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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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[An attempted assassination of the emperor, orchestrated by the co-emperor who had just suppressed a rebellion.]
Could anyone grasp the full meaning of that sentence at first glance?
Of course, some could, but that wasn’t my point.
It highlighted the sheer complexity of the situation.
“Basileios always carried himself with such dignity. I never sensed a change in him. He was always loyal to me, devoted only to me, my man…”
Michael, fallen from grace in a single day, his face drawn and devoid of its usual cheer, passed Nicaea, refusing even his beloved wine.
According to Grand Admiral Niketas Ooryphas’s scouts, a man in golden armor, leading a large escort, had been sighted near the Thema of Macedonia… It was undoubtedly Basileios.
Thekla, the emperor’s sister, was likely with him.
“He was the first follower I could truly call my own. Of course, my father, with his discerning eye, had chosen my Scholae, but… Basileios was a comrade who ate and drank with me. I am ashamed to show you, my Konungr, such an unseemly side of the empire.”
“Strengthen your resolve, Your Majesty. The taller the tree, the stronger the wind.”
“…Indeed. Wise words. Sometimes, I wonder if it would have been better had I never ascended to the throne.”
“Then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy your beloved Bithynian wine so freely, Your Majesty.”
“Haha. That is true… but now, even that sweet wine brings me no comfort.”
With that, the emperor fell silent, focusing only on the reins in his hand.
After the attempted assassination, Basiliskianos and Rentakios, their nerves frayed, allowed no one near the emperor. Yet, they took no measures against me, arguably the most dangerous person present.
Of course. I had saved their lives.
This wasn’t arrogance or boasting, simply a statement of fact. Had I not been waiting there, the emperor and everyone around him would be dead.
I would have likely fallen under Basileios’s influence, parroting his words, accepting a few scraps, and returning north.
What would Petronas of Cherson and Damian have done then?
I found the answer the moment I crossed the walls of Constantinople.
“Welcome back, Your Majesty.”
“Strategos Petronas…! When did you…?”
I hadn’t noticed in Cherson, where he wore white, but now, dressed in crimson robes fit for the capital, Petronas looked every bit the high-ranking Roman official.
“With unrest brewing everywhere, how could I, your loyal subject, remain idle? I had been troubled by my refusal of the treasury position, and had come to the capital on other business… but upon hearing of Basileios’s treachery, I awaited your safe return, Your Majesty.”
“I see… Thank you, Petronas. It is good to see you.”
I didn’t know the history between them, but it was a welcome sight. The emperor’s face, etched with despair, brightened slightly.
“Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty, we are so relieved you are safe…!”
“Your Majesty…!”
Many others echoed the sentiment, welcoming Michael’s safe return, but two figures stood out.
Patriarch Photios and, finally making her appearance, my original client, Eudokia Ingrina.
“Your Majesty, truly the Lord has aided you. He sent his messenger from distant Rus to deliver you from harm…! The Lord has affirmed that Michael, and only Michael, is the rightful emperor of Rome…!”
“Thank you, Patriarch…”
Patriarch Photios exuded the air of a seasoned politician rather than a clergyman.
He seemed unconcerned that I was a foreigner and a pagan, proclaiming me God’s messenger to rally the citizens of Constantinople who had gathered to welcome the emperor.
Even 21st-century Korean politicians could learn a thing or two from his masterful display of public speaking.
The emperor, seemingly unfazed by Photios’s actions, simply expressed his gratitude… but his gaze was fixed on a single woman.
“Eudokia…”
“Your Majesty…”
…?
‘What is this now?’
Wasn’t their affair supposed to be a secret? (A secret the entire city knew about.)
The Eudokia the emperor addressed was not the empress standing beside him like a prop.
He spoke of Eudokia Ingrina, wife of the now-traitorous former co-emperor Basileios.
The two lovers, seemingly oblivious to the absurdity of their “secret” affair, exchanged longing glances, a scene straight out of a melodramatic romance novel.
Tears streamed down Eudokia Ingrina’s face… She looked frail, having given birth to a son just days ago, but I saw more than just relief in her eyes.
‘Strength… and a chilling composure.’
It seemed their love was not entirely equal.
Of course, it wasn’t my concern.
“Your Majesty, let us return to Boukoleon. There is much I must explain.”
“…Explain? Explain what, Strategos Petronas?”
Petronas offered a cryptic smile in response to the emperor’s question.
“It may seem as though everyone has turned against you, Your Majesty, but I will show you that is not the case.”
The emperor, still perplexed, walked towards Boukoleon alongside Eudokia Ingrina.
The other Eudokia, his wife in name only, followed behind… No one, not even the empress herself, seemed to find this strange. There must have been some agreement between her and the emperor.
I longed for the simplicity of my own city, rough around the edges but familiar.
If this was the Queen of Cities, she could keep her crown. I wanted no part of it.
“Michael of Bulgaria has made his move, Your Majesty.”
“Bulgaria? What do you mean, Petronas?”
The meeting chamber in Boukoleon, now feeling almost empty with the reduced number of Scholae after Basileios’s betrayal, held a chilling air.
The emperor had summoned Petronas of Cherson, myself, Grand Admiral Niketas, Basiliskianos, Rentakios, and Patriarch Photios. Petronas’s words were shocking.
The civil war was no longer a civil war.
“While Your Majesty endured those terrible events and journeyed to Constantinople, an envoy from Bulgaria arrived. As His Holiness is deeply involved in matters there… I received the envoy with him, but the message was not about conversion.”
The Patriarch, his name mentioned, beamed at the emperor. For some reason, Patriarch Photios reminded me of Sigbryht, my vassal in East Anglia.
They both feigned loyalty, but their actions were driven by self-interest. The cunning of a fox.
The emperor, frowning, gestured for Petronas to continue. Petronas spoke, the emperor abstaining from wine.
“The envoy from Bulgaria reported that a man claiming to be Basileios’s agent had visited the Bulgarian court just days ago. He promised great rewards if Bulgaria supported the co-emperor when a great upheaval struck the empire.”
“That damned…!”
Basiliskianos, whose blood pressure seemed to spike at the mere mention of Basileios, reacted most strongly. Grand Admiral Niketas, a seasoned veteran, frowned.
Michael, silencing the room with a wave of his hand, signaled Petronas to continue.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. However, that was merely Basileios’s proposal. The envoy from Bulgaria delivered this message: ‘Knyaz Michael of Bulgaria took the Roman emperor’s name upon his conversion, not the co-emperor’s.’”
“Huh-”
“Indeed!”
[Clap, clap, clap!]
The room erupted in applause, Basiliskianos clapping enthusiastically, but Petronas’s quiet voice continued.
“The Knyaz of Bulgaria will support only the rightful emperor of Rome. Basileios is as good as finished, Your Majesty.”
Cheers and applause filled the room, but Michael wore a strained smile.
“I see. Thank you for your efforts, Strategos Petronas. We must contact the Knyaz of Bulgaria. Do we have a suitable envoy?”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have already sent someone there.”
“Oh? And who is that?”
“…Your former Chief Attendant, Damian.”
“…Damian. I had forgotten about him…”
Damian?
‘That old fox…’
He had feigned weakness and detachment, but he had been sharpening his knives all along.
Petronas and Damian both had reason to resent Basileios.
Damian had been directly demoted by Basileios. Petronas resented Basileios for eliminating Caesar Bardas, who had championed eastward expansion, and feared what Basileios’s rule would mean for his future.
But the emperor, Michael, simply chuckled, a hollowness in his eyes that overshadowed any political calculations.
“Basileios… You drew your sword for this…? Basileios, oh Basileios.”
He shook his head and declared the meeting adjourned. The Roman officials, ever sensitive to the emperor’s moods, rose and filed out.
“Konungr Helgi. Could you spare me a moment?”
“…? Of course.”
As I was about to leave with Petronas, the emperor called my name.
“Come with me, Konungr Helgi.”
“…Where to?”
“Rentakios-!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
The emperor jumped up, summoning his shadow, and pulled me along. Unable to strike the emperor, I followed.
The Hippodrome.
Constantinople’s chariot racing stadium.
According to the emperor, it occupied the largest area in the city. In a way, it was more important than the palace itself, the heart of Roman culture.
The vast stadium, bathed in the fading light of dusk, was deserted, the air growing colder.
The Scholae, still reeling from the assassination attempt and fiercely protective of the emperor, restricted access to every area he visited… and the citizens of Rome, themselves angered by the events, cooperated readily.
It had been a long time since this massive stadium had been so silent.
“At Adramyttion, and then at Cyzicus. I owe you my life twice over, Konungr Helgi.”
The emperor, abstaining from alcohol for days, looked thinner and weaker.
It wasn’t simply the lack of alcohol… The emotional wounds ran deep.
I sat silently beside him in the lowest tier of seats, taking in the beauty of the Hippodrome.
“I know this is a terrible thing to say to the man who saved my life, but these past few days, I’ve been thinking… what if you hadn’t been there? What if I had died? Perhaps it would have been better…”
…I had intended to simply admire the view, but the emperor’s self-pitying words stirred something within me. I couldn’t sit idly by.
“…If I had-”
“I’ve wanted to see the chariots race ever since I first laid eyes on this place.”
I interrupted the emperor, but with only his distant guards present, it wouldn’t be an issue.
He looked at me, puzzled, but I simply smiled.
“We may not have chariots, but we have legs. Let’s race, Your Majesty.”
The emperor’s puzzled expression shifted to one of bewilderment, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. His eyes, scanning me from head to toe, held a hint of condescension that irked me.
“I may not be as fast in a short sprint, but I’ll have the advantage in a long race… What are the stakes, Konungr Helgi?”
The nerve of this man.
I scoffed at his misplaced confidence.
“Let’s talk about that after you win.”
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