Anno Domini 830, March-18
POV of Dragomir
We had a new master… and for the first time in years, that did not sound like a sentence.
When the news arrived, many did not believe it. Rome was imposing its authority over these lands again, and this time it was not a failed attempt or an empty promise. They had held. They had won. The Vlach and Rhomaioi voivodes, and even some Slavic chiefs, swore loyalty again. In the villages, people spoke of order, of safe roads, of trade returning. Some of the old men even smiled, remembering the times when Rome still protected these frontiers, recalling the stories their grandfathers had told them.
It seemed impossible. The western part of the Empire had been destroyed by the Germanics, and the eastern had spent generations retreating before Slavs and Saracens. Every year they lost land, men, and cities. No one expected that Rome, the one barely surviving, would have the strength to return here.
And yet, they did.
All of it came at the hand of Basileus Theophilos, and through his effective strategos Basil. His name began to spread like a story that grew every time it was told. They said he had fought the Abbasids, that he had taken Crete, Antioch, and other southern cities. That he had defeated entire armies. That wherever he marched, the Empire rose again.
And the rumors spoke of his hatred toward the Bulgars… a hatred that surpassed even that of those of us who had been forced to serve Slavs and Bulgars for so long.
With the Bulgars there were no terms and no pacts. Those who fell into his hands disappeared or were chained.
Even so, when his army approached my lands, I felt something I did not expect… relief. I thought I would see the return of the legions, of that order the old men described with such pride. I imagined disciplined ranks, shields shining under the sun, an army worthy of the stories.
What I saw was different… foederati.
Men from everywhere. Slavs, Vlachs, remnants of tribes that would once have fought each other. And among them, the Varangians, the feared warriors of the north, who among the Slavic tribes were said to be monsters in human skin. Stories spread of how they had crushed the Khan's finest troops as if it were nothing, smashing them at the Battle of Pliska, leaving a mountain of dead behind them while they kept advancing without stopping for anyone.
The Greeks were few. Far too few. Officers, translators, scribes. Men who gave orders, who counted supplies, who organized. They did not carry the weight of battle, only a few cavalry units of veterans who had followed the strategos through most of his campaigns. The Greeks led, but it was the foederati who fought.
The Slavic tribes of the region were crushed one after another. It was not a campaign, it was a chain of battle after battle, where Slavic leaders who tried to imitate the Bulgar khans faced ranks and ranks of Slavs already subdued by the Varangian forces, forming a massive army of Slavs serving the Romans, whether because they had been defeated or because they feared them enough to bow their heads and obey.
The Carpathians had a single master again. But under that master lived too many peoples. Slavs, Avars, Vlachs, Rhomaioi… even Franks at the borders. Too many differences for a lasting peace.
Even so, I thought Rome would know what to do next.
I expected a Roman governor. A man trained in law, in administration, someone who understood how to rule beyond war… a man shaped by the cursus honorum. My hope that Basil would remain to govern us faded when I heard he intended to return home and rest, so I expected an experienced Roman politician.
Instead… they gave us a Varangian.
At first, there was talk of establishing the capital in Porolissum or Alba Iulia. Old Roman fortresses, solid places, suitable for control. That made sense. That was what one expected from Rome.
But war returned before anything could be settled.
The Franks pressed over a major border dispute, trying to take their share from the Bulgar corpse, attempting to expand their marches deeper into the Carpathians. The Roman general in the region was not easy to defeat.
In a short time, even with winter ruining their plans, he managed to take Nitra and Pannonia, securing the front and capturing tens of thousands of Frankish prisoners.
With the new frontier, the conditions for the capital had to change, and by decision of Strategos Basil and the new Varangian lord, a city was raised from the ruins of Aquincum, as it lay close to the Frankish front and could more easily supply weapons and armor to the troops in the region.
It also greatly improved connections with Rome. The Varangians were expert river navigators, so having the settlement near a major navigable river made trade and communication simple, leaving aside the other options, which meant either being far from the front like Alba Iulia or relying entirely on horses like Porolissum.
Those places were turned into fortified Varangian settlements, where they now ruled as local lords in the name of the governor.
So, as soon as the strategos disappeared into his winter campaign, striking against the Franks and marching south, everything focused on building cities, and it all became centralized. It did not take long before Greek architects began to arrive during the winter, along with large numbers of workers who had traveled from southern cities and they almost immediately began to settle.
''Seriously… we spent so long obeying those pagan and uncivilized Slavs, and now that we have finally thrown off their yoke, we have to serve other barbarians… no matter what they say about being christianized, they should not be the ones ruling us… we have ruled these lands for centuries, even when the Empire collapsed and abandoned Dacia… and now they hand these lands we fought for to those varangoi'' said one of the voivodes who had gathered with me in one of the houses recently finished in Theophilopolis.
''And what do you expect us to do we cannot simply refuse'' another voivode said, as he swirled the bronze cup from which he drank wine. ''Not long ago the Greeks defeated the Germans, they are here to stay, there is nothing that can drive them out of this region unless more barbarians from the steppes arrive, and that would be worse.''
''Do not even think about trying to form a rebellion, we would be facing the best general the Empire has had in decades, it would cost him nothing to return, raise tens of thousands of slaves, and put us all to the sword'' said another voivode, clenching his fists tightly.
''But we cannot expect to be governed alongside a group of pagans, we could try to raise a complaint with the basileus to have ourselves excluded from the foederati zone. They cannot leave us in the hands of pagans, we are Romans, we are direct heirs of the great city of Rome, we should be the ones ruling. The governor should be a Vlach or a Rhomaio, to reward our resilience'' said the first voivode, striking the table with force.
''If the governor hears about that, he will turn against us, he has plans in this region from what I have heard, and he will depend on our resources. For that reason he is buying the rights to the mines, whether to extract minerals, clay, or stone, buying rights over forests or taking control of Slavic lands to keep everything for himself, he will be our neighbor, even if it is from Crete, where his seat of power lies'' I said, looking at all the voivodes, who were clearly displeased with who ruled them.
''Then let him turn against us, but we cannot remain like this. We are a foederati governorship, different from a thema, we must request to be separated from the barbarians and be raised to a thema, and have our own strategos'' said the first voivode, insisting.
His words filled the ears of the other voivodes from my region, and in a way I would have liked that… but we were not in a position to be too ambitious, since everything depended on the Greek basileus, and it was very likely that nothing would change, only that we would draw the attention of the strategos and make our lives more difficult.
I remained silent, watching as the wine kept flowing and the voivodes grew more and more ambitious, wanting their own government within the Empire and not having to answer to the Varangians.
When the meeting finally ended, we had achieved nothing we had supposedly come to do. There had been talk of reclaiming lands lost to the Slavs now that authority had been returned to us, and of accelerating a breeding program for horses and cattle, but none of that was addressed, only politics.
The city of Theophilopolis was the vision of Constantinople, it was meant to become a second imperial capital that would imitate the grandeur of the jewel of the world. As far as the eye could see there were foundations laid to house the massive local population, while aqueducts, sewage systems, roads, walls, and fortifications were being prepared, all for the Varangians, Slavs, Avars, Franks, and Vlachs who had begun to settle there, and who for now lived in tents.
But it would take time to complete such a plan, a few years of construction would be enough to turn those ruins into a great city.
As I was about to return to my tent, a group of Varangians caught my attention.
''You… voivode… Dragomir'' one of the metal covered giants said as he approached me, speaking rather good Greek.
''What is it servants of the Empire'' I said, observing them.
''Our jarl wants to speak with you'' the other Varangian said, pointing toward the interior structures where what looked like a fortress was being raised.
''May I know why'' I said, placing my hands behind my back.
''The jarl wants to speak'' the first Varangian replied, saying nothing more.
''Very well, I suppose it is time to finally meet the Varangian governor'' I said, with a slight smile as I began to walk.
I followed the group of Varangians as we moved. Soon I began to hear the sound of multiple hammers. It caught my attention that there were hundreds of blacksmiths working on what seemed to be armor, and from the building where they worked came a massive amount of black smoke, everything pointed to a large forge.
I did not know the Varangians were so known for their forging skills, but I assumed they were using Roman knowledge, as I noticed they were forging the armor the Varangians used, which left them completely covered in steel.
Alongside that, there were hundreds or thousands of workers raising houses and buildings, and finally we reached the most developed part of the city, the inner fortress, where the central section of the fortification was already complete.
Following the Varangians, the place was filled with them. There were hundreds of Varangians in full armor, where only their eyes could be seen, and they watched my every movement.
As I entered the fortress, I heard celebrations. There was laughter, and the further I went, the deeper and heavier it became. Until I entered a hall filled with firelight and tables packed with Varangians and Slavs eating together while drinking beer.
I quickly noticed the group seated at the center. They were the ones who ruled now, a family of Varangians who had divided Carpathia among themselves with Roman approval, ruling from several Roman fortifications. I immediately recognized the one who led them.
Hjalmar, the governor of this region and the eldest of his brothers, who ruled the other strongholds.
I walked forward past the many Slavic leaders and stood before the Varangian jarl, who had a well kept beard and neatly arranged hair. He stared at me for a few seconds before beginning to speak with his brothers.
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