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Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 27 (Historical Fiction SI)
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 03:06:04 +0000 UTC+++
Pietro watched, his face serene but his thoughts tense, as Suronja was led out of the tent. What was Constantine planning for him? A chastisement, perhaps? Yet, if that were the case, why send Suronja away? Would it not be more effective to humiliate him in front of the Croat, to drive home whatever point the Emperor wished to make?
Constantine's gaze remained steady, his expression unreadable. At last, he spoke.
"The Emperor is displeased with Venice, Doge Pietro."
There it was.
"I acted to protect the Adriatic," Pietro replied calmly. "The Narentines have been a scourge, not only to my city but to others as well. Had I done nothing, Porphyrogénnētos, their ships would still be preying on trade. We all lose money when that happens."
"You took a title that was not yours to claim," Constantine said, his tone sharp.
"A title that was offered," Pietro countered. "The cities were grateful for my intervention, and I accepted it."
"That changes nothing. Only the Emperor grants titles, not the cities or anyone else," Constantine replied, his voice hardening. He leaned forward, his words cutting. "God appointed my uncle, Basil, to rule the Empire. Our divine mandate flows from our glorious forebears. Do not presume, Pietro Orseolo, that you can claim anything without the Emperor's blessing."
Irritation prickled inside Pietro, but he kept his composure. Decades of political maneuvering had taught him restraint, though the urge to lash out burned within. A husk, that was what Rome had become. A gilded relic clutching at the remnants of power from a dead age. Once, its legions marched from Britannia to Africa, from the mountains of Iberia to the Black Sea. Now it huddled in Greece and Anatolia, hoarding titles as if names alone preserved its glory.
"Pull such a stunt again, Pietro," Constantine warned, his voice cold, "and you will find that Venice is not the only Italian city skilled in trade."
Pietro held his gaze, then leaned back in his chair, fighting to keep the dread roiling in his gut from showing on his face. "Venice is the preeminent trading partner, Porphyrogénnētos. We command the largest fleet and are strategically positioned to distribute goods throughout northern Italy and beyond," he said, his tone measured.
"And so is Ancona," Constantine retorted smoothly. "If proximity is the issue, then it an attractive alternative for Roman trade, closer to us than Venice. Or perhaps Gaeta, Amalfi, or even Genoa."
The implication struck. Venice's prosperity rested on its dominance as a transport hub. While it produced luxury goods like glass and other artisanal items, its true wealth came from moving goods between Constantinople, the Far East, and the markets of Europe. An embargo from Constantinople would be catastrophic. Without trade, Venice's economy would collapse. The patricians would not hesitate to turn on him, offering his head to the Emperor if it meant restoring their profits.
"Genoa is too distant, and the other cities are far smaller," Pietro pointed out, though his voice betrayed a hint of strain.
"Perhaps," Constantine conceded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But the Emperor's coffers are deep. With a little investment and care, even the smallest plant can be made to bloom."
His lips threatened to open, then it closed. Sweat clung to his back as he asked. "Does the Emperor wish to annul his treaty with us?"
In 992, Venice was given first trade status in exchange for help in transporting the Roman army. That had provided Venice a unique position to dominate the Italian Market. If that treaty was pulled away...
Constantine shook his head, smiling. "Oh, no. Not yet at least."
Pietro felt the blood thrum at his temples.
"Hence, and I will put this bluntly," Constantine said, his tone changing. His eyes darkened, his voice firm. "Try this again, Pietro Orseolo, and the Emperor will not bother with talking. The other Republics will get our ships immediately, and Venice will be forbidden to trade with us ever again. Am I understood?"
The threat was clear, and it hit Pietro like a wave crashing against the rocks. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, but he forced himself to meet Constantine's gaze. Decades of navigating the treacherous waters of Venetian politics had taught him how to mask his fear, but beneath his calm facade, his mind raced with the implications.
"Perfectly, Porphyrogénnētos," Pietro said, his voice steady, though it felt like an iron weight had settled in his chest. "I understand the Emperor's expectations."
Constantine leaned back in his chair, his expression softening, though his eyes remained sharp. "Good. Venice has long been a valued partner to the Queen of Cities. Let us not let this ugly business sully our excellent relations together."
Pietro inclined his head slightly, a gesture of deference, though his thoughts were anything but submissive. He understood the warning. And yet, Pietro could not help but feel the undercurrent of unease in Constantine's words. The Empire was strong, yes, but not unassailable. Its reliance on trade with Venice was as much a weakness as it was a strength.
"May I ask," Pietro ventured carefully, "if there is anything the Emperor requires of Venice to ensure our mutual prosperity?"
Constantine's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as though Pietro's attempt at diplomacy amused him. "Loyalty, Doge Pietro. That is all the Emperor requires. Loyalty and respect for the divine order of things."
Pietro nodded slowly, though he felt a surge of irritation at the patronizing tone. Loyalty. Respect. Words that demanded submission without offering anything in return.
"Of course," Pietro said. "Venice has always been loyal to the Empire."
Constantine smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "See that it remains so."
A beat.
"Now, with official business out," Constantine clapped. "Unofficial business, then."
Pietro's eyebrow rose. "Unofficial business?"
"Tell me, have you ever had soap with lavender?"
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Suronja could only watch as the Venetian Doge strode out of the pavilion. His steps were purposeful, but there was a stiffness to his gait, as if he were straining to conceal the weight of his humiliation.
"The Venetian has been humbled," Suronja declared to the smiles of his men, who watched with satisfaction as the Venetians marched back toward their boats.
"Rex Suronja," a voice called. The King of Croatia turned and entered the pavilion. Inside, the Domestikos sat poised with the bearing of a prince. His presence was commanding, his generals and bodyguards standing behind him like statues of war, completing the image of imperial authority.
"The Venetian learns his place," Suronja said, offering a bow of respect. "You were masterful, Porphyrogénnētos."
"Sit, my lord," Constantine said evenly. Suronja obeyed, lowering himself into the chair across from the Domestikos, who folded his hands in his lap.
"For the purposes of this conversation, let us dispense with ceremony," Constantine said, his voice sharp. "This peacockery irritates me."
The bluntness caught Suronja off guard, but he nodded. "Of course, Porphyrogénnētos. What do you wish to discuss?"
Constantine's eyes narrowed, his tone unflinching. "Your rule is weak, and your brothers loom over you like vultures."
Suronja's blood boiled at the insult, his pride demanding a response. But he mastered himself, swallowing the retort that burned on his tongue. He could not afford to antagonize the man who represented the might of Constantinople. After a pause, he spoke, his voice measured. "…Yes," he admitted, grudgingly. There was no point denying the obvious. Among the armies present, his brothers and their vassals were conspicuous by their absence.
Constantine leaned forward slightly, his expression softening, though his words remained firm. "Your rule will be strengthened. The Emperor will not allow a loyal friend to Rome to be overthrown unjustly."
Suronja felt a flicker of relief, though he knew better than to let it show.
"As such," Constantine continued, "the Emperor offers you a path forward: your son, Stjepan, is invited to join me in my campaigns as a representative of the Croatian people, to set the world to rights."
"A...guest?" Suronja asked. In his mind, this was a blatant attempt at holding his heir hostage. To his surprise, Constantine shook his head.
"Not a guest in that sense, but as an allied Prince. He shall attend to me, learn from me, and command soldiers in the name of the Emperor. He shall be granted honours, a stipend, and servants to attend to his needs as well," Constantine clarified.
Suronja's thoughts churned as he processed Constantine's words. The offer might have been dressed in the silky language of diplomacy, but to Suronja, it was clear: this was no invitation. It was a summons. Constantine's clarification did little to ease his suspicions. Honors, stipends, and servants might sound grand, but the reality was far less appealing. His son, Stjepan, would be far from home, surrounded by foreign influences, shaped by foreign hands. Under the watchful eyes of the Emperor's agents, Stjepan would be molded into a loyal servant of Constantinople, his loyalty to his own father and kingdom slowly eroded.
Suronja could already see the consequences. His son would return one day, not as a Croatian prince but as a man who owed his position and survival to the Queen of Cities. A man who might look at his father and see a relic of a lesser, weaker world. And if Stjepan returned at all, it would only be with the Emperor's approval.
But what choice did he have? Suronja's hold over his kingdom was tenuous at best. His brothers lurked in the shadows, waiting for any opportunity to strike. Without the Emperor's support, Suronja knew his days could very well be numbered. To refuse this "offer" would not only alienate Constantinople but also invite open rebellion. His brothers would seize on the slightest sign of weakness, and without the Empire's backing, Suronja would be left to face them alone.
He looked at Constantine, whose calm, unyielding gaze betrayed none of the machinations at play in his mind. The Domestikos was a man used to getting his way, a man who wielded power with precision. There was no room for negotiation here. The Emperor's will had already been decided, and Suronja was simply expected to comply. Still, he could not appear too eager. To do so would only confirm his dependence on Constantinople, further undermining his authority in the eyes of his people. "My people will claim that I am sending my son to become Roman. I need to show that I too am a mighty ruler in my own right, lest they denounce me a traitor."
"The islands returned to you without bloodshed are proof enough of your power, that you were speaking with me strengthens your legitimacy. Croatia will become rich from trade and Imperial favour. Do not worry, my lord," Constantine assured him. "This is not an offer many get, my lord. Your brothers will hesitate to move against you for they know if they try to, your son will return with a Roman army."
Suronja let Constantine's words hang in the air for a moment, turning them over in his mind. They were shrewdly chosen, meant to soothe his pride and emphasize the power he supposedly held. But Suronja knew better. The return of the islands Venice seized was not a sign of his strength. They had been handed back by Constantine, not taken by force. The Doge of Venice had been humiliated, yes, but Suronja had played no part in that. All of it was the Emperor's doing, a calculated maneuver to remind both Venice and Croatia of their dependence on the Empire.
Still, Constantine's final words struck deeper than he cared to admit. The prospect of his son returning with a Roman army at his back was both reassuring and threatening. It was a promise of protection, but also a reminder of how easily the Emperor could turn Croatia into a client state in all but name.
He forced himself to smile, though it felt cold and hollow. "Your wisdom is as vast as the Empire itself, Porphyrogénnētos. I see the merit in your words, and I thank the Emperor for his generosity. My son will go to you, and I will remain loyal to Rome."
Constantine inclined his head ever so slightly, his expression betraying no triumph, though Suronja could feel it lurking beneath the surface. "Loyalty is rewarded, my lord. The Emperor does not forget those who stand with him." He stood, signalling the end of the conversation.
Suronja nodded, but inwardly, the bitterness curdled. He despised the way Constantine spoke as if Croatia were a vassal already, as if his kingdom's survival depended entirely on the goodwill of Constantinople. And perhaps it did, for now. But Suronja would not let this dependence solidify. He would use the Emperor's favor just as the Emperor used him. If he was to play the part of the loyal ally, he would do so only long enough to secure his position.
"My son will leave within the month," Suronja promised. "And I will ensure he goes with my blessing and the blessing of the Croatian people."
Constantine rose as well, his movements deliberate and composed. "Wise, my lord. I look forward to guiding Stjepan in the ways of the world. Together, we will strengthen the bonds between our peoples."
Suronja bowed his head slightly, then turned and left the pavilion. His men, still jubilant from the humiliation of the Venetians, greeted him with smiles and cheers, but Suronja could barely muster a response. Their joy was born of ignorance, of seeing only what was on the surface. They did not understand what had just transpired, the web that Constantine had spun to entangle Croatia further into Imperial influence.
As they sailed away from the island, Suronja's mind raced. He would send Stjepan, yes, but he would not do so blindly. Letters would be exchanged, agents sent to Constantinople to keep tabs on his son and ensure he did not fall completely under the Emperor's sway. And Stjepan himself would need to be prepared. Suronja would speak to him before he left, make him understand the stakes. He would tell him to learn from Constantine, to take what the Empire offered but to never forget where his true loyalty lay. Suronja knew this was a dangerous game. The Emperor was a master of manipulation, and Constantine, his right hand, was no less cunning. But Suronja had no choice but to play. For now, he would bow his head and accept the chains being offered.
But for now, Croatia was inviolate. That was cause enough to celebrate.
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Constantine sighed as the pavillion emptied. He glanced back at the Strategoi standing behind him.
"Xiphias, the Emperor entrusts you with ensuring those two behave themselves. Additional ships will be sent to reinforce you, should the Venetians…forget their place."
Xiphias bowed deeply. "I am grateful for the reinforcements. But worry not, Porphyrogénnētos. The Emperor has tasked me with bringing stability to the Adriatic, and stability I shall deliver."
Constantine nodded, his expression softening. "So, what do you all think? Did I play my part well? And please, speak freely."
Taronites, Xiphias, and Dalassenos exchanged uncertain glances before Dalassenos cleared his throat.
"I understand that Venice needed to be humbled," Dalassenos began carefully. "But the Queen of Cities financing the Croats? Why? Why are we spending imperial wealth on them?"
Constantine leaned back in his chair, his tone measured. "Two reasons, Patrikios. First, Croatia must be strengthened. As you just witnessed, the Venetians were able to bully them with a mere seven ships. Had we not intervened, Suronja would have lost territory, and his brothers would have overthrown him. Croatia must be strong and prosperous enough to resist Venice on its own, yet vulnerable enough to remain dependent on us. If they dare rebel, it must prove disastrous for their economy. Throwing money at such problems is far cheaper than sending armies, as the Strategikon wisely advises."
Dalassenos still looked unconvinced. Constantine continued.
"We treat them as we do the Hamdanids in Aleppo."
At this, Dalassenos nodded slowly, his skepticism easing. "And the second reason?"
A faint smile crossed Constantine's lips as he turned, his gaze shifting westward. "Before any great campaign, one must secure the supply chain. With logistics assured, any force can maintain a campaign indefinitely."
Xiphias's cold voice betrayed a flicker of excitement. "We are turning to Italy, then?"
Every Roman knew the stories of Belisarius and the Renovatio Imperii. Yet those days were long past, accepted as little more than legend by most.
"The infrastructure projects you've offered to the Serbs and now the Croats…" Dalassenos trailed off, piecing the puzzle together.
Constantine said nothing at first, letting the silence hang. Then, a simple command: "Train your men."
Dalassenos grinned. Constantine continued. "Any other questions?"
Taronites spoke up. "Why invite Suronja's son?"
"To bind Suronja more closely to us," Constantine replied. "If his brothers attempt to overthrow him, they'll be moving against someone the Emperor recognizes. That gives us justification to intervene and install the boy in his place. Moreover, having the boy here allows us to influence him, though Suronja will undoubtedly try to keep him loyal to Croatia. It matters little in the long run."
Because by the time the boy was an adult, Croatia would firmly be Roman.
"And how long until we campaign west?" Taronites asked.
"We have time," Constantine answered plainly.
"In that case, I would like to reinforce my son, Porphyrogénnētos," Taronites asked.
"Go. As I said, we have time."
Taronites nodded.
"How is he, by the way?" Constantine asked.
"Well enough," Taronites replied. "In his last letter, Mihaly clashed with his rival by a lake. It ended in a stalemate. The Magyars are licking their wounds for now, and Mihaly intends to train his army to our standard before engaging again."
Constantine weighed this news. If he recalled correctly, Cupan or Mihaly now has clashed with Saint Stephen by Lake Balaton, where Cupan had been decisively defeated thanks to the German knights Stephen fielded. A stalemate now suggested that Ashot's Cataphracts had countered the knights. Hungary's destiny, should it ever exist, was now changed.
"He has advised Mihaly to consolidate his forces and supplies while courting those who remain unaligned," Taronites finished.
Constantine nodded. "May God bless Mihaly in his efforts. Now, are there any further questions?"
Xiphias raised his hand.
"Yes?" Constantine prompted.
Xiphias hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Porphyrogénnētos…I had no idea you sold soap. May I be so bold as to purchase some from you?"
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Constantine IX - Balkan Campaign - HistoryMarche
Constantine shrewdly negotiated a settlement to cool tensions between Venice and Croatia. For the Venetians, they may not have gained any territory but the Patricians celebrated still. The hated taxes on their shipping was waived, and the Narentines were destroyed. Pietro Orseolo proved his leadership and was lauded both at home and by the other coastal cities in the Adriatic. Culminating this event was the Festa della Sensa, a fiest celebrating their swift victory and flexing of Venetian muscle. While the city celebrated, the mood within Orseolo's own household was mixed. The Roman intervention had left him feeling humiliated, forced to swallow his pride at being made to give up his claims on Dalmatia. Pietro lambasted the Romans, writing in surviving journals of his hate and contempt for them. This resentment would fester, influencing him to turn West for support. When he died, his son would continue his Pro-West policies.
Suronja on the other hand walked away with his territory returned and rule bolstered. He would return to his capital, proclaiming victory and friendship with Rome. While he could no longer count on revenues from taxing the Venetians, he would at least be comforted with Roman investment on Croatia. Indeed, for as soon as the Venetians left, the Romans were quick to send men and money into not just Croatia but Serbia as well. Ports were expanded, roads restored, mines opened, and trade and communication flourished. Indeed, the Roman presence in the form of the Western Army brought stability and security to Illyria in ways not seen since the old Empire.
But Constantine was not one to rest on his laurels. He drilled, training the Western Army to a standard that the Emperor would be proud to command.
Speaking of the Emperor, we now turn east. But that would be a topic fitting for the next video. Subscribe, Like, and ring the bell icon to get notified on the latest update. The next update being: Emperor Basil and the Siege of Jerusalem.
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A/N: RENOVATIO IMPERII. RENOVATIO IMPERII. RENOVATIO IMPERII.
Comments
Pastah_Farian
More to come <3
Bring
Yup incoming jihad.
DiscoRed
Tooo short x( Thanks for the update pastah hope your doing well irl
russell marsh
Onward to Jerusalem, that's going to kick a hornet nest one way or another.
