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Well… it hadn't turned out that badly.
The State would cover part of the wages, but I couldn't pay a man who risked his life the same as a peasant. According to my father, a thematic soldier was paid barely one solidus a year; the rest of his livelihood came from the land he cultivated. Even so, I had to pay at least six miliaresia a month to attract people willing to fight, and that would eat through my savings quickly.
If I hired the full hundred men, my reserves would be gone by the end of the year. Clearly I couldn't do that until the forge began generating real income, but for the time being everything we produced had to be used to equip this force, not sold.
All of this because of the stupid decision to remain living on dangerous land. All that gold could have been used to buy a textile workshop in Constantinople and live as cloth merchants. But no. Instead, I now had to juggle a few hundred solidi, miliaresia, and thousands of folles just to avoid ending up with my throat cut by Bulgarians.
I couldn't afford to arm them like walking fortresses or cataphracts either. That would require extremely expensive armor which, even with materials and labor available, would take time and many solidi to complete.
So I had to arm them in the cheapest way possible—while still remaining effective.
The answer was obvious: the crossbow.
Lethal, reliable, and within my budget. With a hundred solidi I could equip them all. Padded jackets and crossbows, modeled after Genoese crossbowmen, were the best option available.
They were also easy to train. Archers were out of the question: the only experienced ones already served in the armies of the themata, and I would never be allowed to recruit them. Any trained archer was far too valuable.
The crossbow, by contrast, was a simple mechanism to produce.
So, over the following weeks, instead of going to Adrianople to recruit men for my armed force, I recruited more smiths—and quite literally stole apprentices from some carpenters. I ended up with thirty workers in the forge: twenty-six blacksmiths and four carpenters.
With the planting season approaching, I began selling hoes quickly—but iron ones, not steel. No sane man would use steel for a farming tool instead of a weapon. I sold them for four miliaresia to local merchants, leaving them the task of finding buyers.
I was producing around twenty hoes a day. After costs, I earned three miliaresia per piece.
If the pace held, I would make around one hundred and forty solidi per month. After wages, that left me with roughly one hundred and twenty gold coins—enough to keep the forge running and finance an expansion with more furnaces, because we were already operating at capacity.
Always keeping an eye on the Evros and taking advantage of the fact that the forces of the thema were alert, I focused on beginning crossbow production.
Two carpenters worked on making the stocks. Five smiths forged the steel bows. Two others worked exclusively on the mechanisms. Everything was assembled by a trusted smith who specialized in putting the crossbows together.
A week passed quickly, and sales continued to go well. Orders began to arrive for horseshoes, tool repairs, and other minor jobs that could be done easily—essential work to maintain a steady income.
By that point, we had four furnaces running without pause, producing both iron and steel. By the end of March we had established a fast and efficient production system: one third of the forge dedicated to crossbows, one third to producing mail shirts, and the final third focused on sales and civilian work. The system worked. We produced one mail shirt per week and one crossbow every two days, and we already had a smith working exclusively on manufacturing bolts.
As soon as I had gathered the first twenty crossbows, I set out for Adrianople.
The city market was full of movement. Peasants were buying tools and seeds; others were negotiating land leases for the upcoming planting season. It was the perfect moment.
I climbed onto my cart, wearing my personal armor. The moment I rose above it, I noticed eyes beginning to fix on me.
"Hear me, people of Adrianople! Roman brothers… with the permission of the strategos Leon of Macedonia and under imperial authorization. I, Basil, son of this great city, bring you an offer. Like many of you, I suffered at the hands of the pagan Bulgarians, where I spent more than a decade as a slave. But the Bulgarian threat has not ended. Those dogs still roam our fields, waiting for the chance to prey upon our people—the richest and most powerful civilization history has ever known. Therefore, anyone seeking vengeance against them is welcome to serve in my defense force to halt Bulgarian incursions. All who accept the terms will be paid five miliaresia and given food every day."
I raised my voice, giving weight to every word.
People watched. Some ignored me and went on with their lives, but little by little a group began to form in front of me—a mix of young men and adults listening carefully, clearly interested in my offer.
At that moment, a group of around fifty people gathered, and I began opening my coin reserves.
I didn't allow myself the luxury of choosing. I recruited them all. In chaos, a man can always be trained to use a spear, even without prior experience.
I handed each of them their five silver coins and immediately struck deals with local smokehouses to deliver food daily. Feeding half a hundred recruits was non-negotiable.
Without much delay, the area outside the forge turned into a small training field. There, I put my military instincts to the test—or rather, applied the basic techniques I had learned by observing drill sergeants during my time in the army.
I began with the simplest thing: the use of the crossbow. I had more recruits than weapons, but that wasn't a problem. The crossbows could be passed from hand to hand so everyone could begin to familiarize themselves with the process.
I taught them to place a foot over the bow to apply pressure, grab the string with both hands, and draw it back until it caught on the mechanism. Then to place the bolt and prepare the weapon to fire.
Once everything was ready, I set up a few dummies using the most basic Bulgarian armor. I did not expect to face heavily armed Bulgarian cavalry, only bands of raiders, so I used straw mannequins fitted with padded Bulgarian jackets. I had them train all day using the crossbow, as well as spear and shield—learning how to defend themselves instead of wasting time on basic physical conditioning. Considering Bulgarians could appear at any moment, it was better to know how to survive a fight than to have strong bodies and no idea what to do.
Imitating Roman methods, I didn't take long to have them training with wooden weapons that weighed far more than a real sword or spear, and shields much heavier than standard issue.
The first day of training consisted of circular rotations so everyone learned the basics of whatever weapon they might need to use to defend themselves. It didn't take long before I saw trembling legs—men barely able to remain standing.
Ideally, they should have been subjected to full-time military life, but I neither had the capacity nor the infrastructure to house fifty men permanently. So I allowed them to return to their homes, ordering them to be back at the training field at first light, already knowing I would likely have to discipline someone for arriving late.
The next day, just as expected, forty men showed up. The other ten were nowhere to be seen.
Immediately I realized I had screwed up. I hadn't drafted legal contracts, so they could simply walk away with the money I had already paid them. While I put the rest to work, I went to Adrianople and spent two gold coins on papyrus and ink to begin writing contracts. Papyrus was absurdly expensive, but there was no alternative—the paper was not available, and I had no idea how it was even made, aside from involving trees and countless processes.
Meanwhile, I sat on a chair writing contracts, detailing their obligations and duties alongside mine, more than fifty times. It reminded me how much I missed computers—now I had to handwrite fifty contracts of three or four pages each to leave no legal gaps.
As soon as I finished, I called in those who had arrived and made them sign with their names. I would later formalize everything through a tabularius so that, in cases like this, I could enforce fines or even prison. Serving armed and abandoning one's post bordered on desertion—something I needed to discuss with the strategos, because fear of severe punishment was an effective motivator.
Finally, five of the missing ten arrived. It was obvious they had been drinking the night before.
"Oh, you finally arrive," I said, observing the position of the sun. "You should have been here a long time ago."
I leaned on my axe and stared at them.
They looked nervous, but showed no real remorse.
"Fine. Ten strikes with a wooden rod each, then back to training," I said. But the largest of the group looked furious.
"I didn't agree to this to get beaten," the brute growled.
"This is discipline, idiot," I said coldly, swinging my axe slowly in front of them. "Do you think we'll be drunk and celebrating while fighting Bulgarians? Are you really that stupid? Do you honestly think I'd allow drinking beer or wine during training if I had any way to keep you here without subjecting you to miserable conditions? In your case—twenty strikes."
"Go to hell," the brute replied.
"Fine. Do whatever you want," I said calmly. "Today I'll speak with the strategos and see if I can request your execution for desertion, along with your friends, for refusing punishment. Since you're under imperial service, you are subject to imperial law. If you want to keep your head, I suggest you run. I hope the beer was sweet—because now you'll spend your life running from Adrianople."
His eyes widened.
One of them dropped to his knees immediately. "Please, Afénti, I have a family," he begged, hands clasped.
Two more followed.
"I will show mercy," I said. "Grab that one and bring him here for punishment," pointing at the rebel, who stared at his companions in disbelief.
They didn't hesitate. Even though he was bigger and stronger, four desperate men throwing themselves at him left him helpless.
"Hey! Help with him! Drive a wooden post into the ground and bring a rope!" I shouted to the men training nearby.
They quickly dropped their practice weapons and rushed over to help restrain him.
With a shovel, we dug a hole and planted a wooden post. With effort, they forced the brute against it, tying his hands so his back was exposed.
I took a wooden rod. As everyone watched and the man began screaming, I struck him repeatedly—hard, loud, deliberate. Twenty blows, exactly as I had said.
"Now you," I said, turning to the other four, as the ropes were removed and the brute collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his red, swollen back.
"Afénti—" one of them tried to speak.
"NO APOLOGIES. THE PUNISHMENT FOR BEING LATE STANDS ALL THE SAME!" I shouted. "TAKE IT WITH COURAGE AND MAKE SURE THIS NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN."
They took position. I struck them with much less force—enough to leave marks, nothing like what came before.
"Now come here and sign this. Then go into the city and bring back the other five who are missing so they can receive their punishment—or I will hunt them like rats for desertion," I said.
After signing, they ran toward the city.
The brute was crying, clutching his back.
I kicked him in the stomach. "Get up, you crybaby. You're training anyway," I said coldly. "And sign this as well," I added, pointing to his contract.
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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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