Even after dawn had reddened the mountains and the haze rising from the irrigated farmland, the amazons rested behind Paiperte Fortress’s massive walls. All rested, that is, except for two. The first was Nazar al-Sabiyya, who had volunteered to ride to the nearest Trapezuntine signal tower to request reinforcements. Erzurum was just a day’s journey south, which meant that Great Seljuk could quickly send an army to overwhelm the amazons here. The second volunteer was Amat al-Aziz, who rode to Erzurum, where she would see how the Seljuks were reacting to the situation before she reported back.

The trials in Paiperte continued, no one in the city taking a break from their impromptu People’s Tribunal. Without even knowing it, the Paipertians had spent years waiting for this, though few had ever believed that they would see it in their lifetimes. The lords were supposed to die asleep in their warm feather beds, with a shockingly young mistress plucked from the market on their left and a shockingly young boy from the same place on their right. God was good, and there was justice in the universe, it would simply be done when Christ returned and raised the dead from their graves. This was what priests told peasants, anyway. And only in the peasants’ most depressive states, when the lords’ oppression was most severe, did the peasants even entertain the possibility of believing the priests, whose opium-like, sleep-inducing sermons echoed in churches, the interiors covered with mosaics and frescoes.

But the world was forever until it wasn’t. The uprising had begun with only Trebizond. Now the nearby cities of Niksar, Koloneia, Sinope, Amisos, and Amasea had joined the republic, vastly increasing its size, population, and power, until it reached Paiperte.

In the morning, Gagik Mamikonian approached Paiperte Fortress. He came with his fellow representatives: a Jew named Benjamin the Tanner, a Roman silversmith named Theodoros Argyros, a Kurdish shepherd named Ayyub ibn Yusuf, and a Laz carter named Durgulel Giorgadze. They stopped outside its closed gate, where the black flag of Great Seljuk still fluttered. No one was visible on the battlements.

“Greetings to the liberators of Paiperte!” shouted Mamikonian with his booming voice.

This startled some swallows from a nearby plane tree. It also startled Hummay, who had been on watch above the gate, though his turn was up, and his heavy lidded eyes were red and fluttering with sleep. He had been leaning against the parapet, looking to the waking city below, the peasants leading their braying donkeys into the countryside, the servants in the castle cooking breakfast. In some ways it seemed like nothing had changed. Even the Seljuk flag was still there…

Hummay waved to the delegation. “Ah, yes, salaam, just a moment!”

He shook Herakleia awake. For the last few hours she had been sleeping on the walkway nearby, wrapped in a cloak, snoring with her mouth open. When Hummay whispered “strategos,” she opened her bleary eyes, blinked, stood, and looked over the battlements.

“Hang on!” she shouted to the delegation. “We’ll let you right in!”

You aren’t going to do a false execution of me, are you? Herakleia wondered, as she rushed down to open the gate, still half-asleep. Like you did to Ibn Mahmud. That shit fucks people up for life. That’s what the tsar did to Dostoevsky. Except, strangely enough, Dostoevsky fell in love with monarchism and hardcore Christianity after that. Weirdo.

By the time the guests entered, the sleepy amazons were up. The cooking food smell and the shouting had woken them. Together with Mamikonian’s delegation as well as some of the fortress’s servants—who had been invited by the amazons—they sat around a huge table on wooden chairs in the banqueting hall. There was room enough here for dozens of people, an example of Christian decadence which the Seljuks—who usually ate sitting on cushions on the floor among carpets—had kept. This was the first time Herakleia had seen this place, and she was surprised that the Seljuks had used it. It was similar to the banqueting hall in Trebizond’s citadel.

Some Turks want to get off their horses, leave their tents, and live in cities like Romans and Persians, Herakleia thought. Others just want to ride across the countryside, find pastures for their flocks, and raid. That’s the difference. Those are the Turkmen.

There were only two servants to bring in food from the kitchen, a boy and a girl, and they were overwhelmed by the number of guests in the banqueting hall, among them Doctor David ben Aaron and his two sons Moses and Joshua. Ultimately everyone except Herakleia and the delegation got up to help in the kitchen and to bring food back to the table. Herakleia thought it was time for the castle servants to organize themselves and send their own representative to the Paiperte Council, though she also wondered about the contradiction between the people who worked within the castle versus the people who worked without. The servants here were polite, but they might have had mixed feelings about their masters’ overthrow.

“Excuse me,” Herakleia said to the serving girl from the kitchen. “Please let all the servants in the fortress know that they are welcome to join us here for breakfast.”

The servant girl bowed. “Evet, tekfur,” she said. “I mean—sorry—yes, strategos.” She hurried out of the banqueting hall.

Eyeing them both, Benjamin the Tanner said: “You intend to remake the world, to go against the will of God, do you not?”

Here we go, Herakleia thought. It’s just the same fucking shit, over and over again. People who love private property view themselves as the most unique, individual, saintly human beings ever to walk the Earth, yet they all think, speak, and act exactly the same. It’s like talking to the same person, again and again. Sometimes they aren’t even taught to act like this. A life of living off of assets rather than their own labor is what makes people think this way.

David ben Aaron exchanged glances with his sons. Many other people at the table were saying prayers in various languages over their food.

Benjamin continued. “Fine, fine, let the servants eat with the masters, and the wolves with the sheep. It is not as though God has made things different for a reason!”

“What reason is that?” said David. “We all have the same organs under our skins.”

“Father,” Moses warned.

Benjamin the Tanner glared at Doctor David ben Aaron. “It has been some time since I have seen you at temple.”

“And it hasn’t been long at all since I’ve had to tell you to shut up,” David said.

Moses and Joshua glared at their father.

“Last time I checked,” said Theodoros Argyros, eyeing Mamikonian and Giorgadze, “neither tanners nor shepherds nor merchants nor common folk of any sort were permitted to dine in castle banqueting halls.”

“Bah, what does it matter?” Benjamin waved his hand. “I cannot touch this fare. The meat has not been blessed, it has not been slaughtered in the proper fashion!”

David put down his fork. “Are you really going to embarrass everyone here like this?”

“What?” Benjamin said. “Is it embarrassing to want to eat in the proper way?”

“Not everyone needs a rabbi to wave his hands and say a few prayers over their food before they eat,” David said. “God will understand.”

“Actually, He is not the most understanding character, as Sodom and Gomorrah can attest.” Benjamin waved his finger at David. “You have been spending too much time among the Romans. God has already judged them, and you shall be next!”

“I have been working for the Turks for years,” David said.

“Turks, Romans, whatever! They are all still goyim. It is all still Babylon in the eyes of God!”

“God does not have eyes,” Umm Musharrafa said. “God is unique. He is everywhere at once, even in this room.”

David covered his face. “Just once in my life, I’d like to be able to sit down and finish a peaceful meal. Every time I sit down, really every single time, there’s either a medical emergency, or someone is yelling at me because I’m wearing two different kinds of fabric or something.”

Herakleia tried to change the subject by addressing Mamikonian. “We were impressed with the tribunal last night.”

“Not as impressed as we were with you and your amazons,” Mamikonian said, relieved to be talking about something else. “We had heard that Trebizond possessed a new kind of army, but we never knew it could accomplish such feats.”

“You win some, you lose some.” Herakleia eyed Ayşe and Miriai, who were sitting with Za-Ilmaknun and Hummay. There had been barely any time to talk with her friend, her sister.

“Truly you were sent by Providence,” Mamikonian said. “One day we were living our lives, if you can call bearing the oppression of the Sarakenoi ‘living,’ and then the mountain was on fire, and this fortress here was under attack.”

“It was our pleasure,” Herakleia said.

“It was a good fight,” Umm Musharrafa added. “We defeated the enemy, and none among us was hurt. May Allah grant that all the battles we fight transpire in such a way.”

“Amen,” said Kata Surameli.

Each member of the delegation looked at these two warrior women, then returned their gazes to Herakleia. Evidently the delegation was willing enough, out of gratitude, to speak with her as a sort of honorary man, but it was asking too much to view the other amazons—or women in general—in the same way.

Men don’t want to understand women, she thought. They just want to exploit women.

The image of Alexios entered her mind, the dark youth, strong and kind. He had never treated anyone like that, getting angry and violent only with those who exploited others.

Not all men.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

She was starting to feel her fatigue. After all this was over, she would need a break. A few days at the beach. It was almost summer, and the Euxine region was an old world tourist hotspot for a reason. Breakfast here in Paiperte Castle also came with wine rather than Seran cha. After living in medieval Rome for almost a year, she still had trouble drinking even watery wine with breakfast. It always put her back to sleep. But breakfast itself was a privilege, the country folk usually just ate two meals a day—

Just then, the kitchen staff entered the banqueting hall. The staff consisted of a fat chef, his fat wife, and their two assistants—their children, a skinny boy and girl. Only a moment ago the skinny young girl had addressed Herakleia as “tekfur,” a Turkish word used for Christian lords, though the kitchen staff was Armenian. They all carried their own plates of food, and sat among the amazons, who welcomed them and praised their cooking. The boy in particular was hungry, and devoured his food while talking with the amazons. Someone asked his name.

“Mesrop,” he said with a full mouth.

“We named him after the Illuminator,” said Mesrop’s mother, her hand over her chest. “The creator of our very own Armenian alphabet, which is the most beautiful in the world. Have you seen it?” With her elbow she nudged Doctor David ben Aaron, who was sitting next to her, and he nearly choked. “We want him to be a priest when he grows up. My name’s Anna, by the way. And this is my husband Vardan, and my daughter Keran.” She gestured to her family members. “We’re all so pleased to meet you!”

The members of the delegation shifted in their seats amid the clattery of the silver cutlery on the porcelain plates and bowls. Many had trouble using utensils or ignored them, while most slurped loudly and chewed with open mouths. They were unused to dining in aristocratic company.

Blinking at Mamikonian, Anna added: “The period of mourning for your wife, God bless her soul, has just ended, hasn’t it? My daughter Keran is of marriageable age, you know. Isn’t she a beauty?”

Mamikonian blushed and coughed. “Yes, quite beautiful.”

Herakleia widened her eyes. Keran looked maybe thirteen years old, while Mamikonian was in his thirties at least.

We have our work cut out for us, she thought.

Giorgadze cleared his throat and looked at Mamikonian.

“Ah, yes, right.” Mamikonian looked at Herakleia. “We have come to thank you, of course, but also to formally request, on behalf of the city of Paiperte—”

Mesrop burped loudly enough to shake the plates on the table. Herakleia saw the wine in her cup tremble.

“Mesrop!” his mother Anna exclaimed.

“Sorry, ma,” Mesrop said.

“—that we be allowed to join the Republic of Trebizond,” Mamikonian continued.

Miriai clapped her hands, then looked back and forth at everyone before she resumed eating. Herakleia was also excited by this announcement.

She leaned toward Mamikonian. “I assume you know what joining the republic entails.”

“Of course,” said Ayyub ibn Yusuf the shepherd, his mouth full of meat. “It means we pay our taxes to you instead of the Turks!” He nudged Giorgadze, and they laughed together.

“We were hoping it would also mean military protection,” Mamikonian said. “Erzurum, you know, is not far…”

“We have already sent for reinforcements from Trebizond,” Herakleia said.

Mamikonian sighed with relief. Only at this time did he begin to eat and drink.

“Yet you did this,” began Benjamin the Tanner, “all of this, without even consulting us? Ha!” He looked at the guests and gestured to Herakleia. “How are these newcomers any different from the Turks? At least the Turks believed in God! What do these philistines believe in? Nothing! It’s just a new sultanate. A new sultanate to replace the old one—a sultanate of women!”

“We believe in worker democracy,” Herakleia said. “Peasant democracy. The democracy of women, of indigenous people—”

Benjamin snorted. “Let fools rule, ignoramuses, yes, that is certain to succeed.”

“Of that we were aware,” Mamikonian said to Herakleia. “Every member of our delegation was selected by the respective religious communities in Paiperte.”

“Yet there are no women among the delegation,” Herakleia said.

Mamikonian cleared his throat. “No women?”

“Slavery is illegal in the Republic of Trebizond,” Herakleia said. “As is economic exploitation. That’s where our strength comes from. We all work together for each other, practicing democracy wherever we are—whether in the fields, in our homes, or even in a castle like this.”

“Then I vote to have the men sit on one side of the table,” Benjamin said, “and the women on the other, the way God intended, and for the servants to return to work, where they belong, and for the women who remain here to only speak when spoken to, to be modest and submissive and—”

“Benjamin, will you please be quiet?” Mamikonian said.

“No, it’s alright.” Herakleia looked to the dozens of people at the table. “A motion has been made. Do we have any seconds?”

“Me,” said Ayyub ibn Yusuf, slurping from his cup of wine.

“And me,” said Giorgadze.

All history is the history of class struggles, she thought. Emphasis on the plural—struggles. The contradiction between lord and serf is easy enough to see. But the contradiction between the serf husband and his wife is harder for the husband to accept. ‘We’re all just family here.’ Exploiters in whatever context always want to believe that they’re on the same team as the ones they exploit. But class society is itself a crime.

Herakleia looked to the dozens of people sitting at the table, all of whom were watching her. They had stopped eating, except for Mesrop, a tall thin youth who seemed hungry enough to finish every plate on the table.

“All in favor?” Herakleia said.

No one spoke.

“Motion fails,” Herakleia said.

Benjamin pounded the table. “This is ridiculous!”

“Not as ridiculous as you,” murmured David.

“Benjamin,” Mamikonian began, gesturing to the man’s plate of untouched food, “if you aren’t enjoying breakfast—”

“I represent the interests of the Jews of Paiperte!” Benjamin exclaimed. “I did not spend my life studying the Holy Torah to be silenced by the likes of a goy like you!”

“Of course not,” Mamikonian said, “but the problem is that you’re silencing everyone else—”

“Let me speak!” Benjamin cried. “Let me speak!”

Everyone was silent and staring at him, save Mesrop, who kept stuffing his face, oblivious to Benjamin’s shouting.

King, Herakleia thought.

Benjamin’s voice echoed across the banqueting hall. Herakleia was reminded of Bryennios, the wrecker from Trebizond whom her bodyguards had muscled out of a citywide meeting last summer, when the city had first found out that General Narses was marching there with his immortal army. It had almost seemed, at the time, like Bryennios had memorized a handbook written to slow down and destroy worker democracy. What had he even said? ‘Refer this to the proper committee, ensure we’re following the proper bylaws and definitions, consider sending a delegation to the emperor, what does it even mean to be in rebellion, I was a rebel once,’ and on and on. It never stopped. Everyone had the right to speak, argue, vote, and even campaign, but a person became a class enemy the moment they questioned the republic—and the process—itself. Democratic centralism meant going along with the will of the majority even when your side lost. Bryennios had been careful to keep from questioning the right the Trapezuntines had to govern themselves, but his actions were clearly sabotage. The crowd had cheered when the guards took him away. Since then, no one had spoken in his defense, nor even inquired as to his whereabouts. He had lived in the citadel for a little while with Gabras the landlord, in a cell that Artemia the midwife—since deceased—had used to deliver babies, but Herakleia had released him following the siege.

Nobody knows where Bryennios went, Herakleia thought, as Benjamin the Tanner continued shouting. But if he’s still alive somewhere, he’s probably up to no good, that’s for sure.

At some point, Benjamin ran out of breath and snatched a bread loaf from a bowl on the table and devoured it, even though it was still unblessed. Only at this point did the room fall into silence, though Herakleia’s ears continued to ring with Benjamin’s earlier yelling.

“Did you notice,” David said to Benjamin, breaking the silence, “that no one interrupted you? That you’ve been bellowing like a fool since practically the moment we sat down?”

Herakleia clutched her forehead with both hands.

“A fool?” Benjamin said, chewing a mouthful of bread. “Did you call me a fool?”

David nodded. “I did.”

“I’ll show you a fool!” Benjamin stood, swallowed his bread, then clutched his throat and began to choke.

“Oh my God,” Anna said, crossing herself. Mesrop kept eating.

David and Herakleia both stood at the same time. Normally Herakleia would have deferred to a doctor in an emergency situation like this, but because several centuries still needed to pass before the invention of the Heimlich maneuver, she pushed David aside, got behind Benjamin—even as he tried to shove her away—and wrapped her arms around his abdomen between his belly and his ribs, pulling hard against herself. This expelled the wad of bread from Benjamin’s throat, which flew across the table and struck Anna’s forehead before falling into her cup and splashing her with wine.

“Oh!” she cried.

“Get away from me, unclean woman!” Benjamin shouted to Herakleia, shoving her away while gasping for breath. “Get away!”

“It’s a miracle.” David regarded her with wide eyes. “How did you…?”

“I’ll teach you later,” Herakleia said.

David bowed with his right hand over his chest, Seljuk-style. “I look forward to it.”

Mamikonian convinced Benjamin to leave the banquet, and escorted him out of the hall. When Mamikonian returned, he apologized for Benjamin’s behavior.

“Don’t worry about it,” Herakleia said. She had returned to her seat and was sipping her wine a little more eagerly than before.

“Not to talk behind the poor man’s back,” Mamikonian said, “but he really is a pillar of the community. As a tanner, he needed to scrub himself for hours before he came up here. He’s a very strained sort of man, you understand.”

“Of course.” Herakleia gulped her wine. “Now—I believe we were talking about Paiperte joining the Republic of Trebizond?”

Mamikonian nodded. “We were.”

“There must be proportional representation for every group in Paiperte,” she said. “All the different religious groups—including Muslims—as well as the different people—including Turks. Women and children must also be involved, as well as peasants and workers. Some people will be able to participate more than once in this process. Peasant women, for instance, will vote for leaders of both the women and the peasants.”

Mamikonian looked at Ayyub Ibn Yusuf, Durgulely Giorgadze, and Theodoros the Silversmith, none of whom seemed excited by this prospect. “I understand.”

“Exploiters and their cronies are the only ones excluded from this process,” Herakleia said. “Once they have accepted responsibility for their terrible ways and sworn allegiance to the Republic, they can participate in politics, although they are never permitted to become elected representatives. The same is true for their children and grandchildren.”

“But this will break the power of the nobility forever!” Anna said. “For three generations, their families will live just like the rest of us…by the end of it, there won’t be a trace of their nobility left!”

Herakleia nodded. “That’s the idea.”

“It won’t be so easy for some people.” Anna looked to Mamikonian. “For example, those who dreamed of marrying their daughter to a handsome nobleman of esteemed bearing and daring deeds.”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing I’m only a noble by ancestry,” Mamikonian said, “and just a simple textile merchant in reality.”

“I suppose some people will just have to keep dreaming of being the grandmother to kings and queens.” Anna said.

“Once every group has elected representatives to Paiperte’s Council,” Herakleia continued, “that council needs to choose a delegate to represent Paiperte itself in Trebizond.”

“You mean Trebizond will not be appointing a governor for us, the way the Romans did?” Theodoros said.

How many times do I have to explain it to them? Herakleia wondered.

“That’s right.” She turned to Hummay. “Did I miss anything?”

“You did an excellent job, as usual, strategos,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “We’ll have the people of Paiperte gather in an assembly outside this afternoon, let them know how things work, and see if they accept our terms.”

“I think they will, strategos,” Mamikonian said.