Chapter 640: Coronation 3
"At the peremptory request of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Joshua Norton, formerly of Algoa Bay, Cape of Good Hope, and now for the past nine years and ten months of San Francisco, California, declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U.S."
- Nortain I, Emperor of the United States, Protector of Mexico, Initial planner for the Bay Bridge, published on San Francisco Daily Evening Bulletin
Grant long life, O Lord God,
to our most pious king Antonios I Ritsios
O Lord, preserve him,
unto many years.
unto many years.
As the final echoes of the clergy’s hymns faded, the air bristled with anticipation. The aged Ecumenical Patriarch, Gennadius II Scholarius, with reverent hands, lifted the century-old imperial diadem. Its half-golden form, lavishly adorned with precious stones and jewels, glinted under the fire tower’s setting rays. Moving towards Antonius, the Patriarch’s voice rose in a unique litany of prayers and blessings, invoking divine grace upon the state and the burgeoning dynasty of the new emperor.
Antonius, already enrobed in imperial purple, sat with his eyes closed, lips moving silently in prayer. Despite his outward display of piety, whispers circulated among the onlookers about his true religious convictions.
With the conclusion of his prayers, the Patriarch took a deliberate step forward. In a solemn gesture, he placed the diadem onto Antonius’s head. Turning towards the assembly of courtiers, troops, and guests arrayed across the plains, he announced in a sonorous voice, "I, Gennadius II Scholarius, the Ecumenical Patriarch, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, hereby declare in this sacred stephánosis, that Emperor Antonius I Ritsios is now duly coronated as the rightful Emperor and Autocrat of the Romans, the steadfast protector of Christianity!"
The response from the audience was immediate and thunderous. Cheers and applause cascaded over the plains, punctuated by the rhythmic chants of ’Holy! Holy! Holy! Glory to God in the highest and on Earth Peace!’ from those more versed in the rituals.
Rising from his throne, Antonius I Ritsios, his new name a testament to his Greek lineage and imperial destiny, raised the scepter of the double-headed eagle high. His right hand, emerging from the royal purple drapery, unsheathed a blade worn by the ravages of battle from an unknown soldier, thrusting it towards the heavens. The blade gleamed, reflecting the fiery glow of a massive pyre behind him, casting an almost divine aura around him.
"Today, after a grueling fifteen-year struggle, I stand before the world as the Emperor of the Imperium Romanum!" Antonius proclaimed, his voice resonating with an unparalleled vigor. "This historic day, forged from the unyielding sacrifices of our brave warriors, the steadfast support of our citizens, and the unwavering loyalty of our allies, marks a new Chapter in our empire’s annals. To each and every one of you, I extend my profound gratitude. This empire, this empire! As what I have promised before, shall not be just my empire, nor shall it be solely my family’s empire, it shall be everyone, everyone’s empire! For all those who have contributed towards her foundation!"
He then bowed deeply before his troops, eliciting a resonant response. A sea of soldiers, some bowing, others kneeling in their clanking armors, mirrored their emperor’s gesture.
"But let us not forget," Antonius continued, his voice rising above the clamor, "our great mission for a Greater Romania has only just begun. Our land, still shadowed by Ottoman presence, calls for our continued valor and resolve!"
This proclamation ignited a renewed fervor among the troops. Their cries of war and valor rose into the night sky, a formidable chorus of loyalty and determination.
As the triumphant fervor reached its zenith, the horns of war sounded once more. This time, their deep resonances were not a harbinger of battle but a herald of jubilation. Their tones rippled across the night, augmenting the war cries, elevating the atmosphere to an unprecedented fervor. Amidst this cacophony of celebration, an artillery officer, overcome by the moment’s exhilaration, loaded his cannon with gunpowder – yet no shell – and fired it skyward. The resulting thunderous boom momentarily silenced the crowd, as all eyes swiveled towards the source of this unexpected blast.
Antonius’s brow furrowed in confusion and displeasure. "What was that?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the sudden stillness.
"Oh, sir!" The officer, flushed with a mix of excitement and nervousness, hastily explained. "I...I...I simply thought that for an emperor as majestic as you, the traditional methods of coronation were insufficient to showcase your grandeur and might. Thus, I envisioned this – a blast of power from our artillery, symbolising the enlightenment and strength of your reign!"
Upon hearing this explanation, Antonius’s countenance transformed from annoyance to elation. He turned to his courtiers, his voice ringing with command and pride. "Yes! Let it be known and recorded in the annals of history, that I, Antonius, am the first monarch to incorporate artillery in a coronation ceremony! Henceforth, let the firing of artillery be a standard display of our military might and a symbol of our diplomatic prowess in all state events!"
A chorus of "Yes, your majesty!" resounded from the courtiers, their voices echoing into the night, affirming the birth of a new tradition in the Roman Empire.
As the clergies and the Patriarch quietly withdrew, the stage was left to the emperor and his loyal soldiers. In their midst, Antonius led them in rousing army songs, each verse strengthening the bonds between ruler and ruled. The atmosphere, electric with camaraderie and shared purpose, soared to unprecedented heights.
The night unfolded into an enormous feast within the army camp, a celebration of victory and unity. The emperor, at the heart of it all, sang and laughed with his soldiers, elevating the spirits of all present. Wine flowed, stories were shared, and the air was filled with the laughter and songs of an army united under their new emperor, Antonius I Ritsios.
As the night deepened, the celebratory fires on the Bulgarian plains cast an eerie glow, silhouetting the tower of flames that consumed the remains of the fallen Ottomans. Amidst the crackling inferno, a charred skull dislodged, tumbling silently onto the grass, unnoticed as it rolled away from the jubilant festivities.
He wasn’t significant even when he was still alive earlier in the day, and of course no one would care about him in this current state.
...
In the bustling heart of Thessaloniki, the streets were alive with the clamor of daily life. Amidst the flow of carts and carriages, a group of boys weaved through the crowd, their voices rising above the din as they heralded the latest news, while attracting a series of curses from the drivers caught in the traffic.
"News! News! Our emperor has been coronated in the plains of Bulgaria!"
"News! News! Our emperor has been coronated in the plains of Bulgaria!" they shouted, their voices filled with youthful excitement.
"Hey, kiddo! Give me a paper!" a man seated outside a restaurant called out, waving his hand.
The news was like a spark in dry grass, igniting a flurry of reactions. People who hadn’t planned on buying a paper now gathered around the man, their faces alight with curiosity and anticipation.
"Don’t squeeze you bugger!"
"What does it say what does it say!"
"Can someone read it out loud? I can’t read," another voice piped up.
The man cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the eager crowd. "It says here... the emperor... coronated on the battlefield... as Emperor Antonius I Ritsios... with artillery fire to mark the celebration..."
A sudden burst of laughter erupted from a one-legged veteran; his uniform adorned with a badge. "Finally," he chuckled, his voice tinged with relief and pride, "our sacrifices, after decades of bloodshed, have borne fruit! The empire is back!"
But not everyone shared in the jubilation. An elderly man, leaning heavily on his walking stick, suddenly hurled it against the wall in anger. "How treacherous!" he exclaimed, his voice cutting through the celebratory atmosphere like a knife.
This instantly stopped the celebration.
"Disobeying Orthodox traditions? A battlefield coronation? Saluting bloodied soldiers? Using artillery? Is he trying to emulate Octavian, Crassus, or perhaps the tyrant whom he shared a similar name, Marcus Antonius?" the elder accused, his voice rising with each word.
"What are you trying to say you bugger?" The Veteran reacted first, raising his fist up with fear, but soon got pulled back by his friend."
"The Roman empire can only live to this day not because of military might and power, but instead through its culture! Its economy! Its foreign influence! Its art of diplomacy! Tell me, how many men have we lost since the Great Disaster (fourth crusade)? We have lost way too many things because of endless wars, and now we have a leader, who instead of restoring peace after our unification, instead he wants to bring us onto one after another conquest? Have you not realised, that our state now is already filled with sickness and troubles, only advancing because of those so-called victories we have managed to achieve in a short period of time?"
"If you’re so displeased with the empire, then leave!" another man shouted, his voice a mixture of anger and loyalty to the new emperor.
