Happy Saturnalia everyone! Hope all those who celebrate had a good holiday, and those who celebrate similarly timed holidays too. My sister and I got matching 'Keep Calm: It's only a T-Rex' t-shirts; in 5 and a half months it'll be warm enough outside to wear them. Can't think of a good segway from that, so I'll just follow the advice of Marty from '200' on SG-1 and...
Rhomania’s General Crisis, part 4.1-The Summer of 1660, part 2:
After the fire but before the new censorship laws, the Queen of Cities receives a most distinguished visitor, Andreas Karamanlis, the Grand Karaman, a direct male-line descendant of Prince Yahşi, who in 1311 had converted to Orthodoxy and taken the name Ioannes, with Emperor Ioannes IV himself being his godfather. This event, depicted in many Roman paintings of future eras, was a crucial event in the Laskarid re-conquest of central and eastern Anatolia. [1]
Since that time, the Grand Karamans have been the power in the Isaurian highlands, in south-central Anatolia bordering Cilicia to the east. Faithful to Orthodoxy, devotees of St. Ioannes of the Turks, whose shrine at Ikonion is near their base, they have also been loyal allies to the Basileus.
Such loyalty though has been maintained by gifts and respect. Highlands and deserts and forests and other such inaccessible areas throughout the world are often depicted on political maps as being under the control of states, but said political control is limited and intermittent at best. Local elites are often the real power in these areas, with some sort of relationship with the state power that claims, but does not actually yield, absolute authority. Mountain lords are the Roman term for this, but it is hardly unique to the Roman Empire. The Grand Karamans are by far the greatest of the Roman mountain lords, and are suitably rewarded and respected as such.
This visit does not go well. The visit by itself is traditional. Every Grand Karaman, upon the death of his father and on taking up the title, then pays a visit to Constantinople to give his respects to the Emperor. (An important aspect to note is that the Emperor does not bestow the title of ‘Grand Karaman’ on him. That is done in Isauria and by the Karamans themselves. This is essentially a social call.) Andreas is doing that.
The problem begins during the audience with Herakleios III. At first there is the issue of personal weapons. Andreas carries a sword and refuses to be parted from it. The practice is that no one save Imperial guardsmen can have weapons on them in the presence of the Emperor. However, one of the privileges of the Grand Karaman is that he is the exception to the rule, a gift bestowed due to the personal friendship between Prince Yahşi/Ioannes and the future Manuel II Laskaris.
It is unclear whether the guardsmen are unaware of this, due to the last visit of a Grand Karaman to Constantinople being in 1627, or if they are aware but edgy because of the recent assassination attempt on Athena, which does not look good on their record. Andreas, for his part, really doesn’t care; he is not giving up his sword. This is not just any sword either. This was a personal gift to the Grand Karaman from Andreas Niketas himself, a sword the Shatterer of Armies had used during his conquest of Sicily.
Eventually the situation is made clear and Andreas is allowed to keep his sword during the audience, but this is a bad start and it gets worse. Herakleios III has been suffering from a slight fever and was reluctant to grant the audience at that time, but had been convinced that a delay would be rude. The audience is nothing more than an exchange of vacuous pleasantries; no serious issues are discussed. Empress Sophia, who also participates as per tradition, admits she finds the setup rather dull, but it is a marker of respect for the Grand Karaman. Herakleios III falls asleep during the audience.
Andreas Karamanlis controls himself while in the room, but after bidding goodbye to the Empress and departing, it is clear that he is quite angry. This isn’t just a matter of being personally offended. For mountain lords, maintaining credibility is a key part of maintaining their power, and thus they can’t accept being disrespected. If they are disrespected and don’t respond, they look weak, and no one follows a weak mountain lord.
The Tourmarches, immediately recognizing a fiasco, go into damage control mode. Strategos Plytos personally visits the Grand Karaman in his lodgings, wining and dining with the best the Imperial capital has to offer, and bestowing many gifts on him. This somewhat mollifies Andreas, but he still wants an apology. His attendants know how the audience went, and will spread word of it in Isauria once he returns. He needs that apology.
The solution is an easy one, a new audience, where Herakleios will apologize for the issue over the sword and for falling asleep. Andreas will say it is no big deal, that no offense was intended and it was merely the unfortunate result of zealous guards and a poorly timed illness. Some nice gifts will be given. Everything will be made right. And that is where Herakleios III decides to be stubborn.
Herakleios doesn’t see why he should apologize, especially in person. He is the Emperor of the Romans and doesn’t see what he has done that merits an apology. The audience is just an exchange of meaningless pleasantries, and he was ill. That he’d granted it at all was a gesture of respect and the Grand Karaman should just take it and the gifts, be happy, and go. Not even Anastasia Laskarina can convince him to change his mind. (Gyranos makes a caustic remark that for once Herakleios thinks for himself instead of letting Anastasia do it for him, and this is what he thinks up.) At most, he’s willing to sign a written statement expressing regret that offense had been given.
Perhaps one reason Herakleios is so stubborn is that the Emperor’s Eyes report that in his anger, Andreas has been making disparaging comparisons between Herakleios and his younger brother Demetrios. The reports of what exactly Demetrios is doing out east are confused and often contradictory, but impressive in scope if they are even remotely accurate.
The eventual compromise is that Andreas has a personal audience with the Empress Sophia, who personally apologizes on her husband’s behalf. She even gets up from her throne and directly hands the written statement to Andreas, along with a kyzikos that had once belonged to Andreas II Drakos. Her husband’s absence is explained by continued illness, an excuse that both the Empress and Grand Karaman know is a lie.
Still, it seems good enough for Andreas and he soon departs Constantinople to return to Isauria, although with plans to undertake pilgrimage to Mysian Olympus, Mt Galesion, and the shrine of St Ioannes, Apostle to the Turks, at Ikonion on the way. As he takes ship for Chalcedon, Gyranos remarks to Plytos that they may not have made an enemy, but they’ve lost all second chances with him.
* * *
The Monastery of the Anastasis, Mt. Galesion, July 1, 1660:
Markos heard him before he saw him, the butt of his staff knocking against the stones of the path that led up the mountainside. He looked up from his stitching, where he was mending a pilgrim’s cloak, to see Brother Konon descending the footpath.
Konon was an ascetic associated with the monastery, spending much of his time alone in his mountain cell, but coming down for supplies, Sunday services, and to help attend to the needs of the pilgrims who came to the Holy Mountain. Konon had been up on the mountain for longer than usual, over three weeks. His beard was bright white, but cropped short and neat, most unusual for him. His gaunt features were even tighter, his wrinkled skin stretched tight across his bones. But his staff struck the stone with the strength of a pile-driver, and his face glowed and his eyes shone as he approached Markos.
“Greetings,” Markos said. “What brings you down?”
“I asked a question, and I received my answer. But it is not enough to know. One must do. Indeed, better to not know, then to know and then not to do.”
Markos furrowed his brow. “And what must one do?”
“For starters, one must not spend all of one’s time sitting on a mountainside, deaf to the cries that come from below. Excuse me for a moment.”
Konon walked over to his right, his staff tapping the ground. He was heading toward a young man, busily chopping wood, pausing momentarily to take a drink. He was a pilgrim who had come to the monastery, to sleep and to pray in the shadow of the holy mountain. The monastery was now a regular site for pilgrimage, providing food and lodging for up to three days for all who asked, although able-bodied pilgrims might be asked to perform various labor tasks, such as chopping firewood.
The man stopped as Konon reached him. Konon didn’t say anything until he was still, and then placed a gnarled hand on his right shoulder. “Go home, my son. Your mother forgives you, and she misses you.” The man nodded jerkily, Konon withdrawing his hand as tears beaded in the man’s eyes. He walked away, Konon watching him for some moments before turning back to Markos. Konon had never met the man before.
“How did you know?” Markos asked.
“He that went before me told me.”
“You know, sometimes you can be annoyingly cryptic.”
“I know, but it’s more dramatic this way.”
“Fair enough.”
Markos stitched another thread. “Would you like me to be more specific?” Konon asked.
“When you phrase it that way, no.”
“Tough. We need to prepare.”
“For what?”
“For whom. The Grand Karaman approaches.”
Markos started. “First I’ve heard of that. It hasn’t been announced. But it’s unlike you to care for earthly rank, no matter how high.”
“Indeed. But I asked a question.”
“What question?”
“In due time. But he…” Konon pointed, Markos turning to look. The view overlooked the pilgrim road that led up the mountain, with the dust of a small caravan moving up starting to mingle in the wind. “…is part of how we answer it.”
* * *
[1] See
Not the End: The Empire Under the Laskarids, Chapter 7: The Re-Conquest of Anatolia.
