NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This thread is intended primarily to be a narrative set in Pantocratoria's distant past. Please TG me if you're thinking of posting in it.

The Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome - 14 December 1752

The New Great Hall of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, still called because it had only been completed twenty years before, supplanting the room which now served as the hall's antechamber as the most important in the palace, was buzzing with excited courtiers, moving and positioning themselves about the massive chamber to better see and be seen. A string of young noble ladies of the same age were being presented to the twelve year old Emperor Manuel VII, a good looking young boy with long blonde hair. The formal presentations were an awkward process for all involved. The boy-Emperor was kept apart from children his age, and from everybody but his regency council, really. Always visible to his court but only rarely approachable, he actually mingled with his courtiers only in carefully stage-managed events like this one. His mother's steward watched over him carefully, making sure everything was going as it should be, as the boy made awkward conversation with the girls one at a time, for whom the experience was equally terrifying. Each of them had been worked into a nervous wreck by the hopes and expectations of their parents, who had without exception been utterly unreasonable in their expectations of what might come of a few minutes of conversation between a pair of preteens. In addition to having dynastic ambition thrust upon them, the girls were in awe of the Emperor, for his office alone. After all, he was a pretty boy, but his sheltered upbringing made him shy and awkward, and so it couldn't be expected that he could make much of a personal impression.

"Uhh... your hair is very..." Mademoiselle de Votosoros, a short, olive-skinned girl with big brown eyes began. "Uhh... pretty, Sire."

"Thank you, mademoiselle." the Emperor replied, blushing responding to the compliment as much as she had done giving it.

Behind the New Great Hall, in one of the last purely pantobyzantine sections of the central palace structure of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, the regency council was in session, being presided over by the Empress Dowager, Helen d'Isakiosopolis. A formidible woman with a thirst for power and an air of authority, she had married Emperor Isaac IV at the age of seventeen, and was now just thirty two, and the de facto ruler of Pantocratoria in her son's name. Her nearest rival, Monsieur le Comte de Marly, sixth Imperial Chancellor of Pantocratoria, sat at the other end of the table, with a frown on his face. Between the two, standing around the middle of the table was the Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator, Manuel Dukas, styled Monseigneur not because of an hereditary estate but because of his status as lord of the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator, the pillars of the old order. Before the creation of the Imperial Parliament, the Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator had unquestionably been the most powerful figure in Pantocratoria after the Emperor, and even in 1752 he held considerable power, being the only person other than the Emperor lawfully permitted to raise an army. He looked the angriest of them all, pacing the room impatiently. Between these three lions, the other members of the regency council seemed like lambs, and the lambs were quiet happy to remain silent while the predators were roaring at each other.

"The whole purpose of the Order of the Pantocrator, indeed, the whole purpose of the settlement of our people here in these islands, was to rebuild and gather strength to retake our fatherland, to reconquer the City for the Empire!" Dukas declared. He spun on his heel and pointed an accusatory finger at the Empress Dowager. "It is not for you nor any man, nor any Earthly authority to undo the oath taken by every Knight of the Order of the Pantocrator and every emperor since our people settled here! It is not for you, madame, be you the widow of an emperor or the mother of an emperor or both, to make perjurers of us all!"

"Don't point your finger at me, Monseigneur!" the Empress protested. "Really, you have such a flair for melodrama you should've gone into the theatre instead of politics..."

"I am no politician, madame. Nor a courtier." Dukas growled, although he lowered his finger. "I serve God and His Empire. Politicians and courtiers serve themselves and God only when they see something to gain by it. Constantinople is the City of God, madame. We cannot allow it to remain in heathen hands, we are called to liberate it. We were led here by God for a reason, to..."

"Yes, we were led here for a reason!" interjected the Empress. "God granted us a homeland! Praise be to God! What need have we of Constantinople now?"

"Please God, madame, that were never the reason!" Dukas almost spat. "We were led here by God so that we could succour ourselves and one day, when we were worthy, return to the City. Every fifty years thence a crusade has been called for the City. Next year the next is due. God demands that the Emperor, rather this council acting on his behalf, call a new one, the Fifth Pantocratorian Crusade, to reconquer our homelands!"

"You know the will of God?" the Empress asked.

"Do you?" Dukas snorted, turning in frustration to the Imperial Chancellor. "Monsieur de Marly, preparations are already underway. A fleet is being assembled in Adrienople, and an army is being gathered by the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator for the crusade. Talk some sense into this fickle woman."

"Monseigneur has a point, Your Majesty." the Comte de Marly offered, although he suspected that the Empress had already carried the council, recognising as he did in the visage of the Empress the beginnings of a prize winning performance.

"Fickle woman?" the Empress demanded, aghast, as if deeply offended. Right on cue, tears welled up her eyes and her words choked up, apparently with emotion. "Monseigneur what have I ever done to you? Is it fickle to seek to avoid a great effusion of blood, your blood, Monseigneur, for the sake of somebody else's homeland? While you are unmarried, are you so uncaring that you would make widows of the wives of your knights and soldiers? Widowhood is no easy cross to bear, sir, I can promise you that. To be left alone in the world with little ones to care for, I would not wish it upon anyone, and you would impose it upon our nation for an act of foolish bravado... there's no sense to it..."

The Empress stopped and appeared to struggle to compose herself with a hankerchief. The Comte de Marly snorted in a resigned fashion, he knew it was all an act - but he also knew it had worked. She had carried the council once again, this time through emotional manipulation. Dukas didn't take defeat so gracefully. He looked to the Chancellor and saw he would have no further help coming from that direction, and surveyed the rest of the table to find the faces almost all set against him. He glowered at the Empress, and then turned to the table, picked up his chair and threw it too the floor in frustration.

"Damn you all! Can't you see through this coldhearted bitch's crocodile tears?" Dukas shouted in a rage. "She doesn't want a crusade called for one reason and one reason alone, she wants to humiliate the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator. Well the Order of the Pantocrator, madame, has survived the Turks, and it shan't be cowed by a simpering shewolf! This council has no authority to put aside that which has been decreed by God and sworn to by every Emperor and Knight, and whether you so-called gentlemen can gather the courage to call it or not, the Fifth Pantocratorian Crusade will go ahead, I promise you all!"

Inwardly, the Empress couldn't be more pleased by the Grandmaster's inability to control his anger. She instantly burst into tears at his harsh words, leading to the council members closest to her giving into their male instincts and moving to her side, even going so far as to breach protocol by touching her in their efforts to comfort her. The Imperial Chancellor, who had sided with the Grandmaster until this point, rose to his feet.

"Monseigneur, I think you had best remove yourself from this place before you are removed." Marly warned.

Dukas looked at him, and about the council, all now set against him, nodding in agreement. Dukas adjusted his periwig, neatening it up after his outburst, retrieved his sword, which he carefully hung from his belt, then bowed with a contemptuous flourish, spun on his heel and left the chamber. He stormed through the New Great Hall, barging through the sea of courtiers on his way towards the exit.

"Monseigneur?" came a boy's voice from behind him. Dukas turned around. Standing next to a pretty girl, no doubt the daughter of some grandee or another, and the apparent source of the voice, was the Emperor, apparently shocked that the Grandmaster hadn't seen him and bowed as would have been appropriate. "Did you not see us?"

Embarrassed a little by the boy's rebuke, Dukas bowed with appropriate courtesy to the Emperor, took ten steps backwards, it being improper to turn one's back to the Emperor until one had reached a safe distance, and then turned again and left the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator for the last time.

Adrienople - 19 December 1752

After insulting the Empress Dowager, Dukas had thought it best to ride for Adrienople (or Adrianopolis, as its inhabitants still called it for the most part, the French tongue not yet having caught on here to the extent that it had in the capital), before the woman he had described as a shewolf convinced the regency council to put a warrant out for his arrest. Sure enough, by nightfall warrants were out for the arrest of the Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator, and the capital was no longer safe for him, nor perhaps would any other town be before long, save Adrienople, where the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator were mustering an army in preparation for a crusade which, if the council had its way, would never happen.

On top of a large hill beyond the city walls stood a huge wooden cross, with dozens of banners planted in the ground around it, most of them white cloth with a golden crusader cross - the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade. It was a symbol that a crusader army was being gathered. The Mayor of Adrienople wouldn't be able to arrest Dukas even if he wanted to - some six thousand troops were already billetted in the city, including eighteen hundred knights, and two thousand other cavalry troopers. The would-be crusaders had horses enough for another two thousand cavalry, and arms for an army, cavalry and infantry together, of twelve thousand, all told, although they would've been satisfied with anywhere between ten and twelve thousand for the purposes of the crusade.

Two days before, Dukas had rode into the city of Adrienople, beating the riders from New Rome with the warrants for his arrest by several hours. By the time they arrived, his lieutenants already knew to expect them, and the messengers were detained, locked in the city's dungeons, and their warrants destroyed before they were made public. The hours which followed had been filled with intense discussions. Dukas had called a council of war, which was to say that he gathered the colonels of every regiment in the forming army and his other lieutenants, and had explained to them that the regency council had no intention of calling the crusade.

"The Empress is set against it, and the regency council is filled with her puppets." Dukas had relayed, speaking Greek, as one usually did outside of the environs of the capital. The men of the council had speculated at length about why the Empress seemed eager to abandon the holy obligation to call a crusade for the City every fifty years. The general consensus was that she sought to undermine the Order of the Pantocrator for one reason or another, although the reason itself remained a matter of contention. They resolved that night that no matter what, the Fifth Pantocratorian Crusade would go ahead, declaring that it was the will of God that the City be retaken, and voted unanimously to continue their preparations.

The next day, Dukas had summoned his lieutenants, the Knights Master of the Order of the Pantocrator, along with several of the city's most respected lawyers. He submitted a series of questions for their collective consideration, and then left them until the evening to allow them time to deliberate. The questions were:


1. Is it lawful for the Emperor to remove a Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator from office if His Majestie should be displeased or find fault in him?

2. If so, be it lawful for a regency council to remove the same on His Majestie's behalf?

3. Whether it be lawful to remove him or not, may an Emperor appoint a Grandmaster, or must His Majestie abide the custom of the Order whereby a Grandmaster is elected from the Knights Master by the same?

4. If it be so lawful, may a regency council appoint a Grandmaster in the event of a vacancy in that office?

5. Since His Majestie reigns by Divine Right, and since it is the Divine Will which commands us to crusade for Constantinople, it is surely encumbent upon an Emperor to call a crusade for the City. Is it likewise encumbent on the regency council which acts in His Majestie's name?

6. If it be encumbent thereupon, and the regency council shirks such responsibility, is it possible for a new regency council to be formed which will better advise His Majestie?

7. If so, how may such a council be formed?


The list was quite significant and had clearly been given some thought - it had been written down the night before. As the group of knights and lawyers deliberated, Dukas rode about the town to take stock of the arms and ammunition available. While there were plenty of arms in anticipation of further recruits for the crusade, there was not yet much artillery. Nor had the artillery yet arrived - it was already three days overdue, and was reportedly somewhere on the road to the city. Dukas sent out some riders to search for it. They hadn't yet returned that evening when he went to hear the outcome of the deliberations.

The answers to the first four questions were straightforward - there was no precedent for the Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator to be removed from office by the Emperor, and the general consensus was that the Emperor had no authority to do so, for the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator were not subjects in the usual fashion, and had certain rights which included self-governance. The Grandmasters of the Order of the Pantocrator had always been elected by the Knights Master of the Order of the Pantocrator, and had only ever been removed from office by death, extreme old age, or other incapacitation.

The answers to the last three were somewhat more complicated. It was agreed that it was incumbent on the Emperor to call the Fifth Pantocratorian Crusade - it was part of the unwritten contract which existed between the Emperor and the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator and had done so since Pantocratoria's settlement, and insofar as the Emperor could be bound, he was bound in this case. The lawyers were quick to point out that the Emperor was legally, in all things, blameless, besides which he was in his minority, and thus if there was any fault, it lay not with the Emperor, but with the regency council. Questions six and seven were divisive, however. It was unclear how a regency council could be removed or even whether it could be removed.

On the morning of the 19th, Dukas had reworked his last two questions into one question which he felt was more likely to receive a decisive, unqualified answer. He reconvened the Knights Master and the lawyers, and asked them one question:

"If the Emperor is ill-advised by evil ministers to act contrary to the established duty of his office, is it treason to deliver him from that evil council?"

The answer was unanimous, although the lawyers did prevaricate for a short while, warning Dukas that the question over-simplified the issue. No - of course it wasn't treasonous to deliver the Emperor from evil men. Having received his answer, the lawyers collected their payment and were returning from their chambers when the riders he had dispatched the day before arrived.

"My Lord," the ensign began as he pulled the pot helmet off his head to address the Grandmaster. "We have found your train of guns, sir."

"Will it be long?" Dukas asked.

"It will be in coming here, Lord." answered the ensign. "A troop of cavalry has stopped it and turned it around, marching it south."

"Which cavalry?" Dukas demanded angrily. The Knights Master echoed similar questions.

"An auxiliary troop, my lord, from New Rome by their colours." the ensign replied.

"That artillery isn't for the Varangian Guard, nor the Legion." Dukas replied. He looked about to his Knights Master, and put an arm on the ensign's shoulder. "Sir Markos, take two regiments and our ensign here. Sir, can lead Sir Markos to our guns by the shortest road?"

"I can, my lord." the ensign nodded.

"Markos, if the captain of the troop which has stolen our guns will not return them, take them from him." Dukas told Markos. "Avoid bloodshed if you can, but we need those guns if we have any hope of breaking through the City's walls when we go on the crusade. Let nothing stop you."

"But my lord, those are the Emperor's men." Sir Markos Ghelopoulos protested.

"No, sir, they are the council's men." Dukas told his trusted lieutenant. "And if they don't deliver the guns peacefully, you must take them from them by force."

"Yes, my lord." Markos nodded, taking a deep breath in.

"God be with you, Markos, you do His work." Dukas told him. "Godspeed."

The Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome - 15 December 1752

The regency council, without the Grandmaster, met again the morning after Dukas had stormed out of the palace, the Empress needing the night to compose herself after "Monseigneur's terrible words and insults". She seemed very much in control of her emotions in the cold light of the morning, her golden hair pulled up into a very tightly constrained bun, a much more sombre style than most of the ladies of the court wore, but then, unlike the other ladies, as an Empress Dowager she was obliged to remain in official mourning for her dead husband for the rest of her life. Delicate white lace around her neck and wrists was the only break from the rest of her gown, which was all black, cut in the latest style of New Rome court fashion. The white lace was a relatively recent addition, replacing black lace, and had been the source of some criticism at court - six years was far too short a time of mourning for an emperor, and the traditionalists disapproved of any variation from the all black clothing which befitted a mourning widow. Seated across from her once again was the Imperial Chancellor, le Comte de Marly, with the other councillors arrayed about the table between them.

"Messieurs," the Empress began. "I was told last night that, although I was too distressed at the time by Monseigneur's words to hear it, Monseigneur said that whether this council approved it or not, he would see to it that the Order of the Pantocrator would press on with the crusade. Is that accurate, Monsieur de Marly?"

"It is, Your Majesty." the Imperial Chancellor confirmed. He looked down at the minutes in front of him. "The minutes say, and I quote, that 'Monseigneur asserted that this council had not the authority to decline to call a crusade, and said that one would would go ahead regardless', and I recall him saying words to that effect myself, and am therefore satisfied that the minutes are accurate."

"We cannot allow him to defy the authority of the regency council - if he does, and succeeds, it will mean the end of responsible government in Pantocratoria until at least such time as my son comes of age." the Empress declared.

"Your Majesty thinks then that there is no merit in what Monseigneur said, that God calls us to this crusade and as such the Emperor cannot defer calling it, nor we on His Majesty's behalf?" asked the Archbishop of New Rome, Charles Nanos.

"Your Grandeur," the Empress began delicately. "We have always called crusades in the hope that it pleased God that we did so, but the Pantocratorian Crusades have always been called by the Emperor. I had my archivist retrieve from the Monastery of the Pantocrator's library a copy of the instruments calling the first four crusades."

The Empress turned to a page, a handsome young gentleman not much older than her son, the son of a knight, who held four scrolls in his arms. She clicked her fingers at him, and he lay the scrolls down on the table in front of the Archbishop, opening each in order, quite carefully, especially the first three, which were quite old and delicate.

"I see..." the Archbishop said, putting on a pair of primitive spectacles and looking over the paper. He offered them to the Chancellor sitting next to him.

"Your Grandeur, thank you, but I can't read Greek." demured the Chancellor. He was, after all, French, not a French speaking Pantocratorian like the other members of the council. His grandfather was the Admiral de Marly, the man who had led Pantocratoria's navy to its early successes against the United Provinces of Knootoss in the Second War of Insolence in the reign of Manuel V the Frank, who had created de Marly a Pantocratorian marquis complete with an estate named in his honour. His father, the present Marquis de Marly, was in his teens when he had moved to Pantocratoria with the first Marquis, and while the Comte de Marly was the first of his line to be born in Pantocratoria, very few of the men around the table would've called him anything but French.

"I've already had the relevant sections translated into French for the benefit of the minutes, if you will allow me, messieurs." the Empress called out, reaching up her left sleeve and retrieving a piece of paper, from which she read. "From the first instrument... By Our authority a crusade is called for the City of Saint Constantine the Great, Our ancient capital, and the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator forthwith asked to take the cross in that cause. Demetrius VI Palaeologus, In Christ True Emperor and Autocrat of the Romans. And from the second instrument, and this is just the end of it: ...given Our imprimateur to crush Our enemies the Turks which inhabit Our lawful dominions of Constantinople, Thrace, Macedonia, Greece, Asia Minor and many and other varied places, the which people being enemies of God We call Our armies to take God's Holy Cross on Crusade forthwith. By Our hand at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, Constantine XVIII By the Grace of God Emperor Augustus. From the third instrument, signed by the brothers then ruling: We commend to God an army called on Holy Crusade to Constantinople and the Fatherland of Our People, In Christ True Emperors and Autocrats, Constantine XX and John IX. And finally, the most recent instrument, which ends with the phrase: thus let the Crusade be called with the Blessings of God in the name of the Emperor's Most Imperial Majesty, whose signature is witnessed by his most humble servant, mother and regent Maria Comnena: Manuel Imp. You will note that the handwriting changes where Manuel V, still in his minority, signed next to his mother's name. So you see, messieurs, that the Pantocratorian Crusades were always called by emperors. No instruments were received from heaven directing them..."

"Madame, princes are God's lieutenants on Earth, and just because a thing is enacted in their name, does not mean that thing is not the will of God." the Archbishop replied. "Do we not attribute the actions of a servant to his master?"

"Only when they are done by his master's command, surely!" the Empress replied, beginning to find the Archbishop's questions frustrating.

"That is so, but still..." the Archbishop conceded.

"Your Grandeur, with respect, this question was surely resolved yesterday. That was what provoked Monseigneur's outburst, do you not recall?" pointed out the Comte d'Isakiosopolis, a broad shouldered man in his late middle age with a ruddy complexion, who looked somewhat absurd on account of his long black periwig being on slightly crooked - he was always scratching at it and fidgetting with it. Although the Empress found his sometimes frantic scratching infuriating - couldn't the man buy a new wig, one without lice? - she knew she could always count on his support, and this time was no different. The man was her uncle after all. She nodded innocently and looked to the Archbishop.

"Well, yes, I suppose so... well... for the most part, yes." the Archbishop equivocated, seeing that the council wasn't overly interested with Monseigneur's argument. He decided that discretion was the better part of valour and fell silent.

"Good then." Isakiosopolis nodded. "I agree with Her Majesty, if, after this council has refused to call a crusade, Dukas goes ahead and calls one anyway, in defiance of this council, there can be no government then, messieurs. What kind of government is there when it decrees that something which must not done is done anyway, and there be no reprisal?"

"Reprisal?" asked the Chancellor, arching an eyebrow.

"Gentlemen, let's not rush to speak of reprisals!" the Empress pleaded. "No crusade has been called contrary to this council's orders yet."

"But you heard him, one will be!" Isakiosopolis told the Empress.

"Monseigneur may be rude and brutish, but he's not stupid, monsieur." the Empress told Isakiosopolis, in a moderate voice. "We can head him off, I'm sure. We can stop him from calling a crusade by seeing that the ammunition and the guns he will need are not sent to Adrienople."

"We could." the Imperial Chancellor nodded, suddenly taken with the idea. He had counted himself as one of Monseigneur's allies, and now that the cause of imperial approval for the crusade was lost, he fancied that the right sort of action would see to it that the crusade wasn't called at all, and thus his allies in the Order of the Pantocrator spared the consequences of openly defying the regency council. "An artillery train is on its way for Adrienople, guns freshly cast for the crusade. We could bring it to New Rome instead."

"I didn't know the details, but that's exactly the sort of thing I meant." the Empress nodded, surprised but pleased to have the Imperial Chancellor on her side. "Will you see to it, Monsieur de Marly?"

"I will." Marly nodded, looking about the table to make sure that there were no dissenting voices.

"What of Monseigneur?" Isakiosopolis pressed. "Is he to remain Grandmaster?"

"Monsieur d'Isakiosopolis, are you proposing that we remove the Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator from office?" the Archbishop of New Rome asked, with apparent horror. The Empress watched on in silence, holding her breath, allowing Isakiosopolis to test the water.

"Yes." Isakiosopolis declared, banging his right hand into the table and scratching at his wig with his left.

"I doubt we've the power, monsieur." the Chancellor warned. "The Attorney General advised me once that the Imperial Parliament has no power over the Order of the Pantocrator's processes of selection and election of various office-bearing positions when I enquired about another matter. Since the Parliament derives its authority from the Emperor it would seem likely that the Emperor also lacks that power."

"The Emperor has every power he likes!" Isakiosopolis scoffed.

"Gentlemen, please, if you seek Monseigneur's removal because of what he said to me, I beg you, that no such thing be done in my name." the Empress interrupted. "God knows he has tormented me with his sharp tongue and cruel words on many occasions, and in the end we have always been reconciled, I am sure we will be again this time."

"Your Majesty is too kind." Isakiosopolis replied, looking a little disappointed.

"You are the very image of good Christian woman, madame." the Archbishop said. "Would that every woman were as forgiving as Your Majesty!"

"Oh please..." the Empress said, affecting to blush and looking away from the councillors modestly.

The Demetrine Plains, on the Imperial Road between New Rome and Adrienople - 19 December 1752

The heavy siege guns of the artillery train initially bound for Adrienople and now heading to New Rome would be essential in bringing down the thick city walls of Constantinople, but they weren't easy to transport, especially on a cold winter's day on a road which quickly turned to mud in the wet. It was moving painfully slowly through the thick mud, with a troop of cavalry from the garrison of the city of New Rome escorting it. It was late afternoon, and the captain, Demetrios Hagiopoulos, had sent some riders ahead looking for the best place to spend the night.

"Sir, riders from Adrianopolis!" called an ensign who had been at the rear of the train but had rode hard to come alongside Hagiopoulos.

"How many?" Hagiopoulos asked.

"By their colours, two troops, look to be about four hundred in all sir." the ensign answered.

"What are their colours?" Hagiopoulos asked.

"The cross, sir, one red on white, the other white on red. The riders are in white buff coats with gold crosses, sir, I've never seen the like, they look smart as Varangians." the ensign said. Indeed, the pursuing cavalry was much better equipped and uniformed than the rather haphazard cavalry auxiliary of the New Rome garrison, who had no uniform to speak of save the green woolen scarves they all wore around their necks.

"Rider!" called out a trooper from the back of the train.

From the body of cavalry chasing the artillery train, Sir Markos Ghelopoulos and the ensign who had led him here rode ahead close by the train's protectors.

"Who is your captain?" Sir Markos shouted. "I would speak with him."

Hagiopoulos wheeled his horse around and rode back to talk with Sir Markos. He held his gloved hand over his eyes to keep the cold winter rain away from his face so that he could better see to whom he was speaking. His hat was so saturated with the rain that it had almost lost its shape and was certainly useless at keeping water from his eyes. Sir Markos did the same with his own hand, holding his pot helmet under his arm rather than wearing it.

"Captain Demetrios Hagiopoulos, Cavalry Auxiliary of the Garrison of New Rome, at your service sir." Hagiopoulos introduced himself.

"Sir Markos Ghelopoulos, pleased to make your acquaintance sir, and even more pleased to hear someone from New Rome speak Greek." Markos replied with a smile.

"Honoured to meet you, sir." Hagiopoulos replied, taking off his sopping hat and nodding politely to the knight.

"Sir, I must ask you to leave this train to us to escort back to Adrianopolis, its original destination. It is bound for the army we are assembling there for the crusade." Markos told the captain.

"Sir, I would rather nothing better, but I have orders from the Imperial Chancellor to take these guns and see them safe to New Rome." Hagiopoulos answered apologetically.

"The guns are bought and paid for and belong to the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator, sir. The Imperial Chancellor has Parliament. He may get it to grant him money to buy his own guns." Markos said. "I beg you, captain, take your men back to New Rome and leave us these guns."

"I cannot, sir, and am much distressed at it, for I would rather the Knights had their guns." Hagiopoulos answered, beginning to worry. Sir Markos and his men outnumbered Hagiopoulos and his, and the possibility that they might mean to take the guns was undeniable.

"Do you have a family, sir?" Markos asked.

"I do. A wife and two girls." Hagiopoulos answered, wondering why Markos would bring them up.

"Sir," Markos said regretfully, lowering his voice. "It is Christmas in a few days. Let us have the guns, I beg you, and be on your way."

"Sir, you have my answer. I regret it cannot be otherwise." Hagiopoulos frowned, taking Markos' meaning. He nodded again and put his hat back on. "My compliments, sir, and now I must bid you good day."

"It cannot be that. God see you safe back to your girls for Christmas, captain." Markos replied regretfully. He and his ensign turned their horses back towards their own troops and Markos pulled his helmet on. Hagiopoulos spurred his horse and rode over to his lieutenants as Markos did the same.

In a few moments, the second Order troop left the road at a gallop through the field to overtake the artillery train. Hagiopoulos spotted it and knew what it meant. He drew his sword and started shouting orders to his men. The artillery train stopped and his cavalry formed ranks. As they did so, Sir Markos and the troop still on the road drew their pistols, and Markos shouted for the charge. As the men from New Rome were still forming up, Sir Markos and two hundred of his cavalry were upon them, not firing their pistols until they reached point-blank range, and then drawing their swords for brutal close quarter fighting. Swords flashed, hacking into the flesh of man and horse alike, and the rain turned red with blood as it hit the ground. Their hasty formation already began to give way and his men were on the verge of breaking when Hagiopoulos heard another series of musket shots from the flank, where the second troop of Order cavalry had just emerged, charging in with pistols fired at point blank range. A horse reared up in front of him, and he pulled his own reins to the side to avoid it - it was the ensign who had first spotted the troops from Adrienople, shot through the eye, being thrown from his saddle by his panicked horse.

Hagiopoulos called about to his men, none of whom seemed interested in his orders, and then suddenly he opened his mouth and no more orders came out. Instead, there was a spray of blood. A sword had cut through his throat, and the only noise he now made was a gurgling sound. He dropped his own sword and reins and clutched his throat with his hands, his leather gloves dripping with his own blood. His eyes found the man responsible for the mortal wound, a huge man in a pot helmet, his splendid white buff coat with the golden Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade across it spattered with blood. Their eyes locked, as the last of the men of New Rome fled if they could or surrendered if they couldn't. Hagiopoulos gurgled something, unable to speak, and the man who had inflicted the wound flinched at his victim's agony. He made the sign of the cross in front of Demetrios Hagiopoulos' eyes, and then put him out of his misery with a decapitating blow.

Sir Markos found his body later as the Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator and their men buried the dead - a dozen of their own, and a hundred and six of the defenders. His thoughts instantly turned to the woman now widowed and the children now orphaned by the death of the decapitated man in front of him. He said a quiet prayer, and then walked over to one of the prisoners from the New Rome garrison, who were clustered together in the cold rain under guard. He took the gold ring from his finger, and his purse from his belt.

"Your captain had a wife and two girls." Sir Markos told the prisoner he had selected. He handed the purse and the ring to him. "Take these to them. Small recompense for losing a husband and father, but it is all I have. Your fellow prisoners have seen you take them, if you don't give them to his widow they will know it, as will God. Swear you will return to New Rome and give these things to her, and you may all go free."

"I swear it." the prisoner answered, looking at his captor. "And if she asks who her husband's murderer was, what shall I say?"

"If she must have a name, give her mine. I am Sir Markos Ghelopoulos, Knight Master of the Order of the Pantocrator." Markos told the man unflinchingly. "Now go."

Adrienople - 20 December 1752
With their extra horses, Sir Markos and his troopers dragged the artillery train back towards Adrienople, not stopping that night for sleep. Sir Markos sent ahead a rider to inform the Grandmaster of their so-called "success", for Markos was hardly convinced it could be called that. They arrived in the city late afternoon the next day, to find the army marching on parade and flying colours, and a substantial part of the citizenry out to cheer, drink and be merry despite the winter weather, all to celebrate the retrieval of the heavy guns.

As he rode into the city at the head of his column, through the city's great stone gateway, Sir Markos was flabbergasted at the apparent jubilation. The Grandmaster, accompanied by several other Knights Master, rode forward to meet him as the infantry's drums and trumpets played a triumphant march for the entry of the artillery train.

"My lord, what betokens all this?" Sir Markos shouted over the noise to Manuel Dukas as the Grandmaster greeted him with a brotherly grasp of the arm.

"We have our guns, thanks to you, sir, and now, God has His crusade." the Grandmaster answered.

"But didn't my rider tell you? The men from New Rome did not yield peaceably." Sir Markos told him. "There was a great effusion of blood. Christian blood, not Turkish blood."

"A poor start to a crusade, I grant you that sir." the Grandmaster nodded. "But a necessary one. The Empress and her puppets seized our guns most illegally. We were compelled to take them back. The blood of the men from New Rome lies on their heads, not on yours, Markos."

"The regency council will surely make war on us now." Sir Markos said grimly.

"Perhaps." the Grandmaster conceded. "But perhaps we should take a page from their book. The regency council attempted to stop our crusade by seizing our guns. Perhaps we can avert a war by seizing something they will need to prosecute one. I've called a council of war after Vespers."

"That suits me well." Sir Markos said grimly. "For I think I shall need divine nourishment to have the stomach for it."

"We'll all pray with you, brother." Dukas told him, putting an arm on his shoulder. "The Lord of Hosts knows the necessities of armies."

Graterios, Adrienople - 20 December 1752

In the northern quarter of the city of Adrienople was a district named Graterios, dominated by hill overlooking the harbour, upon which sat a pantobyzantine palace with large, fortress-like walls and formidible defences. In the breeze overhead flew the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade. Inside, in the palace's great hall, Dukas and his lieutenants discussed the matter at hand, some sitting, some pacing about, some contemplative, some urging action.

"Well then, we are agreed that we must act before the regency council has a chance to respond in force." Dukas summed up the past quarter of an hour of discussions. There was general consensus in the room in the form of nods, ayes, or just affirmative grunts. "Then we must consider some action which will avert a war."

"There may be no war as the regency council has no other standing army." suggested one Sir Demetrios Heliodrakos, one of the Knight Masters. "This army is the only one in the Empire."

"There are the Varangian Guard, and who knows how many garrisons of how many towns and cities would answer the call of the council?" piped up Sir Markos. "An army could be fast assembled."

"And will be, I feel, if we do not act to discourage it." Dukas nodded.

"How may we do that?" asked Sir Georgios Peronides, the Knight Master assigned command of the army's artillery.

"In the same manner as they attempted to discourage us from crusade." Dukas replied.

"You said something similar before Mass, my lord, what did you mean by it?" Sir Markos inquired.

"The arsenal of New Constantinople is the largest in Pantocratoria, containing powder, muskets, and diverse arms, enough to equip some six thousand." Dukas said.

"It's also far away from here." Sir Georgios said dubiously.

"On foot and on horse back, yes." Dukas nodded. "But if you gentlemen would care to look to the window, you would see that we have a fleet assembled to take us to Turkey in the harbour below."

"So we sail to New Constantinople to seize the arsenal?" Sir Markos asked.

"We do. If luck be with us, then we shall arrive before word has arrived in the city of our departure, possibly even that the regency council wishes to make war on us. We might be greeted as friends, and if not, we would catch the garrison unaware." Dukas said. "In a quick action, we would have the largest arsenal in Pantocratoria, and who would then dare to make war on us?"

"There are other arsenals. New Rome, Demetriopolis..." Sir Markos pointed out.

"But New Constantinople is the largest." Dukas said.

"That is so..." Sir Markos pondered.

"I don't see how seizing the arsenal of any city replaces the regency council." Sir Georgios shrugged. "We should march on New Rome, and depose the regency council, since it opposes God's will, and thus does ill service to His Majesty. My lord, you could head up a new council of your choosing, which would support the Crusade and see to it that the rights and privileges of the Order are upheld!"

"Revolution!" Sir Markos chortled. "They would call us traitors!"

"We are all the Emperor's men, not his mother's!" Sir Georgios declared. The room fell silent, tense, worried by the language.

"I swore no oath of loyalty to that witch, nor to her puppets, but only to God and His Majesty." Dukas declared, rising to his feet. He drew his sword. "Do we not swear to serve God and His Empire? How can any man deny that removing a woman whom some call sorceress who certainly does not serve God is not service to Him and to His Empire?"

"But marching on New Rome? That will only result in slaughter and carnage on the streets." Sir Markos pointed out. "I do not doubt that the Empress and her servants should not be regents of the Empire, but to take the capital by force will make us men of blood!"

"Never!" declared Sir Georgios.

"No, Markos is right." Dukas said, silencing Georgios' protestations with a motion of his hand. The majority of the knights came down on Dukas' side very quickly, nodding. "We should only march on New Rome if forced to it by the council. Let us seize the arsenal. Let us show the regency council that it is incapable of resisting the will of God. Then we will negotiate with them from a position of strength."

Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome - 22 December 1752

A curious, vaguely alarmed crowd of courtiers followed a dismounted cavalry trooper, his clothes caked in mud, though the marble halls of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. The court ladies were particularly fascinated - many of them had never seen a muddy man before, and wondered how he could stand being so dirty.The trooper was exhausted and looked extremely out of place in the pristine surroundings of the palace, and was escorted on either side by a Varangian Guardsman, tall, Nordic, and dressed in a splendid dress uniform complete with a plumed helmet, next to whom he would've looked inadequate enough before he had been soaked with mud, let alone after. The trio of soldiers, followed by the crowd of courtiers, moved quickly through the halls. Finally they came to a set of doors leading to the child-Emperor's classroom. The urgency of the matter at hand was made clear to the onlookers by the fact that the Varangians simply opened the door without knocking or scratching and awaiting the permission of the room's Imperial occupants.

Inside, the Empress Dowager, her hair loose and uncovered rather than tied back in the formal court style she would've worn outside of private quarters, was reading a story book to her son, who was following along with his own copy at his desk. The tutor and one of the Empress' ladies were also in the room, but seem largely uninvolved in the reading. All four of the room's occupants seemed taken aback by the sudden appearance of the dishevelled soldier, and the Empress took a few steps sideways to her son's side, placing her hand on his shoulder, as if unsure about the soldier's intentions. She needn't have worried, however. After a moment's gaping at the young, golden haired Emperor, the cavalry trooper fell to his knees and bowed.

"Your Majesties..." he began, in Greek.

"What is the meaning of this, sergeant?" the Empress demanded of one of the Varangians, in French.

"I beg Your Majesty's pardon but..." the muddy trooper began again, this time in accented French. "I have ridden non-stop for three days to bring you this news, it is most urgent."

"From where have you ridden?" the Empress demanded. Her son looked on in curiousity.

"The Demetrine Plains, madame." the soldier answered. "And the site of a piteous slaughter and effusion of Pantocratorian blood."

"What mean you by this?" the Empress asked, her eyes going wide.

"Madame, my captain took our troop thither to fetch the guns being taken to Adrienople for the army being there assembled." the trooper stammered. "Having done so and meaning to return to New Rome therewith, the army at Adrienople's cavalry fell upon us. There was a brief action, though perhaps it had better be called a massacre, and the guns were lost."

There was only breathless silence from the Empress, and from the crowd outside which could hear the soldier's report.

"Mummy, is this part of the story?" the Emperor asked.

New Constantinople - Christmas Day 1752

Pantocratoria's oldest and largest city, New Constantinople, was a hotbed of discontent. It was then as it remains now, the only part of Pantocratoria unrepresented in the Imperial Parliament, and Pantocratoria's first port of call for immigrants from foreign lands carrying foreign ideas. The continual succession of underaged emperors whose eldest sons didn't come of age before their accession didn't help things either - there had been no Despot of New Constantinople in living memory, in fact, no local government whatsoever since the Angeli co-emperors had ruled the city in the 16th century. Like the rest of the country, they were directed from New Rome, by regency council after regency council in almost endless progression for the past fifty years, but unlike the rest of the country, the city had no say in the parliaments of these faceless councils. Instead the melting pot sat, stewing in its own juices, unrepresented, taxed mercilessly, wondering how the regency council in New Rome could be so indifferent to Pantocratoria's largest city and so arrogant as to think that things could and should continue this way forever.

Ioannes Maukos didn't think it could, however. He was a born lawyer, but he failed his bar exam because it, like everything else administered by the state since Manuel V, was given in French, and he, like the people of New Constantinople and indeed almost all of Pantocratoria, spoke Greek. Ioannes also spoke French - he had taught it to himself, pouring over every foreign book which arrived in New Constantinople - but it was a matter of principle. He refused to take an exam in a foreign language, informing the Lord of Justice presiding that the people spoke Greek and had done so since the time of the first Emperor Constantine, and that while they spoke Greek, so should their courts. It was the same sentiment which drove him to Despot's Square in the middle of the city that day, with his band of followers, preaching to the crowds coming and going from the Christmas Masses at the three churches which were clustered around the square, but it wasn't religion he was preaching, but politics. He and his group of intellectuals and malcontents were no new comers to Despot's Square and other such public places by any means - for the better part of the last three years they had been spreading their radical ideas about the city. He had been talking for three hours to the crowds as they had come and gone throughout the day already, and he was showing no signs of letting up yet, even in the bitter winter cold.

"I say again that there is no lawful authority over this city but the Emperor!" he shouted to the crowd. "For giving birth to His Majesty, we thank the Empress, but she has no more authority over this city than a widow has over her son's rose garden! There is no law which says that a woman not herself the daughter of an emperor, and in that absence only in the absence of that emperor having any sons, no law which says that she has any greater authority than a housewife or serving girl. And I say to you all again as I have said before that the Parliament in New Rome is irrelevant here, cannot speak for us here in this city, and cannot enact laws which affect us, while the people of this city are unrepresented in its halls! Who has empowered the Count of Marly, himself a Frank, descended from Franks, to speak for this city? I didn't vote for him or any Frank! Did you?"

There was a general cry back from the crowd of "No!".

"How then can a council formed by this mere woman and the Parliament in New Rome, which doesn't speak for you and I, claim to be our government?" demanded Maukos. "I tell you we are free men under no man, let alone a woman, but the Emperor! And if the Emperor be too young to govern, then we have no government but that which we put ourselves under, by our own free will, and by our own having say in it! Every man in the Empire outside this city may vote for members of the Parliament in New Rome. Every other man in the Empire has put himself under that Parliament, but we have not. We have no government here! Good people, the Emperor and we are both poorly served by those who would keep our representatives from the Parliament in New Rome, by those who seek to preserve us in a state of anarchy broken only by utter servitude and despotism."

Maukos' followers started moving through the crowd with quills, ink, and petitions, asking people to sign them.

"We have no government but the Emperor and that which we put ourselves under!" Maukos told them. "Sign the Charter of City Government, which is going about the square as I speak, I ask all men here to put their names to it. It says that New Constantinople must be represented in the Parliament in New Rome, and undertakes to hold elections here in Despot's Square on Three Kings Day, for thirty Members of Parliament, elections in which every man of this city may vote, be he ever so lowly or mighty, a pauper or a man of great means. It also says that until those representatives, once elected, are admitted as full members of the Parliament in New Rome, we recognise no other government but the one which we will establish for ourselves here, by ourselves, for ourselves. And it says that until our representatives are accepted by the Parliament in New Rome, we shall govern ourselves by means of a city council, with one man elected by every parish in the archdiocese of New Constantinople on Three Kings Day, which shall be our legitimate provisional government until the Parliament admits our members! Thereby shall His Majesty be well served in having government to rule here while he is too young to do so, and thereby shall we all be well served in having government in which we are represented!"

The Charter of City Government

We the free born men of New Constantinople pledge our true and faithful allegiance to His Majesty the Emperor, and swear that we have no other liege than him.

We the citizens of New Constantinople, being free born and having no other liege but His Majesty, do not recognise the authority of any person other than the Emperor to rule or reign over us, whether they claim to do it in his name or not, nor any government, save that which we the citizens put ourselves under by our own free will and consent.

As free men we have put ourselves under no government but that recommended us by God, that is to say, the Emperor. It being, however, an accepted principle of law that a child cannot govern his affairs nor the affairs of a nation, and His Majesty being a child, there can be no government formed by the Emperor. Therefore, as free men who have put themselves under no other government but that constituted by His Majesty, there is no other person nor group nor council which may call itself our government.

Therefore, we the citizens of New Constantinople, being born free, and being the Emperor's loyal men, assert that we have the same rights and privileges of every other of the Emperor's men born in any other city in the Empire, and declare:

That we are entitled to be represented in the Parliament in New Rome just as the men of every other parish and diocese and city and township in the Empire are;

That we are entitled to responsible government;

That, not being represented in the Parliament in New Rome, we are not subject to that body, and that body cannot speak for us, and thus any government it has formed by means of a regency council does not govern us by any law or right;

That unlawful government be no government at all, but tyranny.

These things being said, we resolve to:

Elect, on the sixth day of January in the Year of Our Lord seventeen hundred, fifty and two, the which being the twelth day of Christmas, some thirty men of good standing in our city to represent the free born citizens of New Constantinople in the Parliament sitting in New Rome;

Form a provisional government on the same day, which will govern New Constantinople on behalf of the citizens of our city, until such time as the men elected to represent the citizens of our city are admitted as full members of the New Rome Parliament.

The provisional government shall be formed as a city council in which one man from every parish in New Constantinople shall sit, each of those being elected by the men of his parish, that no decision shall be reached by that council except one enjoying the support of the majority of the councillors, and that the decisions of the council shall be binding on all citizens of our city.

We, the undersigned, declare all these things, so that we may have responsible government to hold and live in this city under law in good standing for the Emperor as His Majesty's loyal men.

Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome - Christmas Day 1752

A look of delight played across the face of Manuel VII as the golden-haired little boy was handed a Christmas present wrapped in scarlet silk and tied up with a silver ribbon by his mother, Empress Helen. The highest born children of the court and their parents were assembled in one of the palace's glittering salons to receive their gifts from the Emperor and his mother, but they had to wait their turn for the time being as the Emperor eagerly undid the silver ribbon. The Empress watched her son unwrap the gift, a look of evident pleasure on her face as he pulled the silk away to reveal the toy within and grinned even more than he had before. Inside there was a model ship, a modern man of war complete with scale cannon, sails, flags, string for rope, and even little model sailors about the deck. The bow of the ship bore its name - L'Empereur Manuel.

"Mummy! It's brilliant!" the Emperor exclaimed, hugging his mother around the neck with his free arm while he held onto the ship with the other.

"It's a model of the new flagship named after you." the Empress told him, and kissed him on the forehead. "It really floats, so you can play with it in the gardens in summer or in a basin filled with water. And the cannon are made from gold, so they won't rust if you get them wet."

"Does the real boat look like this?" Manuel enquired.

"Yes, only bigger." the Empress answered with a smile. She took the Emperor's hand. "Let's give the other children their presents now."

New Constantinople - 6 January 1753

In the churches throughout New Constantinople, people were casting ballots. After Mass had been celebrated the Demokratoi, the name by which Ioannes Maukos and his followers were known, often helped by the parish priests, set up two baskets in each church to collect ballots. In one basket, ballots for Members of Parliament were collected, and in the other basket, ballots for the city council which would comprise New Constantinople's provisional government. For the first time in the history of Pantocratoria's oldest city, the men of each parish cast their vote, writing on blank cards the name of their preferred candidate for office. Particularly enthusiastic candidates lined the naves of the churches, asking people to vote for them, and telling the illiterate voters how to spell their name (and often offering to fill in their ballot for them). The excitement was palpable.

As for Maukos himself, he spent most of the day worrying about whether the city's undersized garrison would intervene. The general thinking amongst the Demokratoi was that the garrison wouldn't interfere - its commander rarely risked activities he deemed likely to provoke public unrest, since he doubted the ability of his troops to deal with widespread rioting. So long as the voting was peaceful, the garrison seemed to watch on with indifference, which suited Maukos fine. He also hoped that the garrison would recognise the provisional government being elected, but he had determined to cross that bridge when he came to it.

After Evensong, the baskets from every parish church were collected and brought to the cathedral, where they were counted. The thirty Members of Parliament were elected first, with all the ballots across the city being polled and elected together, with the thirty men with the most votes being declared elected. The city council was elected next, on a parish-by-parish basis. The ballots from each parish were counted and the man with the most votes was declared the councillor for that parish. New Constantinople had elected its own government.