Chapter 620: The Third Rome
The entire city is plunged into chaos once again, especially the senate, but of course Constantinople has seen even more chaotic days in the old past.
Hundreds of senators and associates, no matter how prestigious, rich, or noble they are once, are all hurdling in all the ports big and small now waving pouches of coins in their hands, wishing to get a ticket on any ships no matter what with all of their luggage. Their chubby bodies and carts of stolen fortunes caused a severe traffic jam in the port itself. Some even began brawling under broad day light just for one fisher boat that is able to fetch them to Galata, where they will then go to Genoese outposts on Kherson, and then to Kioava (Kiev/ Kyiv).
All the seaways to outside of the Golden Horn have already been sealed far ago by the fleet of Fjodor, but Galata is the only exception, where it exists not as Roman territory, instead a Genoese colony, and in this case became the window of escape for many who wish to flee the city.
The smart ones have fled the city way even before the fight, the not so smart ones fled the city without their belongings on the news of the arrival of Antonius’ cavalries, while the dumb ones, who are the ones crowding in the ports, are the ones who only waited till Antonius has entered the city, and then did they start to pack up all of their treasures and attempt to flee.
It did not take long before Antonius’ cavalries came in God speed with the goal to seal off all exists of the city. This caused a widespread terror in the ports, and followed by a stampede and created numerous new deaths after the fall. But in the end the guards still manage to catch most of them, with some fortunate ones who managed to get past the Golden Horn just in time.
The even braver ones attempted to gather their private guards and come into a street battle with Antonius defending the armoury and the senate house. But a bunch of rogues are never the match for a proper army. Though they did successfully delay Antonius’ plans, taking the Caesar another day before he fully restored order to the city.
Throughout the central avenue of the city, hundreds of wooden poles rose ominously. The bodies of lawbreakers, slain by guards maintaining order, were displayed as stark warnings. This stark image sent a clear message: the new Caesar, unlike his predecessor, would not tolerate defiance.
The sight of so many bodies crucified was undeniably powerful. Order was swiftly restored within the city walls, but with order brings oppression, as the oppressive silence soon fallowed, as the majority of its residents opted for the perceived safety of their homes, hesitant to face the unpredictability of this new Caesar and his military might.
Relief came two days later when three thousands of Julian’s men arrived. Another contingent of over eight hundred, ferrying the likes of Abdullah, Anna, Alexios, Apostolos, and a majority of the courtiers, soon followed from the Aegean. Their presence signalled the consolidation of Constantinople’s administrative processes. With their arrival, a weight lifted from Antonius’ shoulders – the city was finally, undeniably, his, and today marks the day that Constantinople has a new dictator.
A grand triumph was declared a week after the city’s capture. Antonius De’Ricci, painted in a ceremonial shade of red, took centre stage as the vir triumphalis. Dressed in a majestic golden-purple toga picta with a laurel crown signifying victory, he was a sight to behold, sharing the old tradition of any Roman kings carrying the name of ’Caesar’ before him. Behind him, the Varangians proudly displayed the emblematic double-headed eagle sceptre. Flanking it were the banners of the red lion and the revered Chi Rho cross. The Varangians led the procession, with the cavalry and infantry following closely.
However, unlike the jubilant parades Antonius had grown accustomed to in Thessaloniki, the atmosphere in Constantinople was markedly different. The locals did not warm to their new ruler. Few citizens ventured out to witness the procession, and among those who did, genuine respect or admiration was scant. Sparse crowds and a sea of impassive faces met Antonius as he paraded through the city.
The challenge was clear. To win the hearts of Constantinople’s people, Antonius and his court had their work cut out for them. The true enemy of the citizens had not been external invaders but the treachery and cruelty of their own governance.
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The senate is wept out, most is thrown into jails, with some exceptions like Andronikos and Issac forming a party that submitted to the new rule and helping out in exchanging affairs building the new government. Germanicus is slain by an anonymous guard of Fabrizio admist the chaos in the ports, while Innocentius has managed to flee to Bulgaria, where he began spreading propaganda to the various Balkan states that Antonius is nothing but a pretender.
No monarchs in the region had the patience to give him their ear of course, even Abbas Pasha, who constantly wanted to kick this source of trouble away as he is trying his best to keep the new King of Hungary, Matthias Corvinus out of his domains in Moldova, but not the fellow Beys and Aghas beneath him, as these men all had conflicting views with their Pasha.
This shall become the cause of conflict one day, Abbas Pasha knows, thus he started building a new army, and several new forts, on the borders between Thrace and Bulgaria.
...
The parade is soon over, the majestic army left for their temporary sites, leaving behind a street full of rubbles and dirt. The citizens came out of their doors again with brooms and shovels, here to clean their communities up and continue their daily lives. Maximus took over as the commander of the garrison, Antonius went to meet the Ecumenical Patriarch, Gennadius II Scholarius, waiting for him in Hagia Sophia. Julian took over the Theodosian walls with the Armouries, while the Venetians and the Genoese in the various quarters began writing reports to their respective Doge about this sudden turn of events.
For this night, every single person in the city got their respective task to accomplish.
The honour belongs to the Caesar and his army, but not the citizens.
In the shadow of the Theodosian walls, as twilight draped the city in a soft blanket of dim light, three pivotal figures in Constantinople’s new government, Abdullah, Alexios, and Apostolos, strolled thoughtfully. Cerberus tread closely behind, alert and watchful.
"This city looks very different from the last time when I came for a visit, when I was young" Apostolos smirked, as he gazed over the city.
"I used to frequent the city when I was younger." Sighed Alexios. "It was not that far away from my home by ship, for my family was in Nikomedia, at least that is what we, the Romans in the city, calls it."
A determined gleam entered Apostolos’ gaze. "We shall reclaim its rightful name, just as we did with Adrianopolis."
Alexios nodded, hope evident in his voice. "Soon, I pray."
The silence that followed was punctuated only by the soft whispers of the evening breeze.
"Lord Miralai, what do you feel?"
Caught off guard, Abdullah, who had been lost in contemplation, blinked in surprise. "Feel? About what? The city’s conquest?"
Alexios leaned in, his voice quivering with restrained excitement. "This city, the crown jewel! Do you grasp the magnitude of our triumph? With the Caesar as the Basileus of the Roman Empire, doors of nobility swing open for us. My family’s name, the proud House of Asanes, will echo once more in the annals of history!"
"Basileus..." Abdullah and Apostolos exchanged eye contacts.
"Dear Alexios, do you believe our burgeoning state mirrors the Roman Empire our forefathers once commanded?"
Alexios frowned, seeking clarity. "We bear the empire’s name, its legacy. Isn’t that the root of our legitimacy?"
Abdullah interjected, "While we carry its name, it’s merely a mantle we adopted when Constantinople’s reign beckoned. In truth, our leader, Antonius, emerged from the shadows, building this empire brick by brick. Neither the Basileus nor the city lent a hand, save bestowing upon him the title of a Grand Admiral."
Apostolos, impassioned, added, "Every facet of our governance diverges from the past. Our military might stand independent; our victories are solely ours. Our diplomacy, trade, even our leadership stems not from ancient bloodlines but from merit and dedication. We came not as conquerors, but as saviours, to breathe life into the weary soul of Constantinople. It’s the spirit of our mission, the mission vowing to save every life and souls in the old Roman lands, not the hollow echo of ’Imperium Romanum’, that underpins our legitimacy."
Alexios, overwhelmed, murmured, "But we are still Romans..."
Apostolos leaned in, his voice a gentle whisper, yet filled with gravity. "Picture this, Alexios: envision the Roman Empire as a chariot coursing down the winding roads of history. Each reigning monarch may have either reinforced or neglected it, and every adversary may have stripped away its parts. By the time our Caesar appeared on the scene, the chariot was but a skeletal frame with frail wheels, dragged by a tired donkey. Yet, our Caesar rejuvenated it, fortified the wheels with metal, exchanged the donkey for a spirited stallion, and refurbished the chariot to its grandeur — all while preserving its original insignia: ’Imperium Romanum’. Yet, can we truly say this chariot mirrors its former self from centuries past?"
"But yes, you are right Alexios, indeed we still needs the hat for the legitimacy of our liege, our government, and our future conquests. But as we chart new waters, forging a nation distinct from its predecessors, we need to remember that we are actually from a different pond of origin. If the Pagan reign was the First Rome and the emperors here were of the Second Rome, then we, sprung from the seas, shall be known as..."
"...The Third Rome."
Silence came back again, as Alexios gulped with his heart being hammered by the name of ’Third Rome’, while Abdullah and Apostolos too, had their sights away, unsure of what they have in mind.
