly become apparent. In June 1663, a battle fleet hove into sight of Civitavecchia, where the Kephale of Rome had retreated after the initial uprising.

The Kephale, Theodoros Lazaros, has held that position in relative security despite no reinforcements and little support given the lack of a rebel navy. Yet while the fleet isn’t that big, it is more than capable of overwhelming his small garrison. A delegation from the fleet under a banner of truce quickly comes ashore to negotiate with the Kephale.

Lazaros isn’t that surprised that the head of the delegation and commander of the fleet is a Spaniard; he had been dreading something like this since he’d read reports of the pogrom in Constantinople. It is a surprise that he knows the man who comes ashore. It is Don Juan del Aguila, who had met the Kephale in 1658 when the Spanish nobleman visited Rome precisely to view the ancient monuments Lazaros had been promoting. Del Aguila had then gone to the diggings in Pompeii for a little excavating of his own, taking a statue and dismantling a wall with artwork to reassemble at his villa near Porto, an act which does not endear him to modern archaeologists.

Del Aguila is very polite but also very firm in his terms. The Kingdoms of Spain and Arles have recognized the Papacy as the rightful rulers of Rome and the surrounding territory of Lazio and are there to ensure the Pope can take up his authority. If the Romans cooperate, he will guarantee safe passage and provide any necessary transport and supply for Lazaros, the garrison, and any Roman civilians who wish to accompany them to Messina. If the Romans do not cooperate, things will be messier.

Lazaros protests at first, arguing that Spain and Arles are supposed to be at peace with the Roman Empire and are supporting rebels, an unfriendly act. But the protest is largely for form’s sake. He recognizes the terrible odds against him and after the massacre of Catholics in Constantinople had expected this kind of demand. Del Aguila recognizes the protest for what it is and additionally makes the argument that, naming conventions aside, the city of Rome itself matters far more to Catholics than it does to the Romans, who have New Rome after all. Lazaros then concedes and agrees to the Spanish terms.

With the fall of Civitavecchia, all Roman or Sicilian power in central Italy has ended. Further south, the situation is more promising. Outside of Campania and Lazio, the other areas of discontent have been stamped down and reorganized and reinforced units are now pushing against Naples, basing out of Apulia. The exploits of Kanaris and Kalomeros have also stung the Constantinople-loyal navy enough that its energies are focused more on Hellas and away from harassing the Italian coast than last year, making it easier and safer to move Sicilian units and supplies by sea. Simultaneously, the Sicilian navy, after losing its forward base last year, has reorganized its effort with a now-tighter blockade of Naples.

This pressure is seriously starting to bite by high summer of 1663, a very hot and dry season that hardly helps to calm nerves in the beleaguered metropolis. Word of the arrival of a Spanish fleet in Sicilian waters and the fall of Civitavecchia boosts morale for a time, but what follows is quite disconcerting.

To be precise, nothing follows. After taking the port, del Aguila does…nothing. He garrisons the port with soldiers and remains on station with his ships to guard the place, but he does not sail south. The Neapolitans, who had been emphasizing the Catholic nature of their revolt in a bid to gain western allies, had been expecting the Spanish to sail south and smash the Sicilian blockade. Del Aguila had enough firepower that a fight between his squadron and the blockade force would have been an even match.

Del Aguila does not move because he has very clear orders from his King; he is to support the revolt in Rome but to provide no aid for the one in Naples. The public outrage over the massacre of foreigners in Constantinople, which included many Spaniards, made it impossible for King Joao to continue sitting on the side as he had. However, his long-term strategy still requires negotiating with the Romans, which means he doesn’t want to push too far and burn a bridge he’ll want to cross later. Supporting the one rebellion and not the other is his effort to reconcile these two impetuses.

There is still movement south from Rome towards Naples. The fall of Civitavecchia did free up rebel forces that had been keeping the Roman garrison contained, while Spanish control of the sea does allow a contingent of Papal mercenaries and associated volunteers to arrive. They are not under Spanish command and so are free to push south in a renewed bid for the two rebellions to link up.

The key to preventing any such linkage is the city of Gaeta, which prior to the rebellions had been on the Sicilian side near the border between the Despotate and the Roman enclave-kephalate centered on the Eternal City. Due to its border location, it has an elaborate and modern system of fortifications designed to guard Naples against attacks from invading armies from the north, armies with considerably more firepower than the one challenging the bulwarks now.

Despite that, Gaeta was vulnerable due to an understrength garrison. But due to the lack of Spanish support, which would’ve provided heavy artillery and naval support the rebel and Papal forces lacked, that does not matter. The garrison is able to concentrate its limited strength on its land defenses, beating off two attacks while being supplied by sea. So long as Gaeta holds, Rome and Naples cannot combine their forces.

As the summer sun beats down on the cobblestones of Naples, the blockade of the city tightens. A few blockade runners still manage to slip through but the need for speed and stealth sharply limit the cargoes while the exorbitant prices they charge for their wares (the incentive to take such risks) exacerbate the angry and hungry discontent of the masses that cannot afford those prices.

With the growing hunger and anger, Masaniello’s hold over the people of Naples is fading. Fine rhetoric doesn’t still an empty belly. Public support is shifting toward the Duke of Maddaloni, Simone Galamini. While his military efforts aren’t stopping the tightening noose this year, his supporters can still conjure up memories of his successes in bringing in foodstuffs last year. It is more than can be said for Masaniello.

On August 20, an actually substantial shipment of grain arrives in Naples overland. Its source is unclear, with partisans of Masaniello and Maddaloni both giving credit to their respective leaders. But millers and bakers are set to work processing the grain, with Masaniello issuing plans for a public rationed distribution of the resulting bread. Maddaloni’s supporters are appalled. This one-time distribution certainly doesn’t solve the food crisis, but it is still a boost they would like to deny to the fishmonger.

On August 24, distribution sites around Naples begin dispensing the rations. The heat is sweltering and the queues are massive. Rumors spread, particularly at the distribution point by the harbor customs house, that there isn’t enough and that those in the back won’t get anything. The queue threatens to turn into a riot. Masaniello rushes down in an effort to keep order, but then people in the crowd start shouting that the reason for the shortage is that Masaniello has been hoarding foodstuffs for himself; the fishmonger doesn’t look like he has been shedding body fat.

Someone then screams “death to the enemy of the people” and lunges at Masaniello. His guards block this man, but it is the spark. The scene erupts into violence as supporters of Maddaloni, embedded in the crowd, attack Masaniello’s entourage and egg on the crowd to join them. (There is debate over whether the initial attacker was an active Maddaloni partisan, or just a frustrated commoner who played into their hands by happenstance.) Masaniello’s entourage, massively outnumbered, is quickly cut to pieces, literally.

Word of Masaniello’s murder spreads rapidly and Maddaloni’s partisans, who had been hoping for such a turnaround, react quickly while their opponents are in shock. By the end of the day, they are in control of all key positions in the city, including the harbor forts, the customs house, and the civic hall. A messenger rushes to the Duke, who hurries to the city to solidify his command over the city.

The Duke has achieved his goal. His upstart fishmonger of an ally has been removed from the scene, leaving him to take charge of the rebellion. He certainly has no truck with any of the proposed changes to the social order Masaniello had championed. The Duke is conservative and likes the pre-rebellion social order, just with the change that it is Catholic and that he is on top as opposed to those Orthodox is Messina.

Masaniello though is not forgotten, his name frequently conjured up in later political dialogues. [1] He is commonly invoked as an example of the danger of riling up the common folk, as mobs tend to be vicious, ungrateful, and unpredictable. He is also cited as a clear reason why one should not empower the common folk, because the common folk are too stupid to know their own interests. If they had, they would’ve dismembered Maddaloni who despised them as rabble instead. More happily, he is also invoked as a reminder of the need to implement needed reforms in advance, lest desperation conjure up a man like him; in this, he shares a similar historical memory to that of his contemporary Konon.

The Duke quickly secures his hold over Naples, helped by some timely events on the front. To the first of these he can claim credit. After appearing in Naples to secure control, he rushes back to the front, taking his opponent by surprise at his quick return and administering a sharp ambush on the Sicilian vanguard which had been pressing forward in his absence. It is hardly decisive, but it is still a morale-boosting victory and a bloody nose that makes the Sicilians more cautious.

The other event cannot be credited to the Duke but its timing is still extremely convenient for him. While Masaniello was being dismembered, Despot Andreas was sending three tourmai across the Adriatic to reinforce Emperor Sophia. She was hoping that if she got reinforcements from Italy, that would free up some units that she could then send to bolster Thrakesia, which needs the support.

However, the convoy is intercepted by units of the Constantinople navy and the transports captured. In retaliation, the Constantinople navy then launches a devastating raid on the lightly guarded coasts of Apulia and Lucania. The blockade of Naples is absorbing most of the Sicilian navy and Despot Andreas is loath to weaken this most-effective weapon, but the raid does draw away land units pressing against Naples to instead shore up coastal defenses.

Naples is still hungry and threatened, but it will clearly still be a hard nut to crack if nothing changes, especially if the Despotate can’t focus on the problem. Things then need to change.

And they will. The year 1663 is the nadir of Rhomania’s General Crisis. Now begins the climb out.

[1] Just like the OTL figure.

 

[Basileus444]

So far I like the current state of affairs in Italy. The Papal States are restored but as long as Sicily and Venice remain within the Roman sphere of influence, Italy will never be unified, either from the Latins or the Romans. This means regional cultures and economies (specifically Naples and the rest of Southern Italy) are allowed to grow and thrive.

A shame about the Kephale though. Hopefully, he can retire and try to foster a Classicist cultural movement within Constantinople from what he has learned in the Eternal City.


I agree. The Papacy can revitalize the culture and the economy of the Eternal City by simply being there, which would not be the case under the Roman government, especially during the Civil War it is in now.

Personally, I'd love to see the Papal States be recognized by Orthodox and Latin nations as a neutral buffer state once the dust settles in Rhomania. It could be a way to foster mutual peace while also acting as a deterrent to Italian unification under military force.

What would be funny is if the Papacy becomes like Sicily or serbia because a Lombard ruler decides to attempt and unite non-Roman Italy.

Yep it's a real shame, he seemed like a Justinian type Rome/antiquity fanboy, would love if his efforts bore fruit elsewhere

Italy and India are two places ITTL that won't get unified unless I drastically change my plans for those areas. I plan, going forward, that a lot of Roman policy in Italy is going to be based on preventing any attempted Lombard resurgence at dominating the peninsula as had been the case in the 1500s.

I also have plans for this developing classical interest; I've already mentioned the inklings of the Grand Tour. I like the idea of this developing into a broader itinerary that starts in Rome and then goes through the eastern Mediterranean.

I have a huge hole in my readings of ttl, so, How's China and India?
Wasnt China Timurid?

China: It was ruled by Timurids (the Tieh dynasty) but that was overthrown by a native revolt in the late 1500s. China is now ruled by the Zeng dynasty out of Luoyang, the ancient capital chosen deliberately as a callback to the 'good old days when China was Chinese and the barbarians were not here'. It's fairly isolationist, because of its wariness of foreigners after the Yuan and Tieh invasions.

India: Northern India is a mess and has been for some time since whenever it starts to politically consolidate, an outside force comes in and wrecks the process. A Sikh state is starting to coalesce around Delhi, but its scope is still small. The Deccan and the south are dominated by Vijayanagar, but it is undergoing its own General Crisis right now. I plan to go into more detail once Rhomania's General Crisis is done.

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Rhomania’s General Crisis, Part 19.0-Go Forward, Part 1:​

Rhomania’s relationship with Russia would change drastically over the course of the seventeenth century. Over that period, particularly after the Reunification of the Rus and the building of the Don-Volga canal (a project on which many German prisoners labored and many of which died), the balance of political and economic power shifted to the north. Even at its beginning, the federal Empire of the Rus had a population twice that of the Empire of the Romans, a gap which has never been narrowed even to this day. Roman products today have a deserved reputation for high quality but many could not be built without Russian raw materials, a paradigm already becoming noticeable by the 1660s.

The first serious inkling of this shift comes in late 1663 when both sides in the War of Wrath come courting the Russians. This was separate from an earlier effort sponsored by the Russian Patriarch to negotiate a settlement. Neither side was interested in a compromise; they wanted the Russians to come in on their side of the struggle.

The Russians are ambivalent about such overtures. The failure of his mediation efforts has irritated the Patriarch but there are other reasons. The last time the Russians had intervened in Roman internal affairs had been during the Orthodox War almost 150 years earlier. Although the Russian army sent to the Bosporus saw no combat, nearly half of the men had perished due to disease and deprivation. It is hardly a good advertisement.

But there are more immediate reasons. The Russians, frankly, don’t trust the Constantinople regime. While the ambitions of the war hawks are focused on other regions, such a jingoistic regime does not seem predictable and operating in good faith. The precedent of massacring foreigners in their own capital is not one to inspire confidence. It is for the same reason that the court in Georgia is also wary of the Tourmarches.

But that does not mean the Russians are willing to go to the effort of intervening directly against Constantinople, as Sophia’s envoys desire. Nor are they willing to undertake a ‘second-best’ effort, an economic boycott of Roman territories loyal to the Tourmarches, as the envoys also propose. This would be a serious blow against the Regime of the Tourmarches. Constantinople and the Pontic cities depend heavily on Scythian foodstuffs, even with Egyptian and Vlach imports, while Russian metals and forest products are an important source of raw materials needed for armaments manufacture.

Yet such a boycott would also be a heavy blow to the finances of many Russians, particularly the rich Scythian landowners who represent their principality in the Zemsky Sobor. They make a lot of money from the Black Sea trade and are not willing to take the hit to their incomes. By their calculations, they can continue selling to whoever rules Constantinople, because said ruler will need the Black Sea trade. It doesn’t matter if that is the Tourmarches or Sophia. Either way they keep making money so long as they keep selling.

The Russians will stay neutral, although given geography their balance of trade is slanted entirely pro-Constantinople even if their sentiments are pro-Thessaloniki. While failing to gain direct Russian military aid is a disappointment, ensuring a continuation of the status quo in the Black Sea is a victory for the Tourmarches.

With the Russians, both Constantinople and Thessaloniki had been making bids, but in the other major effort to gain explicit foreign aid the floor belongs entirely to Thessaloniki. That is with the Spaniards. If the support of an Orthodox power cannot be gained, then Lisbon is viewed as the next best (or least bad) choice.

There isn’t a history of military conflict such as with the Ottomans (Sophia and Iskandar the Younger may be fighting the same foe, but any alliance, if it exists, is strictly off the books) or Hungarians or Germans. The last time soldiers from Rhomania and Iberia seriously clashed on the ground in the Mediterranean, a teenage Andreas I commanded the Romans. Henri the Spider is viewed as too slippery and too far away, while the Arletians are viewed as too weak to provide the help Sophia wants.

King Joao’s patience has paid off as envoys arrive in the autumn of 1663 to negotiate directly for his aid. The seriousness of the effort is illustrated by the chief negotiator, Andronikos Sideros-Drakos, Dux of Dalmatia and Istria and a cousin of Sophia. (The vassal Duxes are descended from Demetrios III’s elder sister as well as from a cadet branch of the Drakos dynasty.)

The treaty of Lisbon is formulated by the beginning of the new year. The first clauses deal with the Eternal City and central Italy, with the arguments being largely a more formal and longer version of that between del Aguila and Kephale Lazaros. The Eternal City and the region of Lazio are to be ceded back to the Papacy, with the border to be reestablished on the old line that had existed between the Papal States and the Kingdom of Naples prior to the Roman-Byzantine reconquest. Gaeta will once again be a frontier city.

The reference to older borders is deliberate on the parts of all parties, Spaniards, Sicilians, and Romans to keep any reference or claims on the part of the Lombards out of the treaty. The Treaty of Lisbon is rewriting a part of the settlement of Italy agreed upon in the late stages of Demetrios III’s reign but none of the three want to rewrite any other parts save for these specific bits.

The loss of Rome and Lazio are bitter pills for the Romans and Sicilians to swallow. King Joao originally had not been that interested in the fate of Rome but after the anti-Catholic massacre in Constantinople, he cannot afford to not demand at least that. The Romans and Sicilians, to get Spanish aid, have no choice but to swallow it. (Constantinople propaganda, when it gets news of the treaty, sharply criticizes Sophia for the cession, not surprisingly ignoring that it was the actions of the Tourmarches that caused the pressure on Joao to demand the cession.)

Joao does what he can to sugar the draught without sacrificing the substance. The reference to the old Papal-Neapolitan border ties into one effort. There had been papal claims of overlordship in Southern Italy dating back to the days of the Norman Conquest, with the Kingdom of Sicily being a papal vassal on paper. These had been the legal basis of the Papal right to take away the kingdom from the Hohenstaufen family and cede it to Charles of Anjou.

The Romans of Constantinople had, naturally, completely ignored this after their conquest of the area, a tradition the Despots of Sicily had continued. But the claims had not been formally revoked, just ignored. In the treaty, the Papacy formally renounces these claims. This doesn’t change anything on the ground, but it does tie up a legal loose end and it is a face-saving concession of sorts to mollify the Sicilians and Romans, its real intention.

The next clauses deal with a city on the other side of the planet, a neat illustration of already-extant global interests. This is the city of Malacca, long contested between the Spanish and Romans and taken, at high cost, by the Romans during the 1630s. Joao wants it back and will not take no for an answer. Per the treaty, Malacca and all associated claims of overlordship of surrounding territories lost in the Roman conquest are returned to the Spanish. It must be noted though that the treaty does not affect Java, where Spanish-allied Sunda had been conquered by Roman-allied Mataram. Those consequences remain with all their implications for the future.

There are those, particularly in the circles associated with Rhomania-of-the-East, that are bitter about this cession, but for many Malacca is far out of sight and thus out of mind. Modern readers tend to wildly overestimate the significance of Rhomania-of-the-East, particularly in its early years. Perhaps it is because of the drama and exoticism. But more Romans lived in Nicaea in 1660 than from the area from Aden to Ambon and for all the war hawks’ talk of expansion, eastern opportunities are significant only in their neglect.

Yet there are others, even in those circles, that try and see a silver lining. One of these, somewhat surprisingly, is the former Katepano of Pahang Alexandros Mavrokordatos. He had tried and bloodily failed to take Malacca in 1636, his efforts ruined by an unexpectedly early start to the monsoon which swamped his siege efforts. After returning to the Imperial heartland, he’d been sharply criticized. Notably, he’d won a libel suit against some of his critics who’d condemned him in print for not foreseeing the monsoon’s early arrival. The judge had awarded the case to Mavrokordatos on the grounds that failure to be a prophet was not a reasonable criticism.

The whole experience had left the former Katepano rather embittered and annoyed toward many of his fellow Romans. He is hopeful that the shock of losing Malacca might force them to look on the eastern waters more seriously and intelligently. Certainly, the situation there is dire. One historical analogy sometimes bandied about is that the Romans and Spanish had fought a naval equivalent of the last Roman-Sassanid war, both sides pummeling each other into exhausted impotence, leaving the field open to a fresh and unexpected third party.

That party is the Lotharingians, both the Triune-controlled southerners and the still-independent northerners, shifting their energies from European to eastern waters. While the main centers of Roman power in the east have remained secure, the Lotharingians have made significant inroads in the interstices of the Katepanates. And there are the local players to consider as well, making for an active and chaotic scene, from battered but still-potent Aceh, to Siak, Makassar, and Sulu, amongst others.

The last Roman concession is probably the most important in Joao’s eyes. Looming over all his calculations is the impending threat of a personal union between the Triple Monarchy and Arles, effectively restoring the pre-Ninety Years War kingdom of France and bringing its writ to the Pyrenees. Joao does not want that threat but if he has to fight to prevent it, he wants allies and thus far he has been unsuccessful.

Internal support from Arles is underwhelming thanks to skillful intrigue and bribery on the part of Henri II, living up to his moniker “the Spider”. The Lombards are aligned with the Triunes, the Russians are too distant and apathetic, and the Holy Roman Empire is a broken fragmented reed. The Aragonese and the Islanders support Joao, with the former in particular feeling especially threatened, but their military strength is small.

Joao now has something rather more serious. Sophia agrees to a military alliance with Spain, in public a defensive pact covering their respective European territories, but in a secret clause this is really directed against allowing a Triune union with Arles. Some Romans argue that this concession is also in the interests of Rhomania. Others disagree, asserting that Triune control over Arles is too distant to be a threat, or at least not enough of one to justify the expense of trying to prevent it.

Now comes the payoff for Sophia and her partisans. The first is in Italy. Joao has supported the rebellion in Rome and in return condemns the one in Naples. He ignores the Catholic element there, focusing on the efforts of commoners seeking to upend the social order and an overly ambitious noble trying to throw off his sovereign. Put that way, King Joao is highly unsympathetic and makes that clear. (There are some secret clauses regarding protection for Sicilian Catholics; Joao does not want another anti-Catholic pogrom. But presentation matters. Massacring Catholics is bad, but massacring rebels who just happen to be Catholics can be tolerated. It is a tightrope but one Despot Andreas, who wants to crush the revolt in Naples but not alienate other loyal Catholics, is also walking.)

He is not going to do anything direct against the Neapolitans but makes it publicly clear that they will receive no aid, in any form, from Spain. (This is why the Catholic protection clauses are secret.) This is a devastating blow for Neapolitan morale; their most creditable hopes had been contingent on foreign aid. The Papacy, for its part, still wants a successful Neapolitan revolt; an independent Campania would be a useful buffer for Lazio. But the amount of aid the Curia can send is far less than that Spain could provide, and until they are securely in control of Rome and Lazio, the Curia won’t do anything to jeopardize that primary goal.

This is useful but the next payoff is the big one, the reason for all the concessions. The key advantage the Tourmarches have possessed thus far is their command of the sea. For all the glamor and success of Kanaris and Kalomeros, they have not seriously endangered that command. This is not for lack of trying, but the disbalance of ships makes it unrealistic. A Spanish fleet, much greater than that which anchored off Civitavecchia, should do much to address that.

Joao had also offered land forces but Sophia’s envoys want only naval support. The provision of ships is viewed as less politically volatile than creating the specter of Latin troops marching through Roman territory. The decline of his offer doesn’t bother Joao since he thereby gets what he wants more cheaply. But he promptly sets to work to fulfill his end of the bargain, dispatching orders to the relevant naval yards to begin preparing the fleet.