“However did they get here so quickly?” Doux Bagrationi said in his chamber. “We weren’t expecting them for weeks!”
“Berkyaruq never returned,” Samonas said. “He must have been killed.”
“He’s been gone little more than a week,” Bagrationi said.
“Could he have betrayed us?” Herakleia said.
Tamar glared at Herakleia. “He’s been with us for years. He’s never given reason for doubt. It’s rude of you to even ask.”
“Sorry, it was just a question.” Herakleia stepped back and raised her hands.
“Practically his whole family lives here,” Tamar said. “At least on his wife’s side. The man has two children living within the city walls!”
“We have simply got to decide on the proper course of action.” Bagrationi was staring down at the map on the table. “We can’t be certain if his message reached the Roman army. It’s possible they haven’t even been made aware we wish to discuss terms.” He looked up. “Someone ought to ride out and make contact.”
Samonas looked away. Herakleia thought this amusing. He’s probably never picked up a sword in his life.
“But what if the Romans attack first?” Tamar said.
“Mother, I really wish you wouldn’t join these meetings,” Bagrationi said. “Don’t you have some wedding planning to do?”
“Don’t talk down to me,” Tamar said. “I think a Roman invasion matters more than some wedding.”
Bagrationi rolled his eyes. “Listen. Armies have got to negotiate terms before they begin a siege, simply because it saves so much time and effort. It’s something they always do. It’s as natural as breathing!”
“Not unless they want to kill us,” Herakleia said.
“So the plan is to offer terms,” Samonas said.
The doux nodded. “We preserve our lives and property and swear never to take up arms against the politeía again. They return to Konstantinopolis. Those are the reasonable terms which I mean to propose.”
Herakleia shook her head. “They’re going to laugh in your face.”
Bagrationi frowned. “I’m beginning to think these meetings would be better without the bothersome female presence. We’re henpecked enough as it is in this city of ours.” He eyed Herakleia and Tamar. “Frankly I’m not sure either of you are qualified to participate in these discussions—”
“Besides, we can’t just surrender unilaterally like this,” Herakleia said. “We need to consult with the workers and—”
“You know,” Bagrationi said, “I really think we don’t. As a matter of fact, I think your little experiment with mob rule is—quite sadly—coming to an end. Once the—”
“What if the Roman army doesn’t accept?” Herakleia said.
“We’ve been through this many times, my dear,” Bagrationi said. “We will fight only if we haven’t got a choice in the matter.”
“You would sell your own mother into slavery,” Herakleia said. “If you could keep your private little empire.”
“My dear—”
“I’ll ask the workers in the morning,” Herakleia said. “If a majority rejects your proposal, you can’t make any deals with the Romans. Do you understand?”
“It is a bad omen for a bride to speak to her groom like this,” Tamar said. “The demon Gelou thrives on such disagreement.”
“Oh, right, I forgot.” Herakleia turned to Tamar. “As we all know, politeness is more important than human life.”
“What’s wrong with politeness?” Tamar said. “How can society exist without it? People need to know their place, or else there’s chaos!”
“I’m finished here.” Herakleia walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at the doux, the eunuch, and the queen. They were all staring at her. Herakleia pointed at them. “Make no deals with the Roman army.”
You have lost favor with Doux David Bagrationi and Queen Tamar, the game voice said.
They said nothing, so she left. In the courtyard, she found Alexios asleep on a couch under a pile of blankets, while the mothers and their families were almost all sleeping on the ground, wrapped in their cloaks. Qutalmish was awake and guarding the entrance. Herakleia bowed to him, and he returned her bow. They had grown closer thanks to spending nearly two weeks drilling with the army and even the whole city together. Qutalmish was an honorable man, which meant that it was impossible to convince him to turn against the doux.
Herakleia lay down in an empty spot in the courtyard and wrapped herself in her cloak, thinking she needed to rest in case the Romans arrived in the morning. But her anger kept her awake, and she stared at the stars blazing in the black sky above the lone torch burning in the courtyard.
Every day I’ve been here Bagrationi’s given me reason to doubt him, Herakleia thought. All he wants is to go back to normal. It’s easy for him—easier than fighting. But for the rest of us, it’s a death sentence.
Having hardly slept, she got up just after dawn when the city started waking—the roosters crowing, the donkeys groaning, the oars sloshing in the seawater. Then she walked the narrow streets, asking the groggy Trapezuntines if they favored returning to normalcy in exchange for peace with Rome.
“Normal,” one grandmother said. “What’s normal?”
She was wrapped in black, and her puffy face was wrinkled and covered in warts.
“It means you pay rent to a landlord and taxes to the government,” Herakleia said. “You go back to church and obey your husband. That sort of normal.”
The grandmother waved her hand. “To hell with that! Was this your idea? I thought you were on our side!”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Herakleia said. “I don’t agree with it at all. But it’s what the doux wants.”
The grandmother shook her head. “What a foolish notion, compromising with people who want to kill us!” She looked to the citadel, which rose in the distance over Trebizond’s rooftops. “The doux is just no good. He needs to go!”
Herakleia laughed and then looked around, telling the grandmother to keep her voice down. But many people nearby were watching, listening, and nodding.
“It was good of the lord to invite us here,” said a nearby grandfather with the biggest, whitest, bushiest beard Herakleia had ever seen. “We’re grateful for that. But he can’t just turn us out. I say you ought to lead us, strategos.” He bowed to her.
Others nearby agreed. But Herakleia shook her head and asked them not to talk like that.
“You’ve changed our minds about many things,” the grandfather added. “I never would have spoken this way before the troubles started. I thought it was wrong. I didn’t have the courage. I didn’t even want to think about it. My wife and I…we had ash crosses on our foreheads. Now the sight of priests makes me lose my lunch.”
“It wasn’t me,” Herakleia said. “Your environment changed, so your ideas changed.”
“Landlords, too.” The grandmother nodded. “It was a good thing you did, strategos, driving them out of these houses.”
“They’re our homes now!” the grandfather said.
The two grandparents laughed together. Herakleia couldn’t help laughing with them, though she still asked them to keep their voices down.
Jesus, she thought as she walked away to survey more Trapezuntines. These old codgers are more hardcore than I am!
After several hours of asking around during the siege preparations, Herakleia found that, aside from the priests, monks, and nuns inside the church and a handful of men, no one approved of the doux’s peace proposal. Almost unanimously, the workers and peasants—whether they were men, women, or children; and regardless of their origin, whether Armenian, Roman, Syriac, Jewish, Alanian, Laz, Turk, Arab—they swore they would never return to slavery.
Irena shook her head when Herakleia asked her. The former servant was eating in the citadel courtyard, having spent the entire night keeping an eye on the Satala Road. Now she planned to fill her belly and take a nap.
“My Lord Gabras,” she began, her voice trembling. “He didn’t just beat me. He—”
She was unable to finish speaking. Herakleia hugged her and apologized for asking such upsetting questions. As Irena nodded and did her best to keep eating, Herakleia was reminded of the problem with their limited food reserves, and glared up at the citadel, just as those two grandparents had earlier.
No reason to keep the prisoners here, she thought. They eat as well as the rest of us. We should send them to the Romans when they arrive. Maybe we can trade them for something.
The Workers’ Army, meanwhile, was preparing for battle. They had already decided—without input from their superiors—that the best fighters should be given the city’s limited number of swords, armor, and horses. The rest of the army would remain behind the walls in reserve. Those sallying outside the walls, meanwhile, would do their best to bring back more armaments from dead Romans. They revealed this plan to Herakleia after she had gone through the city to ask everyone if they wished to surrender.
“I suppose that’s the best we can do.” Herakleia nodded to the two hundred mothers, most of whom were at that moment sorting swords in the courtyard.
“It’s going to be hard enough just fighting the Romans,” Anna said. She was working alongside her two children, Kassia and Basil. “Now we have to pick up their weapons and bring them back to the city. But it’s the best we can do.”
Many mothers nodded with her as they worked.
We’ve barely even trained with any of this. Herakleia glanced at the weapons. Qutalmish just managed to show the most basic sword moves. It takes years to learn this stuff…
They had made three piles of swords: good, damaged, and useless. Armor was a trickier issue. Since the mothers were smaller than the city’s previous male defenders, the plate armor fit almost no one except for the few men in the Workers’ Army. As for chainmail, it was too large and heavy. Even with Qutalmish’s assistance, donning this armor was difficult. The chainmail, for instance, needed to protect the neck, but it didn’t fit.
“You cannot fight without the armor,” Qutalmish said as he was helping Anna out of a mismatched chainmail suit, with Basil and Kassia watching. “The Romans will kill all of you. It is problem.”
“We won’t surrender,” she said. Once Qutalmish had gotten the armor off, she clutched Kassia and Basil to her sides. “I’m not letting my children go back to slavery in Hebdomon.”
Qutalmish turned his tired face to Herakleia. “We must remain behind walls if we don’t have the armor. It is waste of life otherwise.”
“What about this secret weapon the Romans are supposed to have?” Herakleia said. “Apparently it helped them capture a city in just a few hours.”
“We will see,” Qutalmish said.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Ringing church bells drew their attention. Had the enemy arrived? Herakleia left the citadel and saw Sophronios pacing along the walkway built atop the walls. Followed by the priests from the countryside as well as a handful of monks and nuns, he was carrying the city’s holiest ikon, a large painting of the Virgin and Child, said to be made by the hand of God. Though the painting itself was old and dim, the gilded frame was studded with jewels which sparkled in the morning sunlight. Two priests behind Sophronios, meanwhile, shook holy water on the battlements, while thousands of workers and peasants stopped and stared, with many removing their hats and crossing themselves. This was when Theophano—who had taken Irena’s place as sentry on the Satala Road—rode back to the city at full gallop, shouting that the Romans were coming.
The Satala Gate was opened; Theophano entered; the gate was closed and locked. Without being told, the mothers rushed to the southern walls and hid themselves behind the battlements, their swords sheathed by their sides. A few had bows; these were the ones who had proven themselves decent marksmen, though each carried only a handful of arrows. There hadn’t been time to make more. The buckets of rocks had already been placed at regular intervals on the walls; the city’s strongest men climbed up and took positions nearby. A few ceramic naphtha “pomegranates”—also known as grenades, and given that moniker for their resemblance to the fruit—were in one locked iron box. These were to be used if the enemy breached the walls. Long wooden poles were also ready to knock away siege ladders. Children down in the city were filling water flasks from the aqueduct-fed fountains and piling them near the walls. Youths were carrying tables and rolls of linen to the Church of the All Holy Gold-Headed Mother of God, which was now Trebizond’s hospital.
Watching this activity, Herakleia admitted that maybe the city was better prepared than she had expected. Everyone had been training like this for almost two weeks. All of them had experienced attack drills, and the result now was that everyone did their duty. It was a collective effort.
If we lose, we could get killed, mutilated, or enslaved, Herakleia thought. Desperation helps us focus. Things don’t usually go well for women in cities which refuse to surrender.
She looked up to the citadel, to the doux’s window. Bagrationi was standing there with his arms crossed, watching her. As soon as their eyes met, he stepped out of sight.
She jogged up the steps to the battlements, and stood over the Satala Gate with Alexios—still drowsy from his long sleep—to watch the Romans march toward them.
“We should have attacked,” he whispered. “We should have set up some kind of ambush.”
“We didn’t have the time, the people, the resources. The problems are always the same here.”
“Look at that choke point.” He nodded to the road. “We could have rolled boulders down on top of them or something.”
“Too late now,” Herakleia said.
To the surprise of Trebizond’s defenders, it took minutes for the Roman army to march into view atop Mount Minthrion. Most of the men were dressed in black, unlike the usual red, blue, and even purple cloaks Romans favored. Standards for two centuries were present.
“They need at least a few moiras,” Herakleia said. “Two centuries isn’t nearly enough to take the city.”
“Don’t give your hopes up,” Alexios said. “They must be holding more men in reserve. Maybe they’re planning to attack us from the east or west at the same time…I think I see something back there…”
Behind the soldiers, many mules and oxen-drawn carriages were emerging.
“It’s probably just their baggage train,” Herakleia said.
The Roman soldiers were still playing their fifes and drums and singing as they dismounted from their horses, got into formation, and marched down Mount Minthrion toward the city—their army ringing with each step—until they stood just out of bowshot of the Trapezuntines on the southern walls. One man who was still mounted on his horse galloped to the Satala Gate. He was handsome, tall, strong, and dressed in black, with little armor. Herakleia recognized him.
“Narses,” she said.
Alexios turned to her. “Who?”
“The one who killed Dionysios.”
“Wait—you know who killed Dionysios?”
“I never told you,” she said. “But that’s his name. He’s the usurper’s lapdog.”
“Greetings to the Holy City of Trebizond!” Narses shouted. “By the Grace of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Nikephoros, my brothers and I have come to free this sacred land from the criminals!”
His voice enraged Herakleia. Alexios, too, was tensing his muscles.
“Now,” Narses continued, “if you’ll be so kind as to open the gate, we can get down to business—”
“We sent a messenger,” said Doux Bagrationi, who was now standing beside Herakleia. She jumped, having missed his arrival. Sophronios, Tamar, Qutalmish, Samonas, Anna, Theophano, and even Irena—stirred from her nap—were also standing nearby on the walls among the Workers’ Army and its male auxiliaries. Everyone was here.
“Did you receive our messenger?” Bagrationi asked. “He departed this city just over a week ago. We wish only for peace and friendship between ourselves and His Imperial Majesty Nikephoros the Vicegerent of God.”
Herakleia rolled her eyes.
“It’s a simple matter.” Narses looked back to his men, who were watching with amusement. “You will hand over the traitors who have led so many good Romans astray. Then we shall happily depart in peace.”
Bagrationi cleared his throat. “First—might I inquire as to the name and rank of the person who addresses me?”
“Do you not think it impertinent to allow the Domestikos of the Scholai to remain outside these walls shouting like an old peasant woman?”
The Roman soldiers laughed.
“Allow me to enter your beautiful city,” Narses said. “I’m sure we can find a way to—”
“What might your name be, sir?” Bagrationi said.
“It is General Narses who speaks with you,” he said.
“I didn’t know that the previous Domestikos had been replaced.”
“Much has changed in the capital,” Narses said.
“You cannot address Doux Bagrationi of Trebizond with such impertinence!” Sophronios said. His fellow priests had returned the ikon to the church.
Narses looked back to his men. “Am I to converse with the entire city at once?”
The Romans laughed.
Narses turned to Trebizond. “Are you so disorganized that you’ve forgotten to designate a spokesperson?”
“Let me do the talking,” Bagrationi growled in a low voice to Sophronios, who bowed and stepped back in response. Then Bagrationi shouted to Narses: “Sir, did you receive our messenger, yes or no?”
“We received no messenger.”
“That’s impossible,” Bagrationi said. “We sent him westward along—”
“But we did find a messenger.” Narses drew his sword. “I mean, my blade found his neck.”
More laughter from the Romans.
“Berkyaruq.” Tamar turned to Qutalmish, who was beside her, and cried into his chest. He hugged her. Tears were also in his eyes, as he glared at the Roman general.
“Really, I did you a favor, Bagrationi,” Narses said. “That messenger you sent was a fool and a terrible fighter—in addition to being Sarakenou. He was just a drain on your purse. If you’d like to pay me for taking care of him, I’d be happy to accept my standard fee.”
Bagrationi took a deep breath. “Is it possible for us to make peace with His Majesty the Emperor without handing over the people whom you deem criminals?”
The Roman century laughed again.
“We didn’t come all the way out here for nothing,” Narses said. “You’ll give us Herakleia and her fellow outside agitators, or—well, I can’t be held responsible for what happens. It may involve impalement.”
For a few more minutes, Bagrationi continued trying to convince Narses to change his mind, without success. In the mean time, Alexios told Herakleia to look at the top of Mount Minthrion. Hundreds of men were there—not soldiers—and they were unloading large black objects from the carriages.
“What the hell is that?” he said.
But Herakleia was too angry at the doux to pay attention. Listening to him bargain with Narses was humiliating, and the general was playing him.
“He’s stalling for time,” Herakleia said.
“What?” Alexios said.
Herakleia looked at him. “Narses is just trying to distract us while they put together their secret weapon.” She turned back to the activity in the distance. “That’s what that is.”
“We cannot reject their terms,” Bagrationi grumbled. “Politics is the art of compromise. Moderation and civility is key—”
“But he’s going to kill us all!” she shouted.
Everyone stopped talking. The entire city as well as everyone in the Roman army was staring at Herakleia.
“There she is,” Narses said. “The cause of more trouble than you could know.”
Herakleia turned to Irena, who was the nearest archer. “Shoot him.”
Irena nocked an arrow, and was taking aim, but Bagrationi placed his enormous hand on her weapon and pushed it down.
“Absolutely not.” Bagrationi glared at Herakleia. Then he looked to the Workers’ Army, and even back at the streets behind him full of people. “Anyone who does anything without my explicit permission will suffer capital punishment!”
“David!” Tamar shouted. “How could you?”
“Mother—”
“He murders one of your most loyal servants, and you talk about compromise?” Tamar said.
“It’s for the greater good, mother!”
“We don’t have time for this.” Herakleia took the bow from Irena, and before Bagrationi could stop her, she had loosed an arrow at Narses. To Herakleia’s surprise, the arrow flew straight at him—it was a lucky shot, her archery skills were at the Uninitiate level (0/10). For a moment, it seemed like the arrow would even pierce Narses’s skull, but just then he knocked the arrow away with his sword. As everyone standing along the walls gasped, Narses sheathed his weapon, and wagged his pointer finger back and forth.
“Naughty, naughty,” he said. “We’ve come here in good faith, making every effort at diplomacy, and this is how you repay us?”
“Herakleia!” Bagrationi shouted, throwing down her bow. “You will stop this at once! You are not in command here!”
“I can’t take this anymore.” Herakleia turned to Alexios. “Arrest the doux. Have him join his friends in the palace.”
Alexios moved toward Bagrationi, but the doux stepped back toward Qutalmish.
“Have you lost your mind?” Bagrationi drew his sword. “This is mutiny. Lay a finger on me, and I swear—”
“David!” Tamar shouted.
Sophronios was yelling, waving his hands, and trying to get between the city’s leaders, but Irena and Theophano blocked him. Samonas shuffled away. Alexios had drawn his own sword, and Herakleia was drawing hers.
“Qutalmish!” Bagrationi pointed at Herakleia and Alexios. “Arrest these fools before they get us all killed!”
“I’m enjoying the show!” Narses shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Keep it up!”
The Turkish warrior had yet to draw his blade.
“Qutalmish!” Bagrationi screamed. “What’s come over you? Arrest Herakleia and Alexios now!”
Qutalmish nodded to Narses. “He kill Berkyaruq.”
“We don’t know what happened to Berkyaruq.” Bagrationi said. “For all we know, Narses might have been acting in self-defense!”
Qutalmish shook his head. “Berkyaruq was like brother. I know him many years. He was honorable man. What of his wife, children, family? You send him to deliver the message peacefully. This man here murder Berkyaruq.”
“Listen up, you Mohammedan ingrate,” Bagrationi growled. “I’m not paying you for your opinion. Fool that you are, you aren’t qualified to give one. I’m paying you to follow orders. The adults are making the decisions here. Now—”
Qutalmish drew his scimitar. Bagrationi raised his sword to block, but then Alexios pointed his own blade at the doux from the other direction, and stepped closer.
Bagrationi looked at Alexios, then turned to Tamar. “Mother, they’ll listen to you. Tell them to stop.”
She crossed her arms. “Now you want my help? After calling me a madwoman every time I open my mouth?”
“Mother, now isn’t the time—”
“It’s never the time!” she said. “What am I even supposed to do? Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into! And all because you wanted to sleep with Herakleia, as if there weren’t a thousand other pretty women in this city who would have been perfectly willing to marry you and bear a dozen children for you if you asked them!”
“But they aren’t nobles, mother—”
“I’m ashamed to call you my son,” Tamar said. “You can’t invite all these people into our city and betray them like this. That’s not how it works.”
“Mother—”
“For once in your life, shut up and let me speak! They were counting on you. And this Narses can’t be trusted. He’ll take what he wants, and then burn the city to the ground and kill us all.” She looked to Herakleia, Qutalmish, and Alexios. “Do you promise not to harm my son?”
“No harm,” Qutalmish said. “But he is not doux of Trebizond now.”
“Who’s supposed to take his place?” Tamar said.
Qutalmish looked to Herakleia. “Strategos should lead us. Strategos should be tekfur.”
“You can’t do that,” Bagrationi said. “That’s not how it works. There’s a process. There are norms. This is so childish!”
“Aye,” said a man standing nearby. Other men nodded and agreed, as did the mothers in the Workers’ Army. Soon the entire city was shouting that Herakleia ought to be their doux. This excited her—it was all she had ever wanted—but she tried to stay focused.
Bagrationi laughed and shook his head. “A woman can’t be doux. We have laws that need to be respected, or else who are we?”
“We’re the Workers’ Army,” Alexios said. “And you aren’t a worker. You’re a parasite. Now drop your weapon.”
Bagrationi looked at him. “I never should have trusted any of you. You just came here to take my home—”
“You knew exactly what you were doing the whole time,” Herakleia said. “You were just waiting for the right opportunity to betray us.”
Alexios and Qutalmish brought their blades so close to Bagrationi, Tamar screamed for her son to drop his sword. Bagrationi did as Tamar commanded. Alexios picked up his sword and handed it to Theophano standing nearby, since she lacked a weapon. It was a fine blade of damascened steel.
Qutalmish told Herakleia he would return soon, it was no problem. Then he led Bagrationi down the steps and through the angry crowds back to the palace. Many of them were chanting: “Go home, David, go home!” Tamar followed with tears in her eyes. Sophronios and his retinue stormed off to the hospital which used to be a church.
Guess the wedding’s off, Herakleia thought.
Samonas bowed to her. “I’m interested in helping everyone stay alive. If you’ll have me.”
“Of course we will,” Herakleia said. “We could really use your help. Thank you.”
“Truth be told,” Samonas said, “I’ve enjoyed the way you and the workers have changed everything since you came here. It’s as though a great tempest has swept everything away.”
“Almost everything.” Herakleia looked down to Narses.
“That was dramatic!” he shouted.
“I’m really getting tired of this guy,” Alexios said.
“We have to fight him,” Herakleia said. “We have to destroy him before he destroys us.” She looked to the crowd at the top of Mount Minthrion, working hard enough to kick up clouds of dust behind the Roman century. “We’re going to attack.”