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| The Achaian Council; The Anax Has Questions, and the Vasileis Had Better Have Answers | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 28 2015, 05:58 AM (120 Views) | |
| Mastropa | Oct 28 2015, 05:58 AM Post #1 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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Anax Kerameikos gazed for a long moment at the map hanging on his office wall. It had been changing recently, as Achaian soldiers and militiamen began to tread in places they had not occupied for decades, if not longer—or in some cases, places they had never held before. Compared to the acquisition of New Peloponnese and the any islands linking it to its parent, the latest conflict had been almost easy, but Kerameikos knew that the occupation would prove to be the hardest part of the matter. The lessons that had been learned from the conquest of New Peloponnese had been entirely negative, after all: ‘don’t do this,’ or ‘avoid doing that,’ without any further indication of what the Achaian occupiers should do in place of those poor decisions. Now that there was a whole new territory to test out his advisors’ various theories, the anax strongly believed that he would soon have a whole new list of negative advice in the near future. Nonetheless, the war was complete. It had been a quick one, comparatively speaking, and had resulted in very few Achaian losses. The planners in the Office of Military Affairs had done their jobs well, and Achaian preparedness had allowed the Megaron to retaliate for Haram Bo-Kay’s attack almost immediately after it had occurred. But none of that took away from the fact that Haram Bo-Kay had been completely unprepared to face the Achaian advance, either the Peloponnesian military in the south or the Lakonian militia in the north. It was as if the organization had been completely surprised by the violence directed against them by the Achaians, despite the invasion being the response to an Islamist attack against Achaian lives. Kerameikos had expected a ready and prepared enemy, but instead his troops had faced men quite obviously inferior to them in skill, training, and especially equipment, none of whom seemed remotely capable of overcoming those deficiencies with ingenuity or prior planning. All in all, they did not seem like men who were planning to go to war with the Achaians, and that led the anax to wonder whether or not they were responsible for the bomb in Lakonia after all. Within twenty-four hours of signing orders for the invasion to commence, Kerameikos and his senior officers were all convinced that they had sworn to obliterate a foreign organization in response to a Lakonian hoax. But by that time it was too late to call off the attack… and to be honest, the anax had begun to view Haram Bo-Kay as a thorn in the Achaian side from the moment they stepped out of Zambiwa and snatched up large swathes of eastern Suran. He was happy to be rid of them. But now that the likely scapegoat was obliterated beyond immediate repair, Anax Kerameikos was free to return his attention closer to home. He wanted answers about the bombing that had sent the Achaian people to war once again. He wanted to know what the Lakonians had truly gained from the mess, assuming they had purposely intended to start it. And he wanted to know most especially if this short and vaguely distracting campaign had anything to do with those mysterious and infuriating letters eroding confidence in Kerameikos’s leadership, or with the sudden and inexplicable overthrow of the Kalymnian vasilefs, which remained a source of unresolved tension between the anax and the vast majority of the vasileis on whom the anax had hoped to rely in this period of international crisis. In short, the anax had questions, and at least some of the vasileis were likely to be in a position to answer them. With that in mind, there was really only one thing to do. * * *
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![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Oct 29 2015, 10:00 PM Post #2 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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Stratigos Kamatero looked out through the window of his office, nervously fingering the urgent message in his hand. It had originated from Ikaria, where Vasilissa Kypseli had trusted her personal encryption systems and illicit communications material to get the message to him secretly and immediately; it seemed that the vasilissa had methods of communicating with the outside world on her own behalf, contrary to the Kerkyra Compact, to Kamatero’s irritation. He knew better than to report her to his father, no matter how much he had wanted to, given their mutual plots against him. And when he read the message she had enclosed, the stratigos found himself entirely in her debt. Regardless of whether or not the vasileis could stand together against the anax’s anger at their actions, they were all aware that Kamatero had no such protection. It had not mattered as long as Kerameikos’s attention had been distracted by foreign conflict or drawn by the vasileis as a group, but there were now only three days until the anax learned of Kamatero’s part in the plots against him. The moment that Kerameikos learned that the new Kalymnian vasilissa, the one who had defied his order of protection over Vasilefs Ymittos, was the same woman who had caused him such trouble in New Peloponnese, the anax would know that Kamatero had failed to arrest her as he had ordered. Kerameikos would wonder what else his son had failed to accomplish, and would investigate matters in New Peloponnese more thoroughly. Kamatero’s defiance and treason would be plain to see. “Sir.” Kamatero turned to find General Aigisthos standing stiffly in his office doorway. “I see you received the same message I did.” The stratigos doubted that Kypseli had sent any note directly to the general, and forced aside his frustration that the men responsible for communications in New Peloponnese would go over his head to inform Aigisthos without leave. There was a reason that Aigisthos’s cooperation had been essential in keeping New Peloponnese intact after it had begun to intentionally ignore the Megaron’s orders, his respected stature among the troops being the most important. Still, that quality had its drawbacks, and Kamatero knew that he would eventually have to have a reckoning with his nominal subordinate. “Yes, I did,” he answered Aigisthos’s comment, moving back to his desk and taking a seat. He waved to the chair on the other side of the desk, which the general took without a word. Aigisthos was still gazing at him expectantly. “We have three days,” Kamatero said. “What are our chances to resist the Megaron?” “Alone, we have none,” Aigisthos said bluntly. “We have no infrastructure with which to arm ourselves. The majority of the officers in the navy still follow the Megaron’s instruction without hesitation. The ground forces are still consumed with guarding the border with Melzae, at least for the moment. The air force has chosen not to supply New Peloponnese with any multitude of aircraft, trusting instead to naval air services; our air support goes with the locally-based navy, and most of those officers are Megaron-bound.” Kamatero gritted his teeth. “Kypseli already reports that the vasileis are ready to do battle with the Megaron,” he said. “But they have no serious naval contingent, either. The Megaron would have no trouble preventing us from linking up with the tribes in any serious way. We’ll have to look elsewhere for allies.” The stratigos glanced northward for a brief moment. “Melzae?” he asked. Aigisthos scoffed. “Do you want to be at the mercy of a bitter enemy intent on retaking this place?” he asked rhetorically. “The first thing their negotiator told me was that the only reason Melzae was not already attacking us was because we were both allies of Gilead. However, Gilead is the Megaron’s ally, not necessarily ours. If we give Gabana any excuse, they’ll do whatever they can to retake New Peloponnese for themselves. That’s especially true if we’re fighting another enemy at the same time—and especially true if that enemy is the Megaron. They’ll simply claim to be helping a fellow Gileadan ally destroy its enemy, regardless of how Kerameikos feels about it.” Kamatero groaned. “Ahwazi naval forces weren’t enough to protect Haram Bo-Kay,” he said to himself, “so they won’t be able to help from such a distance. Izalith would have no interest in ruining the Axis by turning against the Megaron on our behalf. Zambiwa…” The stratigos barked out a laugh. “Never mind.” “We could negotiate directly with Gilead,” Aigisthos suggested. “Having their backing would keep Melzae from taking advantage as well…” The general couldn’t finish the thought with a straight face, and grimaced as he trailed off. Kamatero nodded at the other man’s expression. “If there is no other option,” he said, “I’ll think about it. Perhaps I’ll even strongly consider it. But only if we can think of nothing else.” General Aigisthos gritted his teeth. “Oeslan?” “We could be subsumed into the monarchy if we’re not careful,” Kamatero replied. “It’s a possibility, but it would change the political situation in the Astolan so drastically that I almost don’t dare to consider it. But certainly,” he said forcefully, “I would prefer to officially enter the Oeslanish hierarchy than become an unofficial lackey with hardly any compensation.” The stratigos shook his head. “Though that also assumes that Izalith wouldn’t take offense and go to war over the matter. I do not believe that the Oeslanish fleet would defend us at the expense of Texara and Cematza, do you?” “It would be highly doubtful,” Aigisthos agreed glumly. The general glanced out at the landscape outside, his expression clouded. At length he said, “I believe you should begin to consider the assets we have gathered inside the Achaian homelands, sir.” Kamatero frowned. “The vasileis will be able to hold their own against the Megaron, but they cannot defend us as well,” he said. “I can assure you, I’ve already considered that.” The general turned back to the stratigos intently. “I refer to those assets we have cultivated over the last few months in the Peloponnese.” “What, the letter recipients?” Kamatero’s frown grew more pronounced. “Little distractions like that can only do so much. Father will be a great deal more worried about his son’s treason than he will be about such minor grumbling.” Aigisthos gritted his teeth. “Then do your best to ensure that it grows more potent than ‘minor grumbling,’ sir,” he insisted in a tone that suggested that the stratigos was being obtuse. Kamatero stared at the general. “Are you telling me to foment actual rebellion against my father?” he asked, shocked. “I’m telling you to do whatever you need to do to ensure that the next three days are not our last,” Aigisthos stated simply. “You might not fear death from this exercise, sir, but I can assure you that all of those who follow you now are not so privileged. I do not intend to die on a path that you asked me to take with you, but I am willing to suffer that fate—as long as I know that you have fulfilled your duty to me and mine, just as I fulfill my duty to you.” The general leaned forward. “This is your test, sir. Whether you succeed or fail, you must at least try.” The stratigos continued to stare. “You would have me destroy the Peloponnese,” he said flatly. “You would have me betray my father to his death.” “You have already betrayed him, sir,” Aigisthos pointed out. “You knew when you began that our path would only end in his death, if only a natural one, that would allow you to come out of hiding and reveal your contrary actions. Unfortunately, Kerameikos has denied you that kind of time. So you must act yourself.” Kamatero closed his eyes and shuddered for a moment. Thoughts of his father in his youth went flying through his mind: He had always been proud of being Kerameikos’s son, and of watching his father struggle through his own days as eldest stratigos before finally taking the anakate for himself less than half a decade before. Kamatero had always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, leading as Makaria commanded, establishing himself as a role model for the present and for future generations. All of these dreams had just turned to dust. One by one, Kamatero let them slip away, until he sighed and slumped in his seat, as though defeated. Then, finally, he opened his eyes to a new reality, and straightened in his chair. “So be it,” he said with finality. “Give me the list of recipients. I have a subject in mind.” * * *
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![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Oct 30 2015, 05:04 AM Post #3 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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Colonel Orestis had risen to his position over the course of two decades. In that time, he had commanded guard units in the Akarnanian Heights, MEF detachments deep in Nusantara, and even an impressive command in the recent Melzaean War. The colonel’s service had been exemplary in all cases, and immediately after the war’s conclusion he had received his reward: the highly prestigious almost-sinecure of Commandant of Kerkyra, commander of the city’s military garrison. It was a post with a great deal of promise: Almost every Logothetis of Military Affairs had first served as Commandant of Kerkyra before being appointed to the Megaron. Orestis had had every indication that his future was already laid out for him, a road shining with the light of Makaria’s approval and blessing. Then the letter had arrived. At first glance, it had been utterly ridiculous. The writer had gone to great lengths to portray Orestis as a victim of the Megaron’s duplicity and paranoia, sparing no effort to point out every possible flaw, real or imagined, that marked the policies and the personalities of the logothetai and the anax himself. It was obviously treasonous material, and Orestis had immediately destroyed it; he had no intention of being caught possessing libel against the leaders of the Achaian people. But a second letter had quickly followed, and a third had come thereafter, and Orestis couldn’t help but read them even as he scoffed at their claims. Eventually he found himself viewing the Megaron in a different, much more cynical light, as the letters’ claims had seeped into his thoughts regardless of his strong desire and will to ignore them. And apparently he had been unable to keep his influenced opinions to himself, because after the sixth or seventh letter had come to him, so too had the Office of Internal Observation. The office had been, as ever, thorough. Orestis had destroyed all of the letters he had received, but the suspicious office traced any mail connected with him that was already in transit, and had quickly found another such letter that had yet to reach him. The colonel protested his innocence, and swore that he had always been an Achaian patriot and loyal citizen. His record attested to that, he pointed out, and the Megaron’s agents seemed willing to believe him. At the very least, they neglected to arrest him for sedition, which was certainly an improvement on the rumors that were usually spread about anyone else the Office of Internal Observation had chosen to unexpectedly visit. However, it was almost immediately clear that the office’s visit to Colonel Orestis had cost the man any hope of future advancement. His immediate superiors were less approachable, and wanted nothing to do with him. His subordinates resented him, afraid that his disgrace would taint their careers as well. And the Megaron had no further use for his services, refusing to contemplate transferring him to an active unit during the conflict with Haram Bo-Kay and turning his sinecure into a prison. The colonel wondered if he would soon find himself fighting to keep even this much of his previous, illustrious career. It was humiliating. It was infuriating. And, perhaps most importantly, it was revealing. Suddenly Orestis was exposed to the faults of the Megaron and its people firsthand. He now knew, without a doubt, that everything those letters had said was the truth. The anax was a tool. The logothetai were incompetent. And the Megaron was a clogged and cluttered bureaucratic machine that could only pretend to be the righteous martial government of Makaria and the Achaian people. When the next letter came—somehow bypassing the Office of Internal Observation’s intense net around the colonel’s personal life—Orestis made certain to keep it. And he kept the next, and the next after that, as well. He kept them all from that point forward, until he received the one that mattered the most, and realized with a start that he was no longer an impotent spectator of tyranny, or a simple sympathizer in support of these audacious dissidents who had shown him the truth. The newest letter provided no more pointless commiseration, and had no more use for the Megaron’s obvious flaws. It was instead a call to action, and a set of instructions that would allow him to heed it. And with that call, Makaria smiled once again on Orestis’s shining future, brightened immeasurably with the knowledge that he himself would bring about the fall of Anax Kerameikos. |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Oct 30 2015, 08:21 PM Post #4 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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Kamatero stood up and smiled as Kifisia walked into the room and immediately embraced him. “It’s been too long, Son,” she murmured into his ear, before stepping back to look him over. “You’re too stressed over there in New Peloponnese. What have you been up to?” The stratigos grimaced as he sank back into the seat he had taken when his father had led him into the sitting room; Kerameikos himself sat next to him, and Kifisia took her seat beside her husband. “Nothing’s seriously changed since the last time I visited with you,” he lied, shaking his head. “Melzae is ever-poised to destroy us, and Oeslan’s close proximity complicates our strategic considerations. We continue to use the manpower available to us, but the Melzaean labor pool is becoming exhausted as laborers die or are injured and cannot be replaced. We have such an empty expanse of territory to patrol and only just enough people to manage it. I’m sure you understand the stresses.” Kerameikos shook his head. “I was hoping that Melzae’s recent attempt at diplomacy would lead to a more peaceful existence for you.” “It hasn’t hurt,” Kamatero assured his father. “But it hasn’t seriously changed anything, either. We simply can’t trust the Melzaeans to accept the terms they’ve been offered, regardless of their signatures. They despise us… no less than we despise them, to be perfectly honest, so I suppose that’s fair.” The stratigos chuckled without humor. “They make things far more difficult than they need to be…” ‘And they aren’t the only ones,’ Kamatero thought silently, but he did his absolute best to prevent any hint of that sentiment from appearing in his expression as he looked at his father. Kifisia shook her head in disappointment. “I was hoping that this responsibility would have been good for you,” she said. “And here I find that you’ve turned into an old and bitter man at the age of thirty. The goddess has given you a much greater burden to bear than I had anticipated.” “She has,” Kamatero agreed, “but she must think it for the best. I may complain about it, but if this is a trial, I mean to overcome it.” Kerameikos nodded in agreement. “I have every confidence in you, Kamatero,” he assured his son. “You have already encountered situations that I could never have predicted for you, and you have handled them extremely well. I am proud of all of your accomplishments.” Kamatero smiled thankfully, and pointedly did not remind the anax that he had overridden Kamatero’s concerns on numerous occasions in a decidedly untrusting display, especially when the matter related to New Dorian Enterprises. The three drifted into a contemplative silence for a moment, before Kerameikos spoke again. “You are welcome to join me in a discussion with the logothetai this afternoon,” he said. “They will not be present during the council session, and I recall that you had asked to speak with them as well as with the vasileis during this visit. As long as we can keep the political discussion confined to the office spaces of the Megaron, I would be happy to have you accompany me as I make the rounds.” “Yes, please,” Kamatero said immediately, straightening. “I would be grateful for the opportunity.” ‘Let’s see just whom among these supposedly-loyal officials can be turned against one another… or against the anax himself.’ |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Oct 31 2015, 03:27 PM Post #5 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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As the diplomatic jet approached Anassa Glyfada Airport, Vasilissa Omonoia glanced out at the approaching Peloponnesian soil and couldn’t help but compare it to the last time she had arrived in Kerkyra. Then, she had been traveling in a badly-worn disguise, surrounded by irritated ‘colleagues,’ and absolutely sure that she would draw attention to herself by mistake and be immediately set upon by the anax’s guards. Now, she was the Kalymnian vasilissa, as powerful as the anax himself in her own territory, and furthermore sharing the company of three other vasileis who had pledged their strength to her cause if the need should arise. From a girl out of her depth, Omonoia could consider herself a woman who had attained her rightful place in the world, with power of her own and friends to share it with. Yet as the vasilissa looked out at her destination, those old thoughts of certain doom raced toward her as quickly as the approaching ground. No matter her present power and status, no matter her friends among the tribes and their leadership, the fact remained that Omonoia was once again stepping into the Peloponnese, the domain of Anax Kerameikos, a man who had declared her to be a criminal twice over. Omonoia was not sure to be gratified or all the more frightened when she looked about at the other vasileis that shared the plane with her. Kypseli, Kaisariani, and Exarcheia all looked rather grim, refusing to speak or even look at one another, while their respective entourages cleaned and prepared their weapons in case they were caught in any conflict with the Cult Guard or any other Peloponnesian security or military service. None of these women were sure of their future either, and it relieved Omonoia to know that she was not missing something that was perhaps obvious to everyone else, at the same time that it also frightened her even more badly to know that these three powerful Achaian women were still frightened of the even greater strength and reach of Anax Kerameikos. As the plane touched down at Anassa Glyfada Airport, Omonoia immediately took note of the much greater number of ‘ceremonial’ guards that had come out to greet the vasileis who had defied the anax. While coming to the Peloponnese together had meant that they could pool their guards and maintain a visibly united front, it also meant that Kerameikos could focus his hostile attention on a single arrival instead of four separate ones, and based on his preparations, he had made the most of this opportunity. Omonoia was not alone in taking note of the mass of guards. “I dearly hope he just means to intimidate us,” Vasilissa Kypseli murmured to herself. Exarcheia scoffed. “He knows by now that we don’t care what he has to say unless he can back it up,” she said flatly. “If he still thought that we could be intimidated, he’d have lost the anakate ages ago.” The vasilissa looked over at Omonoia. “Your boy had better do his bit in the Megaron, or we’re all going to feel it.” “My boy?” asked Omonoia with a raised eyebrow, losing herself in the banter if only to keep her mind off of the present situation. “I don’t think I’d claim him even if he offered.” The plane came to a halt before Exarcheia could reply, and the vasileis all frowned grimly as they watched their guards take positions at the hatch, awaiting the fight that seemed ready to break out. The flight attendant at the hatch nervously waited until the flight stairs had been attached, before nodding to the guards and to the vasileis. “They’re ready for us,” he reported. Vasilissa Kaisariani, who was nearest to the hatch, nodded back. “Let’s get on with it then,” she said bluntly. The flight attendant nodded and opened the hatch. |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Oct 31 2015, 09:03 PM Post #6 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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A guard approached Anax Kerameikos as he sat in the diplomatic terminal of Anassa Glyfada Airport, waiting for the final scheduled flight of vasileis to arrive in Kerkyra. “Sir, the communications tower reports that the flight is on time and will arrive as scheduled,” the guard murmured. “Thank you.” As the other man turned to return to his post, Kerameikos got to his feet and caught the eye of the commander of the substantial collection of Cult Regiment guards he had requisitioned for this meeting. The other man nodded and marshaled his men without hesitation, and soon the entire mass was marching out to the tarmac to greet the approaching aircraft. The anax followed with a deep frown. This would be the most unpleasant part of the day, he knew. That morning he had spent his early hours with his family, enjoying the conversation even as he explained to Kamatero what he could expect from the upcoming session of the Achaian Council. The stratigos had become nervous during the night, for some reason, and Kerameikos had gone out of his way to assure his son that nothing would be expected of him during the meeting. No doubt, he had pointed out, the vasileis would still be too focused on their own problems to take note of any slip or change in procedure, given the arrest of one of their own and the warnings that would necessarily follow to the rest, especially those who had placed their support behind the usurper in Kalymnos. Kamatero had smiled at him in thanks, but the anax could tell that he hadn’t been reassured by that message. When Kerameikos left for the airport to greet his honored guests, Kamatero had stayed behind to continue speaking with his mother, asking only for the time that the anax expected to begin. The anax himself had arrived at the appropriate terminal in time to organize the Cult Regiment guards that met him there, and to inform them of their most important task of the day, before the first vasilefs of the day arrived in Kerkyra. Pagkrati, then Peiraias, and thereafter Monastiraki all arrived on the tarmac and were greeted by the drums and banners of Makaria’s favored leader and his people, who led them happily to the diplomatic vehicles waiting to take them to the Megaron and promised to catch up with them as soon as his duties at the airport were finished. Now, however, the final plane was on approach—four vasileis flying together, something that had never happened before in Kerameikos’s memory, a statement solely to intimidate him with the prospect of the tribes unified against him. And perhaps Kerameikos would have been nervous otherwise, but for the fact that Peiraias and Pagkrati had explicitly given him their personal support in any effort to undermine those who would threaten the power of the anax and the Kerkyra Compact. Vasilefs Monastiraki said nothing so blatant, sadly, but the man was no friend to at least one of the conspirators, and Kerameikos had no doubts that he would know where to stand when the time came. All three had said that they were looking forward to the upcoming session, and the anax had made no secret of just what would be on the agenda of the meeting; it was clear to him that they looked forward to the downfall of an upstart. As the plane made its descent, Kerameikos made his way onto the reception platform for the last time. The aircraft landed with a roar, taxiing to a stop almost perfectly in front of the platform, and the airport’s diplomatic staff immediately raced forward to set up the stairs to the hatch and roll out the red carpet. The anax looked to the commander of the Cult Regiment and nodded once; the commander gave an order, and the drums began to beat. Their deep reverberation, no different perhaps than it had been when they greeted the arrival of the earlier vasileis, nonetheless seemed to set the mood perfectly for this scene of sedition and punishment, and Kerameikos looked about in satisfaction for another long moment before the hatch to the jet finally opened up. First there came the guards. This had long been the standard for Achaian leadership in any capacity, and Kerameikos had no quarrel with the vasileis showing off their strength in the face of his own. In this case, of course, there was much greater strength to be displayed because the four vasileis were traveling together, and their entourages had been pooled for this defiant, but meaningless, demonstration. They were still handily outnumbered by the present complement of the Cult Regiment, which Kerameikos had brought to the ceremony for this very reason; the vasileis’ guards’ bravado was touching, but it was notably tinged with nervousness and apprehension. Following directly behind the guards were the vasileis. Each wore something identifiable, as if to separate herself from the rest with a reminder of her tribe and homeland, but for the most part the four women were matched in their dress: military-inspired clothing that, while perhaps brighter and dressier than anything worn by their militiamen, would not have been out of place in a battlefield. Kerameikos admitted some surprise at this, given the usual outlandish fashions that the vasileis sometimes sported during their visits to Kerkyra (though he had no doubt that at least some of those costumes were intended simply to discomfit him, so as to amuse their wearers). Nonetheless, military dress was a message all its own, and the anax read it easily. “So you want a fight, do you?” he murmured. “Well… I can oblige.” Kerameikos motioned to the commander; instantly the drums went silent, as every Peloponnesian weapon was raised to greet the newcomers. The guards in front of the vasileis halted and moved to raise their own weapons in return, but the commander shouted, “Freeze or die!” and the vasileis’ guards became still. The anax watched as the front rank of the Cult Regiment advanced slowly to take the guards and the vasileis into their custody, maintaining their firm grips on their weapons as they ordered the tribal guards to put their hands on their heads and submit to a body search. The vasileis themselves were waved forward, still under the gaze and guns of the Cult Regiment, as Kerameikos glared down on them all from a platform that had never quite seemed so tall before. With the suddenness of anticlimax, it seemed, it was over. “Exarcheia. Kypseli. Kaisariani.” He listed their names flatly, as if he had much better words to speak than these. His gaze fell on each vasilissa in turn, until it came to the upstart, the one face he didn’t immediately recognize in the group. “And you. I do not know you, but I know that you chose to defy the anax’s explicit instructions and strike down a vasilefs under my protection. That is enough for me.” Kerameikos peered intently down at the extremely nervous woman, taking in every detail in her face, complexion, and expression. Irritatingly, the anax began to think that she looked somehow familiar, but he had no hope of placing her without more information. Quickly tiring of his guesswork, he demanded, “Tell me your name, so that I know what to explain to the media.” The woman—if she could be called that, given her young age—took a breath and raised her chin. “I have no need to make your job easier,” she challenged. “My fate is the same either way. Why shouldn’t I make you run around in the dark for a while?” Kerameikos sneered. “What makes you think I would bother to search for it?” he countered. “Your name hardly matters to me, girl. I’ll tear Kalymnos apart to remove your stench, whether I know who you are or not. If you aren’t interested in the survival of your name, that’s no business of mine.” The other vasileis stared at the anax; apparently not even their obvious arrest had made it clear that Kerameikos intended to punish at least one of them to the fullest. Exarcheia took an abortive step forward, but Kypseli wisely held her back from doing more, while Kaisariani clenched her teeth in silent fury. The nameless girl, on the other hand, seemed to turn inward, and contemplated her position more thoroughly. “Survive and Remember,” she murmured bitterly, and Kerameikos wondered what it was like for her to know that her memory was all that would survive her. He gave her another moment to collect herself, and after two deep breaths, she met his eyes again. “I am Omonoia,” she declared. “I am vasilissa of the Kalymnian people by right of conquest, and by right of blood. And no unjust declaration, no overreaching Megaron, and no too-ambitious anax can take me from my rightful place, even in death!” Kerameikos’s sneer became a scowl. “Omonoia, then,” he spat. “A little girl with a big mouth and a decided lack of sense.” Just like the girl’s face, her name sparked a sense of familiarity that irritated the back of the anax’s mind like a gadfly, and as Kerameikos continued to look at his prisoner, the irritation became a headache-like pain. He was not surprised to hear that the upstart had a royal name, as the first action of any common usurper was to take a name befitting the office they pretended to hold, but then… ‘By right of blood,’ she’d said. She claimed blood ties with Ymittos, then; it was not out of the realm of possibility that she had been born with the name ‘Omonoia.’ Kerameikos certainly knew that Ymittos had had enough children to cause everyone a headache, especially after he began driving them out of his household. Even New Peloponnese hadn’t been spared from that ambitious brat— The world froze. Kerameikos’s face fell slack as he stared at a woman he had known, for a fact, to be imprisoned in New Peloponnese, where the products of her machinations awaited deportation in the ruined ghettos of Marlum. Kamatero had confirmed her arrest months before, and no further word had been heard from her, either to appeal her imprisonment or in notification of her death in custody. The anax had only just praised his son for how well he had kept her quiet… And Kamatero had taken the praise without correcting any of his father’s misconceptions. Kerameikos bared his clenched teeth in fury. “Did Kamatero know of this?” he hissed at Omonoia. The glimmer of humor in the girl’s eyes only stoked the anax’s anger. “Of course he did,” Omonoia answered. “How else could I have left New Peloponnese under your nose without his help?” Kerameikos literally trembled as his world shifted entirely, slowly turning in place until he could see the imposing silhouette of the Megaron rising above the skyline of Kerkyra. His son was there. His traitorous son was at that moment strolling through the corridors of the single most commanding, most impregnable, and most important fortress in eastern Suran. The anax stared for another moment as the implications continued to bombard him, but at length he recovered enough to speak. “Commander. We must go. Now.” |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Nov 2 2015, 01:01 AM Post #7 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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Earlier That Day: Logothetis Pandimos looked out over the various clerics, presvyteroi, and other religious officials that he had gathered in a conference room in the Office of Religious and Spiritual Matters. These were some of the most important Cult officials—not the protopresvyteroi of the Kerkyra Temple, of course, but the administrators and facilitators that ensured the Cult’s smooth and continuous operation. Such visible Achaians as the protopresvyteroi would be missed, but no one would wonder where the men and women in front of Pandimos now had gone, if only for the day. And a day was all Pandimos would need. “We stand on the brink of a new world,” he said solemnly. “For years, we have seen Makaria’s signs, and have worshiped at her altars with the firm knowledge that her power and her Cult was on the ascendant. We have seen Kerkyra blossom as the blessed city of our goddess, and praised her as only true Achaians can. And we have done this side-by-side with an eager and compliant anakate, which sought only to please Makaria with the gifts and high standing of her chosen people and her representatives in the Cult. We have long gloried in this state of affairs, and for much of that time we saw no reason to believe that it would ever fade, even as Kerameikos ascended to power beside his protoprevytera bride.” Pandimos sighed and shook his head. “And at first glance, perhaps, we see no difference between those glories of the past and the state of our existence today. Makaria remains on high; Kerkyra burns with love for her, and for the Achaian people. But look deeper and you will see the first hints of rot. Look to Melzae, where we have shipped our undesirables to remove them from our presence; not content with those false Makarians we had been forced to harbor for decades, the anax’s heir decided to bring still more into his little realm, and failed even to demand their conversion! Now Kerameikos follows his son’s blasphemous path, taking in hand those native enemies of the Achaian people whose ideology demands the eradication of Makaria herself and all who put their faith in her! Here in the Peloponnese, we might see nothing to suggest a faltering, but look around us and we see nothing but setbacks for the Cult and the goddess we serve.” The logothetis leaned forward and met the eyes of every one of his invited guests. “That is the fact of the matter: Our Cult is in decline. That is the world we look forward to from this day onward… unless we act today to prevent it!” “Elaborate, Logothetis,” one of the presvyteroi said evenly. “We can’t act in any case without knowing what our options are.” Pandimos nodded to the man. “You are not often called to the Megaron,” he said. “I sometimes forget that the nearness of the danger is obvious only to those who watch and speak with the anax and his logothetai on a more regular basis. Let me tell you, then, what I see, and what I beg you to help me destroy. The anax sits with Makaria’s Shield held high above his people, and with every breath he declares himself the goddess’s puppet and the people’s strength; but with every moment, his grip slackens, his arm falters, and his eyes turn elsewhere in ignorance of his own fatigue. He listens to his logothetai, and while I warn him of his inattention, I hear Persefoni whisper poison in his ear that gold can only come from compromise, I find Diaktoros wielding a Gileadan’s silver tongue against him, I see Eleftherios warning him of nonsense threats on distant shores, and I watch Agesilaos blame the people’s murmurs on the Cult. The anax is surrounded by a lake of perfidy, blasphemy, and treason, and rather than row his boat to the solid and dependable shore of the Temple, Kerameikos is content to drink from it. Now the Megaron begins to crumble, with the logothetai, its firmest pillars, having turned against their people and all they hold dear. We are left with no choice, friends, but to rebuild the structure whole… cutting out the rot wherever we find it.” The logothetis glanced significantly toward the door of the room, toward the rest of the Megaron and the corruption that polluted it. The presvyteros who had questioned Pandimos nodded slowly in agreement. “As you say,” he said, “we are not exposed to the politics of the Megaron as you are. But as you explain your concerns, I think the results of this scheming are visible throughout the Peloponnese, to those who know where to look. You are entirely correct, Logothetis. This must end, as soon and as utterly as possible.” The room murmured in agreement, as the presvyteros got to his feet. “Direct us. What shall we do?” Pandimos reached into a pocket and retrieved an encouraging letter that he had received the evening before. “We will remove those who stand in our way,” he answered simply. “And these instructions will explain how.” * * * Logothetis Alexikakos glanced around the corner and took note of the two Cult Regiment guards standing in the spacious hall, trying to spot any imperfections in their uniforms as they awaited the arrival of the vasileis from the airport. Turning back to the men who followed him, the man in charge of the Office of Internal Political Outreach said lowly, “Remember what I said earlier. We’re acting now to put this country back on its feet, so that our people will trust us again. Getting rid of the idiots holding us back will eliminate the crushing pressure of politics on the Achaian people and allow them to become productive citizens again, without the Megaron or especially the Cult telling them how to live their lives. This is the only way to drag the Peloponnese into the modern world.” He took one last look at the men standing firmly behind him. “With me, then,” he finished, turning back to the two guards, who had noticed him in the meantime and had straightened and saluted in response to encountering a logothetis in the Megaron. Alexikakos approached them with a smile, followed by a portion of his entourage; within a minute, two men who would have prevented the logothetis from achieving his murderous goals were dead on the floor. * * * Vasilefs Peiraias had arrived slightly later than his friend Pagkrati had done, and had left the airport as soon as he had given Anax Kerameikos his assurances that the Akarnanian tribe had nothing to do with the coup in Kalymnos, and had no interest in either joining the conspirators or irking the anax unnecessarily. Kerameikos had been extremely grateful to hear it, of course, and had promised to speak further with Peiraias and Pagkrati after the meeting, so long as both were willing. Peiraias had had no objections, nor apparently had Pagkrati when Kerameikos suggested it to him, but the vasilefs intended to have a conversation with his colleague to ensure that the two both understood the matter in its entirety before they were asked to advise and support the anax in dealing with it. Of course, the events of the council session would hopefully clear up the confusion, though they might also force the vasileis into making immediate judgments to respond to them. For a vasilefs who had made very few on-the-spot decisions in the past, Peiraias had no love for them, and prayed that he would not be asked to make another today. He needn’t have bothered with worrying. As his diplomatic car arrived at the Megaron, the vasilefs was surprised to see that the guards at the defensible checkpoint weren’t the usual Cult Regiment members, but rather regular soldiers of the Kerkyra garrison. There was a much more thorough delay than usual as the guards inspected the diplomatic car, while a man in a major’s uniform stepped up to direct the driver and relay an apologetic message regarding the necessity of extra-stringent security in response to the impending arrival of the usurper now calling herself vasilissa of the Kalymnians. Peiraias, though irked, understood the issue, and sat through the inspection patiently until the driver was allowed to enter the Megaron’s grounds. Yet as the car passed through the checkpoint, the vasilefs couldn’t help but notice the intense discussion left behind him, as the soldiers manning the checkpoint huddled together to debrief one another about the results of their less-than-routine inspection. The car drove slowly by several government outbuildings and a temple to Makaria—the first such temple to be built in Kerkyra under Vyronas’s direction, long before the current edifice was constructed in downtown Kerkyra to serve the masses—before arriving in front of the Megaron itself. Peiraias, still pondering the strangeness of the inspection earlier, at first didn’t notice the fact that no one was coming to his car to open the door; after half a minute, however, even the most distracted man would have wondered just what was taking so long. The vasilefs looked up to find the doors to the Megaron firmly shut, with no one standing guard outside—a most unusual scenario. Peiraias frowned. “Driver,” he said, “alert the escort cars that something is amiss. I will wait here for my guards.” The driver, who was also visibly concerned, immediately reached for the short-range communications set beside him, but as Peiraias looked on, he became frustrated when no one replied to his calls. After another moment, the man quit calling and turned to his passenger. “There’s nothing, my lord.” “They were right behind us as we entered the Megaron’s precincts,” Peiraias snapped, not necessarily irritated with the driver but with the situation. “Even if they were still being searched at the checkpoint, there is no reason they should not reply to us.” The driver shook his head nervously. “I don’t know what to tell you, my lord,” he replied. After a second he continued, “Shall we return to the airport and—” Any suggestion of leaving ended when the door to the Megaron was thrown open. Three men in uniform—this time the proper Cult Regiment, thankfully—stepped outside smartly, with one of them continuing down to the pavement where the vasilefs waited while the other two took up posts on either side of the door. The cultman opened the car door and saluted the vasilefs. “We apologize for the delay, my lord,” he said hastily. “As the guards at the checkpoint surely told you, we’re preparing for trouble this afternoon.” The vasilefs stepped outside of his car and nodded to the soldier. “It certainly isn’t normal for the regular military to man the checkpoint,” he answered. “I wouldn’t have thought to see the anax replace his elite men with regular troops if he’s expecting trouble, as you say.” The cultman tried to hide a scowl, but Peiraias had no trouble interpreting his expression: Obviously he didn’t like it either. “The anax has required the entire Cult Regiment to attend him at some point today. Much of the Regiment is guarding the airport as you saw, my lord, but the rest—more than half—is waiting for us inside. We are as prepared as possible for the arrival of the hostile vasileis.” Peiraias nodded absently as he walked beside his escort toward the door to the Megaron. “Regardless, if you could get in touch with your checkpoint guards as soon as possible—and I do mean as soon as possible, and preferably immediately—I would like to know the status of my escort. We were separated during the inspections there, and I was unable to get a response from them.” “The guards would have turned off all electronics in every vehicle as a safety measure,” the soldier replied quickly as the two reached the doors of the Megaron, where the two cultmen acting as door guards saluted the vasilefs as he approached. “Given the number of weapons that your escort no doubt carries, I can almost guarantee that the inspection will continue for much longer than normal. I apologize for your inconvenience, my lord…” Peiraias stepped into the building as he listened to his escort’s information, and paid little attention to his surroundings. Thus, when hands reached out and grabbed him within a few steps of passing the threshold, the vasilefs was caught completely by surprise. “…though I suppose,” continued the cultman nonchalantly, “you would consider a stay in the dungeon even more inconvenient than the delay of your escort.” He stepped around Peiraias as the vasilefs was roughly forced to his knees in the center of the entrance hall, and addressed a man dressed in a custom uniform that was usually only worn by the blood of the anax. “Eight members of the escort surrendered to us, and another six were taken injured; the rest were put down. The driver will be apprehended as soon as he returns the vehicle to the garage.” “Excellent work, Colonel Orestis,” the other man replied. “Clean up the site of the ambush as you did before, and await Vasilefs Monastiraki. I have it on good authority that the remainder of the vasileis are traveling together, and will arrive much later; Kerameikos will wait for them at the airport, so we will have time enough to eliminate Monastiraki’s escort before the anax himself arrives. He will be attended by an impressive portion of the Regiment; your men will need to overwhelm them before they can use their numbers against us.” “You can trust my men,” the colonel wearing a lesser cultman’s uniform assured the man wearing the anax’s custom fashion. “Even if he senses the trap, the Megaron is entirely sealed off from him if he chooses to attempt another entrance.” The other man nodded grimly. Peiraias thought that he didn’t seem very happy at that news, and his guess was confirmed when the man said, “I would prefer to see him realize the futility of retaking the place and leaving Kerkyra entirely…” “We would have to chase after him, sir,” the colonel replied solemnly. “As long as he lives free, he can foment rebellion against you, even as a simple figurehead for someone else.” “Then I would prefer him to be captured alive,” the apparent leader of this outrage said firmly. “I will have an explanation if he cannot be.” The colonel grimaced, but saluted regardless. “If it’s possible, he’ll come to you alive,” the soldier swore. “Excellent.” The other man sighed. “Alert me when Monastiraki arrives. You’ll find me with the logothetai again… I don’t believe I’ll have these interrogations finished before the end of the month.” He smiled thinly. “I commend you again on your work in this regard, Colonel.” “Thank you, sir.” The officer saluted again as the other man turned to the soldiers holding Peiraias on his knees. “He can go with Pagkrati,” he decided. “Keep at least two rooms between them. I will be around to question them as soon as I am finished with my current tasks.” “Yes, sir.” Peiraias suddenly found himself on his feet, and was quickly swept from the hall as the apparent usurper turned his back. |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Nov 2 2015, 05:38 AM Post #8 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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When Kerameikos arrived at the checkpoint, racing back to the Megaron with as much armor as he could gather on short notice, he found a torn-up road and hastily-made signs deliberately revealing that it had been mined. The driver had been forced to slow down and seek another way through, but the narrow road and the high banks surrounding it had been designed for just this purpose, funneling traffic in one direction only. Sure enough, as the following vehicles slowed down to wait for the leaders, with various commanders grumbling all the while about obvious traps and the anax’s obviously-blind fury, Colonel Orestis’s rebellious men revealed themselves in armor of their own, coming up behind the anax’s column to trap them in the defile as heavy guns appeared atop the high banks to either side, a high ground that had always before been populated by the Cult Regiment’s best. Explosions raced through the column, and several vehicles were made into scrap while others were ‘merely’ immobilized. The trapped vehicles, of course, didn’t hesitate to fire back, but the outcome of the conflict was never in doubt. It was only a matter of time before Kerameikos’s anger gave way to despair; within minutes, he had broadcast his surrender. Half an hour later, the anax, the vasileis he had taken prisoner at the airport, and the carefully-disarmed remainder of the Cult Regiment were assembled in the courtyard in front of the Megaron. None of them, even the vasileis who had been taken prisoner by the anax, seemed at all confident of their fate, but Kerameikos was certainly the most resigned of them. His fury at Kamatero’s perfidy had burnt itself out as he realized the depths of his mistake, and he was left to ponder his memories of the last four years, wondering just where he had finally failed. His son, his eldest child and the legal heir to the anakate, would no doubt be happy to explain the matter. Kamatero, daringly wearing one of Kerameikos’s own uniforms, walked out of the Megaron with a bevy of regular soldiers and the guards he was entitled to as stratigos, looking over the collection of captured men and women with a neutral expression, as though he were not entirely sure what to think. His gaze met his father’s, but rather than confront him then and there, Kamatero continued his inspection until he laid eyes on the four vasileis, still surrounded by cultmen as though they were still in the custody of the defeated anax. He took in their nervousness for a moment, before nodding to them. “I don’t forget my friends,” he said, and Kerameikos clenched his fists at the reminder of premeditated treason. “Join me… or wait inside, if you prefer. We have a session of the Achaian Council to attend, after all, and we have a future to plan for.” The nervous expressions evaporated into relief—almost disbelief, in Omonoia’s case, so that Kerameikos was left to wonder just how well she had interacted with Kamatero in the past if she still didn’t trust him not to do away with her at the last—and the four women hesitantly stepped away from the masses of captured Peloponnesians. Kaisariani stopped to look out over the group for a long moment, however, before turning to Kamatero. “Are our guards free as well?” she asked. Kamatero looked out over the captured mass. “Point them out to me.” Twenty-some men who had survived the checkpoint ambush eventually stood apart from the disarmed cultmen, though Kerameikos couldn’t help but notice that neither they nor their ladies were able to retrieve their weapons before they were hustled into the Megaron, presumably for precautionary medical attention. The vasileis themselves remained out in the courtyard, taking their places beside Kamatero as the stratigos took one more look around at the defeated soldiers in front of him. Then, finally, he turned his attention fully to his father. “I’m sure you want to know why.” Kerameikos breathed deeply in lieu of losing his temper; as an unarmed prisoner, he knew that behavior would not be appreciated. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. “I want to know why you betrayed your father and your people like this, for an office that was already allotted to you after my passing.” Kamatero sighed. “It wasn’t about the power,” he asserted. “For me, at least, that was hardly the draw. I knew what power I had and what power I would have in the future. You took every opportunity to teach me about the responsibility I had and would have, and I thank you for that. I really do.” The stratigos frowned as he stared off into space for a moment. “I suppose I’m here because you gave me the responsibility to lead, but refused to let me do it.” “Omonoia,” Kerameikos said flatly. “Omonoia,” Kamatero agreed. The woman in question shifted awkwardly, but the anax and his son ignored her. “I admit that I accepted a compromise that my forefathers would have cringed to see. But then, they would have cringed to see New Peloponnese at all, home to so-called ‘false Makarians’ and ‘Achaians in name only.’ You created New Peloponnese as a dumping ground, and you doomed it from the beginning when you refused to let us save it. You brought about Melzae’s anger by taking it, and then refused to let us defend it, as though the sacrifices we had made to have it were meaningless. Yet you put me in charge of the place as though you expected me to save it.” The stratigos closed his eyes in remembered frustration, before opening them to glare at his father again. “Your mixed messages forced me to choose between them. And so I chose to save New Peloponnese, and I facilitated the actions of those who could help me do that. And when you objected to those actions, yes, I turned against you, and worked as secretly as I could to keep you happy and ignorant until it simply didn’t matter anymore. “Then you demanded a council session, and set yourself up to reveal all those secrets and condemn everyone who I had worked to lead and protect for the last six months.” Kamatero said this bluntly, as though it were dropping suddenly without warning on all of their heads—as the news had seemed to do for him, when he had first been informed of it. “If you still held power when you learned the secrets I had been hiding, my people could expect to die. So I ensured that you did not. That is why we are here.” Kerameikos stared at his son for a long moment. Then he let his gaze drift to the Megaron, rising up before him. “Where is your mother?” he asked after a time. “Safe.” The anax turned his eyes back to Kamatero in silent command, and his son acquiesced: “She’s locked in your apartments. You will join her when we are through here… if we are not already.” Kerameikos narrowed his eyes. “And what of the cultmen here?” he demanded. Kamatero looked over the collection of soldiers one more time. “Prison,” he said simply. “Or deportation. Perhaps they will find suitable homes in New Peloponnese.” He looked directly at Kerameikos and pointed out, “It is a fitting sentence, given the orders you once delivered to me.” The men murmured in distress, but Kerameikos sighed. It was certainly better than the alternative. “So be it,” he said. Kamatero nodded, before turning to a man dressed in a cultman’s uniform; Kerameikos recognized Colonel Orestis, the Commandant of Kerkyra, who he knew to have been recently investigated. The anax feared that the Office of Internal Observation had badly blundered by failing to arrest the man after all. “Separate them as normal. Kerameikos”—and no one missed how the stratigos had failed to address him as ‘anax’—“will be escorted to the anax’s apartments. No doubt I’ll speak more with them tonight.” ‘No doubt,’ Kerameikos thought to himself, giving his son one last look before he was led away. |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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| Mastropa | Nov 2 2015, 09:45 PM Post #9 |
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis
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“Let it be recorded that the Achaian Council has convened in full.” Kamatero spoke the ritual words without betraying any sense of irony, and nodded to the assembled vasileis, some here more willingly than others. “Take your seats.” The stratigos settled into his seat and watched the variety of expressions on the faces in front of him as the vasileis follow his instructions. There was still an element of disbelief in all of them, but for some more than others, the disbelief seemed to have created a sense of numbness. Peiraias’s expression in particular was almost slack. Pagkrati, however, seemed to be regaining his senses, if his reddening cheeks were any indication; Kamatero really had no interest in hearing him rant during a meeting that was supposed to be a solemn occasion, but he privately decided that he should be glad that no one else was following his lead. For the rest, fear was the most notable element of Monastiraki’s expression, while the four women, congregating at his end of the conference table, seemed comparatively the most at ease. Their nervous glances, both at Kamatero and at the armed soldiers who had joined them in the conference room contrary to tradition, made it clear that they were still unsure of their footing in this new reality, but their outright fear had dissipated almost as soon as Kamatero had acknowledged their part in his new position and separated them from those he had made his prisoners. Instead, they seemed content to wait for new information before making any final decision on whether or not they agreed with the situation they found themselves in. Kamatero was more than happy to provide that information. He needed their agreement, and that would only come if they understood their position. “So,” he began unnecessarily, “we are here. It’s been a… surprising journey for most of you, I’m sure.” Vasilissa Kypseli scoffed. Vasilefs Monastiraki simply swallowed nervously. “But we come to the end of it now.” The stratigos held out a hand, and Colonel Orestis, who was acting as one of the guards and apparently as Kamatero’s immediate aide, handed him a stiff and ornately-illuminated piece of paper. “I would ask you all to sign this,” he said. “You are of course welcome to read it. I want there to be no surprises when I require you to adhere to its obligations. But I nonetheless firmly suggest that you accept and sign this agreement.” He passed the document to his right; Vasilissa Kypseli took one look at the paper and frowned. “This isn’t the Kerkyra Compact,” she said, almost accusingly. “It isn’t,” Kamatero agreed. “The second clause, you’ll see, is an agreement to dissolve the Compact in the interest of renegotiating its terms.” The vasileis stared at him. Even Omonoia, who had never signed the Kerkyra Compact, was incapable of imagining an Achaian existence without it. “Is that possible?” she asked. Kamatero motioned toward the paper still in Kypseli’s hands. “It is if we replace it with something at least equally useful, and hopefully more,” he replied. “That is why the contract I am putting forward requires us to renegotiate the terms of tribal and Peloponnesian cooperation. I don’t mean to let us go on with nothing. I intend for us to have a suitable replacement before we leave this room this evening.” Vasilefs Pagkrati sputtered, looking around the table in search of some kind of ally as he said, “There’s absolutely no precedent for this! You’re trying to replace the foundation of our nation! Dissolving the compact leads to the most disastrous results; we know that from history!” “You’re not the anax.” Kamatero’s gaze turned to Vasilefs Peiraias as he began to engage with the rest of the room. “No anax has ever done this either, of course, but you’re not even supposed to be in this room. Neither the military nor the logothetai have accepted your leadership—” “But you will, Vasilefs,” Kamatero interrupted. “That is, after all, the first clause of this agreement.” Kypseli nodded from her place beside him as she reread the document once more, before passing it on to Omonoia on her other side. “The military, in the form of the Commandant of Kerkyra and his soldiers, have selected me as anax already. The logothetai are… currently incapable of making any decisions at all.” When even his four supporters at the table turned to stare at him, he elaborated, “Colonel Orestis was kind enough to arrest them after they turned against one another and nearly brought down the Megaron between them.” Kamatero pointedly did not mention that he had eliminated Logothetis Enyalios personally, though he did add, “There are a few who survived their… I suppose we should call it their ‘civil war.’ I firmly believe that some of them will be useful to the Megaron in the future. But they are no longer to be trusted as a decision-making body. Therefore, I defer the selection to you, Vasileis.” Kamatero had initially thought that pointing out how his ‘deference’ was in complete contrast to his actual power over their persons would have been impolitic. Vasilefs Pagkrati, however, appeared to disagree with this assessment. “Oh, so we have a choice now?” he sneered. “You must realize that at this moment you are the last person in Noverra we would have chosen to raise to the anakate. Nothing in this world would persuade me to sign that paper!” “Then I’m glad you told us that now, Pagkrati.” As with his discussion with his father less than an hour before, no one missed Kamatero’s refusal to associate the man’s name with his title. The red fury in Pagkrati’s cheeks immediately fled, leaving behind bone-white skin as the man realized that his anger had just driven him to defy a man whose orders had already struck dead many of his militia guards. Kamatero simply nodded in acknowledgement of Pagkrati’s sudden fear, before turning to the pair of guards standing behind the other man. “Please escort Mr. Pagkrati back to his accommodations here in the Megaron,” Kamatero said, emphasizing the foreign courtesy title as one last jab at the loss of Pagkrati’s real one. The guards roughly grabbed the man as he twitched, apparently forcing himself not to struggle; he was intelligent enough to know that armed men did not appreciate resistance. He let his mouth run instead: “Don’t think you’ve seen the end of this, Kamatero. Thesprotia won’t stand for it! You’re throwing out centuries of tradition and history, threatening Makarian overreach among the tribes formed to fight against just that thing…!” Whatever else he had to say was muffled by the slamming of the conference room door, leaving the remaining vasileis to nervously ponder whatever else he had wanted to say, and what it meant for them that Kamatero had not bothered to listen. The stratigos looked around the table at each of the vasileis remaining. “Perhaps the rest of you would like to read the proposal before objecting,” he suggested idly, as Omonoia passed the document to Monastiraki. As if to prove his ignorance and inability to listen, the man in question immediately grabbed a pen from the table and signed his name to the paper, without doing more than skimming it. Shoving the paper over to Peiraias, Monastiraki turned toward Kamatero with one of the most painful smiles the stratigos had ever seen and said, “Argolida welcomes you, Anax Kamatero. Let me be the first to congratulate you!” Kamatero gave him a thin smile in response. “Thank you, Vasilefs Monastiraki. I will not forget Argolida’s generosity.” Even as he spoke, he saw from the corner of his eye that he could not say the same for Akarnania’s. Peiraias was shaking his head as he looked over the agreement in front of him, and his lips thinned as he read more and more that he did not like. “I cannot do this,” he said finally, pushing the agreement away. “I am not about to sign away the Akarnanians’ already-limited independence for the sake of some personal gain. My people will not stand for it, and for that matter, neither will I.” The man looked Kamatero in the eye and said firmly, “I refuse to repudiate the history of my tribe and of all Achaians for the sake of your ambition. I refuse absolutely.” Kamatero wasn’t entirely surprised. Peiraias had been a very good friend to Kerameikos, just as their fathers had been friends in the previous generation (Peiraias being named after Kamatero’s grandfather, after all). While the man’s resolve was impressive, especially after having seen Pagkrati’s ejection from this and every future council session, resolve alone would not be enough to turn Kamatero away from this path. “Then the Achaian Council has no further need of your services, Peiraias,” the stratigos said simply. “Please return to your accommodations. We will speak within the next few days, I’m sure.” Peiraias, no longer a vasilefs, gritted his teeth and jerkily nodded. He got to his feet on his own, and while the guards standing behind his chair stepped up to escort him, they didn’t lay hands on him as he cooperated with them. But as the group approached the door, Peiraias stopped for a moment and turned to look at Kamatero over his shoulder for a moment. “Pagkrati was right, you know,” he said. “The tribes won’t stand for this. Every time an anax has caused the dissolution of the Kerkyra Compact, it has brought nothing but disaster on all of us. Your father knew that better than most.” “Yet it proved his undoing,” Kamatero replied. “First he remained separate from those he wished to command, and encouraged their various independent pursuits. Then he tried to punish them for doing as they desired, despite their rights according to his interpretation of the law. The Kerkyra Compact demands too much separation for the Achaian people to stand together in the face of international adversity, and it requires too much interpretation on the parts of the anax and the vasileis to allow for harmonious interactions between them. When we face rival nations across our borders or far away, we cannot afford for our people to stand against one another rather than the true threat. The anakate was founded on the principle of strong leadership, regardless of the weaknesses of the people it defended. The Kerkyra Compact has subverted that principle since the day it was promulgated. If I am to bring the Achaian people into the present age, I must be given the tools to do so, and those instruments that have been used to bind my predecessors must be taken away.” Peiraias’s frown was answer enough. The now-former vasilefs turned his back on the rest of the room and stepped through the door, followed by his escort, which closed the door behind him. Kamatero stared at the door for a moment longer, considering the implications of both Pagkrati and Peiraias leaving the Achaian Council, before turning his attention back to the four vasileis whose scheming had played such a large role in his ascendency. “I trust that I won’t have such resistance from you, Vasileis?” Exarcheia scoffed. “I thought I wouldn’t have problems with Kerameikos, either, but look what happened,” she said scornfully. “And I was well within the law every time!” Kamatero nodded at the vasilissa’s complaint. “That kind of ambiguity is why I wish to see the Kerkyra Compact replaced with something agreeable to all of us.” “We are agreeable first and foremost to our independence,” Vasilissa Kaisariani said as she read the contract over Exarcheia’s shoulder. “You can’t hope to wipe away our authority entirely. Even if we were to agree to it, the tribes would rise up against you and put someone else in charge in our places.” Exarcheia and Kypseli both nodded at this. Omonoia simply listened, no doubt hoping that the more experienced leaders would accidentally leave her some hints as to her best course of action. Kamatero pretended not to notice; he was sure that Kypseli, at least, was of the same mind. “As long as this contract allows us to negotiate in good faith for the best possible replacement for the Kerkyra Compact, though… The first clause is simply to acknowledge you as anax, and the third is to dissolve the offices of the Megaron. We came here to do the first, and the state of the Megaron is no business of the vasileis. I’ll sign.” Exarcheia glanced over at Kaisariani as the latter took the contract out of her hands and put pen to paper. As soon as the vasilissa of the Serrians had made her mark, that of the Lakonians pulled the contract back to her and said to Kamatero, “When will we see the replacement of the Kerkyra Compact?” “I intend to negotiate it with you tomorrow,” Kamatero answered. “I’m not leaving Kerkyra without a finished agreement,” Exarcheia said flatly. “We can’t accept any delay. The others were right, no matter how pathetically they pointed it out: The Kerkyra Compact is the basis of our existence as Achaians. The tribes cannot exist as both a part and independent of the Peloponnese if they do not have a document in place to define their limits, and the reciprocal limits of the Peloponnese.” The guards behind the vasilissa shifted slightly as they considered dragging her out of the room, too, but Kamatero shook his head at them as Exarcheia insisted, “I will not leave without completed negotiations, and I encourage the rest of the vasileis to follow me in that call.” “Seconded,” Kypseli said firmly. Kamatero nodded. “As I don’t intend for such negotiations to take any longer than a day, I have no objection to extending your visit as long as it must be extended to ensure that we are in agreement before you return to your people.” Vasilissa Exarcheia seemed hesitant to accept Kamatero’s word alone, but finally took up her pen and signed the document. Kaisariani took it from her and passed it to Kamatero, who in turn passed it back to Kypseli. “Do you have any objections, Vasilissa?” The woman sighed and picked up a pen as she took the paper in Kamatero’s hands. “I look forward to these negotiations tomorrow,” she said simply, signing her name and passing the document along to Omonoia. The youngest vasilissa looked at the paper once again, and Kamatero wondered if she realized just what it would change for the Kalymnians she had ruled for no more than a month. Did she fully understand her own tribe, or was she simply capable of listening to good advice? Did the Kalymnians want what she wanted, and would either of them get what they wanted from the agreement Kamatero had passed along? Did this woman, who had caused Kamatero so many headaches while living in New Peloponnese, still intend to butt heads with the man she had helped to raise to power? Omonoia vacillated for a long moment, and Kamatero fought the twitch of impatience that came over his hands as he saw her oh-so-hesitantly reach for her pen. He certainly didn’t remember her being this timid when she had begun an illegal people trafficking ring under his nose—but then, he thought in satisfaction as Omonoia finally signed her name to the document, he had shown her the error of her ways in that instance, and in several others besides. Now she knew the risks and responsibilities she bore. And now it was time to show her the rewards. Kamatero smiled as the document was passed back to him. He looked over the signatures to ensure that they were valid, before handing the document back to Colonel Orestis and turning his smile to the vasileis sitting before him. “Thank you for placing your trust in me,” the newly-dubbed anax said solemnly. “From this point onward, things are going to change. But I can guarantee that they will change for the better… for all of us.” |
![]() MAKARIA to the Achaian People: Be as Many as the Stars | |
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7:51 AM Jul 11