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Anno Domini 826, july 16
My complacency—resting on my laurels—had cost me dearly, and recently I had begun to squeeze hard every scrap of knowledge I possessed, even when it was little, because that little knowledge could still lead to major technological advances.
A clear example was bacteria, the greatest cause of death. The calamity did not end with the battle; infections claimed even more lives. Sepsis mocked me, dragging many more to the grave through infections that no ointment nor any recommendation from the "physicians" of Ainos could stop. Infection advanced into gangrene and then death, because they did not even possess the proper tools to amputate when there was still time.
Remembering that Penicillium mold could inhibit bacterial growth, I decided to take a gamble. I left bread exposed in a dark, humid place, hoping it would be covered in green or blue mold. I was no scientist capable of isolating Penicillium precisely; I only knew that there was a chance that some bread might develop the correct mold. I began testing it on workers with infected wounds, applying the mold regularly. Sometimes it worsened the wound; other times it improved it.
When I finally managed to obtain a relatively stable mold that helped with infected wounds, I preserved it and began to expand it in one of my houses, allowing that strain to propagate on different foods. I then ground it and mixed it with some of the ointments those physicians recommended, so they would actually work. I had probably created the first antibacterial salve—or at least one that could be produced in large quantities.
This, of course, had to be used with extreme caution. I knew that bacteria resistant to almost everything existed because of uncontrolled antibiotic use. I did not even want to imagine what might happen if, centuries later, a fully resistant strain emerged—at a time when no one even understood bacterial theory. Such a cure could easily become a weapon if bacteria developed resistance.
In addition, I made bathing every three days mandatory and began imitating Varangian customs: grooming hair and beard regularly, and always washing hands and face. I even started giving away razors to encourage it.
Another thing I began doing—besides distributing plows and allowing the use of my horses—was integrating the Norfolk agricultural system. Watching people dig parallel furrows for seeds, I noticed they divided their land into four parts and cultivated only three, leaving one fallow. I recommended that the fourth plot be planted with alfalfa and provided cattle so that, once the forage grew, they could graze on it. Their manure would fertilize the soil, and subsequent crops would be far better.
That said, this was the Byzantine Empire—or the Roman Empire, as many still called it, though little of Rome remained. What did remain, however, was what had defined Rome. As such, several parcels of land I had rented to groups of families began planting olive trees. It would take years for them to bear fruit, but when they did, I could charge well, while smaller plots were dedicated to basic agriculture. Much of their income came from mercenary wages, pensions, or work in the smithy, so they could afford to wait in the long term.
It was little, but it was the best I could do with my knowledge—which amounted to what I had learned in school: history, chemistry, and some biology. Beyond that, I had some military knowledge, which could not be fully applied to medieval warfare, and my understanding of smithing. Outside of that, I had very few skills that truly helped me survive here.
My legal knowledge was useless; the laws were different, and I had no intention of studying to practice law here. So my skills were limited. Well… except for all those self-defense classes that made me very dangerous when someone put their leg where they shouldn't.
On top of that, the strategos sent me the twelve volumes of the Strategikon. Twelve books on how the Byzantine Empire wages war. Who would have imagined that the Romans considered fighting a battle to be the last of all options? Even if one wins, all that is gained is meager glory and a field full of dead men.
There were entire chapters on preparing for ambushes, the importance of supplies—which was obvious—but also reminders to generals, who often did not know hunger, that people needed to eat. Dozens upon dozens of hypothetical scenarios detailing what a general should do upon observing certain enemy actions, how to deceive enemy scouts into miscounting troops, how to gain strategic advantage, how to conduct sieges, and the tactics of the peoples surrounding the empire when the book was written.
According to the book and its recommendations, fighting enemies whose goal is loot and slaves does not mean confronting them immediately, but allowing them to fill their hands with plunder, burden themselves with captives, and then striking them on their return—when they are more concerned with their riches and prisoners than with fighting. This makes it far easier for them to choose flight with their hands full, leaving open the possibility of a simpler victory as they flee in panic, trying to save their valuables.
In addition, there were all the personal annotations made by Strategos Leon Skleros. The chapters with the most markings and comments were those on espionage and counterintelligence. Damn it—even tricks on how to detect spies were included. Whoever had written this must have been a true Byzantine general; everything was so detailed that one could easily imagine it in practice.
Skleros had also added many of his own techniques. He made it clear that he maintained an extensive network of informants in Bulgaria among slaves and merchants. Even many Greek scribes sent him information. There were numerous notes on how to insert spies by exploiting how foreign societies functioned, how to identify enemy agents, which words were difficult to pronounce for someone not from the region—things like that.
And then a very vivid memory from my time in Bulgaria came back to me.
What if the man I killed in Bulgaria had been one of Skleros' spies?
Damn it… I must have looked like an idiot. If he was a spy, he had been extremely valuable. But if he wasn't—
then he had been very dangerous.
The days flew by as I read the books, but in addition to working on all my plans and remaining obsessed with building a blast furnace to produce steel in large quantities, I also used the profits from the slave sales to recruit more mercenaries, rebuild my numbers, and purchase two additional damaged dromons, which were sent for repair.
The income from the smithy continued to rise as its workload increased. It became normal for soldiers from the themata to travel here to buy swords, and from time to time an armor was sold, although the price meant that not just anyone could afford one. It easily equaled an entire year of income for a themata soldier after selling his entire harvest.
For that reason, I simply waited until I had as many suits of armor and swords as possible before going to Constantinople to see whether the Varangians would want to buy more.
In the months that followed, Skleros' new kentarchos arrived and put the place in order. Apparently, so much time without danger had left all the men of the thema in terrible condition. There were no regular watches, the maritime towers were left unguarded, and patrols were minimal. There seemed to be corruption involved, because according to the records Ainos was supposed to have around two thousand themata soldiers, meaning the garrison should have been five hundred men, not one hundred.
The previous kentarchos must have been altering records in exchange for bribes so people would not be included in the annual rotation. So Skleros might kill him—or send him to the harshest front against the Bulgarians, which was essentially the same thing.
Ainos became very active once all the soldiers were finally mobilized as they should have been. Watchtowers were fully manned, roads were protected, and even night patrols were established.
That gave me all the time in the world to rebuild my numbers, harden the training even further, and impose strict discipline—even on the rowers of my dromons. Before, they stayed near the harbor drinking and enjoying their pay; now I had them rowing on the lake on my property, using a rowing system where they spent hours every day strengthening their arms and abdomen.
With my income, I could afford to maintain around seven hundred mercenaries and four hundred sailors—a considerable number of people working for me. I made sure they were properly equipped. I would not sell armor until all my mercenaries had brigantines, helmets, and mail. Investment in training had to be protected with extreme care.
Months passed like this, and I began training my men using audible signals to transmit orders, teaching the sergeants what each sound meant. I did not want to repeat the previous failure caused by lack of communication.
"Kapetanios," said a rider while watching my men train.
"Speak," I replied, hands on my hips.
"The kentarchos sent me to inform you that a large group of ships has been sighted sailing toward the area. They should arrive by dusk. Have your men ready in case fighting is necessary. The ships are not imperial," the rider said.
"Well, that's a change," I replied. "I'll be at the port or wherever they land. Any idea how many ships?"
"The lookouts counted around thirty ships. They weren't very large, but there may be more. Have your men ready," the rider said before riding back toward the kastron.
Without wasting time, I called my men from the camp, and within minutes we had most of the company armed and ready for combat, marching with nearly a thousand men toward the port—almost all equipped with brigantines, gorgets, and helmets, with clear distinction between crossbowmen and spearmen.
So unless the enemy outnumbered us massively, this time I had many ideas on how to fight them.
Such as letting them sack Ainos, waiting a few hours, and then striking when they were busy with the loot.
Upon arrival, I met with the kentarchos, who showed me a map he had commissioned of the city, marking which areas were suitable for landing and from where they could attack once ashore.
We had seven dromons in the harbor, so if their ships were small it was unlikely they would attempt a direct assault on the port. In addition, two of those ships were equipped with Greek fire siphons, so this time we were well prepared.
Hours passed, and we had nearly two thousand men between the thema forces and my own. The pirates were going to have a very bad time.
Then we began to see the ships approaching, and as they drew closer I noticed they were drakkars.
"Ah… they're Varangians," I said to the kentarchos.
"I've never fought them… are they very tough?" the kentarchos asked, watching the ships approach the harbor.
"Yes, they are," I replied. "I saw a group of thirty fight once, and they cleared an entire pirate ship on their own."
The kentarchos grew nervous at that.
"Perhaps it would be wise, instead of expelling them immediately, to go to the walls and harass them," he said after thinking for a moment.
"There's a chance I know exactly who they are," I replied.
"How so?" the kentarchos asked.
"I made a deal with a Varangian. I gave him a large number of armors and swords to sell for me—fully within the law," I answered.
"So… they could be those Varangians," the kentarchos said.
"Yes. They could be," I replied. "We need to stay alert. They may not be looking for a fight."
"Let's hope so," the kentarchos said. "Because if their martial ferocity is anything like they say, they could roll right over us. My men are in terrible condition."
The drakkars approached, and we watched as several of the ships began to dock. Some were even smaller than a standard drakkar, resembling fishing vessels more than warships.
The ships docked in the harbor under the watchful eyes of my sailors aboard their own vessels.
When I saw that the Varangians seemed concerned, and that several ships were full of women and children who were not bound—although some were—I knew exactly who they were.
"It's them," I told the kentarchos.
"These pagans won't cause trouble, will they?" the kentarchos asked.
"They shouldn't. And if they do, I'll pay for everything," I replied.
"Well, that's good to know," the kentarchos said. "False alarm. Return to your posts and your homes!" he shouted to his men.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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