Chapter 639: Coronation (2)
Antonius couldn’t hide his astonishment when the young Anatolian Ottoman prince, Ali, approached him, his head bowed in a gesture of respect and submission. The prince’s pride was seemingly subdued, yet beneath his courteous veneer, a seething hatred simmered.
"Your Majesty," Ali spoke, his voice laced with a forced reverence that thinly veiled his contempt. "With utmost respect, may I take the reins for your chariot in this grand parade, to honour the greatest event this country has witnessed?"
Caught off guard but swiftly regaining his composure, Antonius realised this move must be the craft of the boy’s father. With a knowing smile, he extended the reins to the young prince.
"Certainly," he replied, a gesture that spoke volumes about his political acumen, but in the eyes of the young Ali, this posture just seemed like nothing but a smile from the devil himself, handling out a devil’s hook, leashing him.
King Mathias of Hungary watched the unfolding scene with a knowing smile. The diplomatic implications of Prince Ali’s gesture were not lost on him as the wise king saw through the plans of the Anatolian Turks with just one look. Having witnessed the formidable might of the Roman army and its advanced weaponry, the King was already contemplating a new diplomatic strategy. Aligning with the Greeks could prove advantageous, offering an opportunity to expand his southern influence and, crucially, to gain insight into their military technology.
The crowd’s reaction was a mosaic of emotions and intentions. As Prince Ali humbly offered to guide the emperor’s chariot, a flurry of diplomatic activity ensued. Various statesmen seized the moment, each driven by their own motives – whether to curry favour with the emerging power or to pursue their geopolitical interests. Among them, Grand Prince Ivan of Moscow stood out, for he is there cheering jumping up and down without seemingly having any hidden thoughts in his head. The gigantic man climbed aboard the chariot, embracing Emperor Antonius in a warm, Slavic-style hug, complete with a cheek kiss, and proclaimed with buoyant laughter, "Emperor! Under your leadership, and with the wisdom of your advisors, the Roman Empire and the entire Orthodox Church will ascend anew, like a phoenix reborn from ashes. I am overjoyed at your achievements! Since the young prince is at the reins, I shall proudly bear the flag!"
"Now! Emperor! Your Majesty! I believe that under you, with the help of your courtiers, the Roman Empire, alongside with the entire Orthodox church, shall rise back to power again, just like how a phoenix shall be reborn from the ashes escalating onto the world stage! I feel extraordinarily joyed and happy for what you and your team have achieved! Come... Ah, the boys got the reins, then I shall be the one holding the flag!"
With these words, the robust Ivan leaped onto the chariot, causing it to sway. He grasped the double-headed eagle flag in one hand and the scarlet lion flag in the other, standing tall behind the emperor. Meanwhile, the Bosnian and Serbian ambassador, a prince from the house of the Kotromanić, the duke of Duklja, on behalf of King Stephen Tomašević, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped forward determinedly and took hold of the chariot’s leads. His action elicited a near-laugh from the seasoned Skanderbeg, who then stepped forward himself. Raising his voice, he began to sing an ancient Orthodox victory hymn in Latin, accompanied by the harmonious music of King Mathias’ Hungarian band.
...
Veni, Creator Spiritus,
Mentes tuorum visita,
Imple superna gratia,
Quae tu creasti pectora.
...
In labore requies,
in aestu temperies
in fletu solatium.
O lux beatissima,
reple cordis intima
tuorum fidelium.
...
Da tuis fidelibus,
In te confidentibus,
Sacrum septenarium;
Da virtutis meritum,
Da salutis exitum,
Da perenne Gaudium,
Amen, Alleluia.
...
The sun cast a holy light over the victorious procession. The emperor Antonius, triumphant over the Ottoman forces, led the parade in a formidable war chariot.
This chariot, a symbol of martial might, was drawn by majestic horses that moved with a solemn grace, understanding the weight of the victory they heralded. The chariot, adorned with the scarlet lion flag of Antonius, fluttered boldly in the breeze, its vivid hue a testament to the emperor’s power and courage.
Amidst the crooked singing of Ivan, whose voice melded with the deep chants of the Varangians and the harmonious tones of the Hungarian choir, the chariot, steered by three monarchs, with the Grand Prince of Moskva as the flag bearer, the prince of Anatolia as the steerer, and the Duke of Serbia holding the leash, advanced. This display was not merely a celebration but a stark demonstration of the new empire’s dominance in the region, a message to friend and foe alike of the shifted balance of power.
Antonius, exuding the charisma of a leader born to rule, stood tall in his war chariot. His hands waved to the gathered armies, acknowledging their sacrifices and valor. As the chariot rolled forward, he passed by each formation of his soldiers, their armor still tainted with the scarlet blood of battle. The emperor’s nod was both proud and grateful, recognizing the soldiers’ unwavering loyalty and bravery.
The rhythm of marching feet, the clinking of armour, and the disciplined voices of the soldiers turned the parade into a grand spectacle of martial prowess. The soldiers, their eyes locked on Antonius, radiated respect and admiration. In turn, Antonius saluted them, his gaze fixed on the troops who had stood unflinchingly beside him in the fiercest of battles. The bond between emperor and soldier had reached an unbreakable zenith, forged in the crucible of war.
Khalid on his horse behind the chariot could almost no longer control himself as tears of rejoice rolled down his cheeks, remembering all the hardships he has went through in achieving finally the achievement today. Maruo remained silent, thinking of his former big brother who is already lying silently somewhere in the Black Sea, while Cerberus looked at his fellow Varangians in eyes of sadness, for he is a veteran of the Varangian, and he knows, that among the fifty plus Varangians who came with him boarding the shores of Thessaloniki ten years ago, only five of them remains, just like the Old Varangians, these new brothers of his rejoice when it is time to celebrate, charge when it is time to fight, and weep when it is time to be sorrow, he knows, that the lands of Romania is filled with Varangian blood.
As the parade drew to a close on the open plains, the stage was set for the final act of this historic day. The old Ecumenical Patriarch, present at the site, prepared to commence the coronation, a sacred ceremony that would officially anoint Antonius as the supreme ruler.
Antonius gracefully descended from the chariot, his generals, courtiers, and esteemed foreign guests trailing behind him. They were gathered on this hallowed battlefield, transformed temporarily into a sacred coronation site. The emperor addressed his assembly with a tone of solemnity and authority. "Gentlemen, remember we stand on a field of victory. Simplicity and order shall hallmark this ceremony."
His eagle-sharp gaze landed on General Mauro. With a swift, deliberate motion, Antonius drew his blade and extended it towards him. "Mauro, I want you to take command of the army during the event today, for any one who dares to disturb the coronation, kill on site!"
Mauro took over the blade with respect, answering a swift yes majesty.
Surveying the makeshift coronation ground, Antonius approached a soldier standing guard. In a tone devoid of royal pomp, he said, "My brother, a king requires a blade for his coronation. May I borrow yours?"
The soldier, momentarily struck dumb by the honour, fumbled with his sword under the prodding of his comrades, and presented it to his sovereign.
It was a humble weapon, stained with the remnants of battle and marked by the toil of war, forged just a year prior in the Athenian smithies.
Antonius accepted the blade with gratitude, acknowledging the soldier with a nod of deep respect. He then turned towards the venerable Ecumenical Patriarch, who signalled the commencement of the ceremony.
The gathered clergy, men and women alike, arrayed beside a red carpet that cut through the battlefield, began to chant ancient Christian hymns. Their voices rose in prayer as Antonius, holding the soldier’s blade, walked towards a throne crafted from simple wood. This makeshift seat of power was adorned with the banners and flags of vanquished foes, the only symbols of triumph available in this martial setting.
As Antonius made his way, the evening sun began its descent, casting a fading light that was replaced by the soft glow of candles illuminating his path. Senior clergy members sprinkled holy water from laurel leaves onto him, blessing his passage. Finally, reaching the throne, Antonius lifted the borrowed blade high, a symbol of his right to rule, and slowly seated himself upon his throne, a king amidst the echoes of war and the solemnity of a sacred rite.
As one, the clergies started singing their Polychronion.
Πολυχρόνιον ποιῆσαι, Κύριος ὁ Θεός
τὸν εὐσεβέστατον Βασιλέα ἡμῶν Αντώνιος I Ρίτσιος
Κύριε, φύλαττε αὐτὸν
εἰς πολλὰ ἔτη.
εἰς πολλὰ ἔτη.
εἰς πολλὰ ἔτη.
