Winter was coming

Winter is coming

In October 1610, on the East European Plain, not far from the border of the Eastern Roman Empire, hundreds of defeated soldiers were retreating south.

"There are too many enemies. Where did they get so many people?"

Varro Palaiologos wrapped himself tightly in his thick military overcoat and trudged along the muddy dirt road.

The sky darkened, the Steppe a barren yellow, and several gunshots rang out from the distant birch forest, as if urging everyone to flee for their lives.

"The Cossacks cavalry of Ryazan!"

Hearing the cries of the fleeing soldiers, Varro glanced north in panic and vaguely saw some black dots appearing on the northern horizon. He immediately shouted to his men, "Assemble! Fix bayonets! Form a hollow square formation with me as the reference point!"

A cold wind swept by, and the routed soldiers from the other units ignored the young captain's orders and scattered and fled.

Varro glanced at the twenty-odd Militia nearby, who were under his command. However, they had long since lost faith in their commander and were unwilling to follow him to their deaths.

Helpless, Varro fled with the fleeing soldiers, with the screams of infantry and the sound of horses' hooves echoing behind him from time to time, until his own light cavalry joined the battle, ending the pursuit.

"Finally here."

Varro and two fleeing soldiers hid behind an overturned wagon, watching the battle between the two light cavalry.

Our cavalry wore black cylindrical hats and light gray uniforms, and were equipped with Sabre or light lances. More than half of the personnel had voluntarily purchased flintlock pistols for long-range firepower.

The Ryazan cavalry were similarly dressed, but their caps were thicker, their overcoats were pure black, and they were not equipped with flintlock pistols.

As the two sides closed in, the Eastern Roman Empire cavalrymen, with their weapons in their right hands and pistols raised in their left, aimed and fired at the enemy within ten paces.

Bang! Bang!

After a burst of chaotic gunfire, more than a dozen Ryazan cavalrymen fell from their horses, and the two sides immediately engaged in fierce fighting. The Eastern Roman Empire light cavalry, which outnumbered the enemy, quickly scattered them.

After the battle, Varro saw that the cavalry company had more than ten spare horses and asked to borrow one so he could return to Scythian Fort as soon as possible to deliver the message.

The cavalry captain checked his colleague's officer's badge. Although it said Varro Palaiologos, there were too many Palaiologos, and civilians often used this surname to swindle people.

He sat on his saddle, looking down at his fair-skinned, handsome colleague. "Are you a commoner or Imperial Clan?"

"I belong to the Tripoli branch of the Despot family, and am the second son of the Imperial Clan."

He's just another good-for-nothing who coasts through his family background in the military.

The cavalry captain observed the fleeing soldiers and looked down on this guy from the bottom of his heart.

However, given the other party's special status, he still ordered his subordinates to provide a warhorse to take the other party back to Scythian Fort, a major town on the East European Plain.

Just two weeks ago, Varro set off with his troops, never imagining that the battle would be lost so quickly.

A cold wind howled, and large numbers of defeated soldiers were stopped outside the city gates for reorganization, while civilians lined up in long queues to enter the city.

Varro thanked the cavalry officer, then dismounted and identified himself to the clerk in charge of registration. "Varro Palaiologos, Company Commander of the 1st Company, 3rd Battalion, Third Battalion, 17th Border Defense Brigade, Deputy Battalion Commander during wartime. My unit was routed by the enemy during the retreat."

So many troops had been routed in this battle that the clerk was used to it. He wrote this man's information in the register and told him, "Your brigade remains at its original location. Don't wander off. Anyone who disobeys will be treated as a deserter!"

Varro returned to the camp dejectedly. It was empty. Of the 500 infantrymen who had set out, only 15 wounded soldiers who had not gone to war and some support staff remained.

(A century and a half later, the organization of the armed forces changed, and the regimental level emerged, while the size of an infantry battalion was reduced from one thousand to five hundred.)

After speaking briefly with the remaining personnel, Varro returned to his private room and began writing the operation log.

In fact, there's really nothing to write about.

During the decisive battle, I was ordered to garrison a village, and then, in a daze, I received orders from headquarters: the main force had been defeated, and we were to retreat immediately.

During the retreat, they were ambushed by the Ryazan army and suffered a hasty defeat...

After finishing the last paragraph, he signed the report and walked to the brigade command post on the northeast side of the base.

At this moment, the deputy brigade commander and several staff officers returned, huddled together sighing, and the room was filled with the strong smell of tobacco and alcohol.

"Report, this is my combat log."

Varro didn't want to stay in this atmosphere of failure and negativity, so he chatted with everyone for a few minutes before leaving.

A week later, the defeated soldiers gradually returned to the border defense brigade's garrison. Of the 5,300 who set out, less than 2,000 returned.

Due to severe staff shortages, the entire unit lost its combat effectiveness, and the command requested the transfer of new recruits from higher authorities, but has yet to receive a response.

Varro thought to himself, "New recruits will be given priority to field units, and units like ours that have suffered defeats will probably be at the bottom of the list."

The situation is urgent; the entire border defense brigade may have to be disbanded, and its members will be temporarily assigned to other units to make do.

On November 1st, in the early morning, Varro was summoned to the Brigade Headquarters.

The brigade commander gave the man a complicated look and handed him a document. "I just received news that the Despot has passed away in a hospital in Constantinople. Your lawyer has informed you to return and inherit his estate."

The 16th and 17th border defense brigades are about to merge, resulting in a surplus of officers. Headquarters has given you a two-month leave. Good luck, Captain.

What's going on?

Varro's mind went blank, and he almost fell to the ground. The nearby staff officer quickly helped him up and lit a cigarette for him.

After a few minutes, when the cigarette had burned out, he took the documents back to the camp to complete the formalities, packed his luggage, and went to the banks of the Don River.

Since the defeat at the front, large numbers of civilians have attempted to migrate south by boat, fleeing to the safer Tauris Province, or even the empire itself.

Varro went to the ticket window. The next steamship was leaving in an hour, and there was only one expensive first-class ticket left.

"This is the class."

He handed over a banknote and received a ticket and some change from the ticket seller.

As he was leaving the ticket hall, two military police officers stopped the officer and carefully checked his identification and leave certificate to confirm that he was not deserting.

After a long while, Varro escaped the inspection and headed towards the dock with his suitcase.

Dozens of boats of various sizes were moored along the riverbank, mostly traditional sailing ships, and ten steam paddle steamers.

Steamships share a similar structure, with a towering funnel in the center of the deck, and steam engines providing power to drive paddle wheels on both sides of the hull.

"Get on the boat quickly!"

The captain rang the bronze bell, the sailors stowed the heavy anchor, and the steam engine below deck began to operate.

Bang, bang.

The ship trembled slightly, the paddle wheels on both sides began to turn, and more and more smoke billowed from the funnel. The steamship gradually left the riverbank and sailed south along the light gray, tranquil Don River.

From Scythian Fort to the estuary, the entire journey is 400 kilometers. The steamship does not rely on wind power and maintains a stable speed of eight knots (14.8 kilometers per hour). Including the time spent at night, the entire journey takes only one and a half days.

Inland steamships have a shallow draft, a flat-bottomed hull, and a long and wide body. They are good at navigating calm waterways but are not suitable for complex sea conditions.

At a seaport near the mouth of the Don River, Varro transferred to a seagoing vessel.

This ship uses a hybrid power system, with a funnel in the center of the deck and paddle wheels on both sides, but retains a foremast and aft mast to provide some wind power.

With a deck length of approximately sixty meters and a total displacement of two thousand tons, it exceeded that of most sailing Battleship of the past.

On the eve of departure, cranes on the shore continued to hoist coal into the ship's hold.

The coal here comes from the Tarol Coalfield (later known Donbas Coalfield) to the Northwest, about 100 kilometers from the coast, and was the largest coal mine in the Eastern Roman Empire. The coal is diverse and suitable for different uses.

About 300 kilometers west of the Tarol Coalfield, a super-large Iron Mine (later known as the Krivoy Rog Iron Mine) was recently discovered. The Iron Mine is of extremely high quality. It is located on the west bank of the Dnieper River and is part of the Poland-Lithuania Commonwealth.

The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was no longer as powerful as it once was, and had become a second-rate power. It was under increasing pressure from Ryazan and was forced to form an alliance with the Eastern Roman Empire.

Initially, the king agreed to hand over half of the Iron Mine fields to the Eastern Roman Empire for operation, which provoked strong opposition from the Principality of Ryazan.

The Grand Duke of Ryazan was eager to industrialize and change the country's backward state, so he naturally wouldn't let go of the high-quality coal and iron ore deposits in the south.

Last year, the various factions failed to reach an agreement, House of Habsburg and Ryazan formally declared war on the Eastern Roman Empire.

The sea breeze howled as Varro sat on the upper deck of the ship's dock, reading the newspaper and worrying about the future of the empire.

" In Europe, we face the House of Habsburg and Ryazan; in Asia, the Safavid Persia; and we're at war with three countries simultaneously. In the Mediterranean Sea and Indian Ocean, we also face competition from France. Our luck is terrible."

In just eight days, the ships sailed from the mouth of the Don River to Constantinople.

If it is summer or autumn, when the sea conditions are calm, the time can be shortened to one week.

A light rain was falling from the sky, and through the hazy gray mist, the outline of Constantinople slowly emerged. First came the towering Galata, the Golden Horn Clock Tower, and the Hagia Sophia, followed by the other buildings.

As the ship sailed into the interior of Golden Horn, the noise suddenly became chaotic, with the roar of machinery and the clamor of voices.

Varro remembered that many years ago, the City Hall's statistics showed 1.2 million residents. He felt that the city's population had increased somewhat, and the next census might show 1.3 million.

Upon arriving at the dock, he flagged down a black carriage with a sign that read, "38 Baker Street, 14th arrondissement."

The coachman took the money and skillfully drove the carriage to the Tripoli branch's residence.

Upon entering, Varro found that the servants of the mansion were not as welcoming as before, as if he were a stranger.

You're back?

The elder brother, Andrei, sat in the living room reading the newspaper and greeted his younger brother indifferently. His sister-in-law's attitude was even colder; she slammed down the porcelain cup in her hand, turned, and went upstairs.

Varro didn't dwell on these trivial matters and immediately asked, "Where is my father's grave?"

"You know the answer already. High-ranking officials like Despot Chancellor, Border Defense General, and Hereditary Nobility who die in Constantinople are usually buried in St. John's Church." Andrei put down his newspaper and gestured for the butler to notify the relevant personnel.

"Let's settle the inheritance issue first, then you can go to St. John's Church and stay as long as you like."

An hour later, under the supervision of Court Eunuch and City Hall notaries, lawyers from the Emilian Law Firm read a document.

When he inherited the title not long ago, Andrei knew the contents of the document. Now, this is the second time he has heard the will, and his expression remains stiff.

The sister-in-law gripped the hem of her skirt tightly with both hands, trying her best to suppress the hatred in her heart.

According to the principle of primogeniture, Andrei received the title and Tripoli- related properties, but the majority of the remaining assets went to his second son, Varro.

The most valuable item was a two percent stake in the Nile River Railway Company, followed by a forty thousand Hyperpyron deposits at Di Maggio Bank.

A manor in the Levant.

(The current Hyperpyron has the same gold content as the previous Florin; it's just a different name and design.)

After a long pause, the lawyer finished reading the last paragraph of the document. "Your Excellency, the total value of the assets you have inherited is 300,000 Hyperpyron. According to Imperial law, this sum is tax-free. Please sign in these places."

For a century and a half, gold and silver from Central America flowed into Europe in large quantities, increasing the money supply and causing persistent inflation.

Today, a Hyperpyron has a purchasing power equivalent to one-third of that during the time of Vitus.

Even so, 300,000 is still a huge sum of money.

An annual income of a rural farmer is 15 Hyperpyron, while that of a skilled worker and soldier is 30 Hyperpyron.

In the future, Varro won't have to do anything; his annual stock dividends, interest, and land rent will amount to nearly 20,000 gold coins, giving him a standard of living that surpasses that of most people.

Andrei inherited Tripoli, which required money for various things, and the funds available for personal expenses were actually less than those for his brother.

After completing all the formalities, Varro left the mansion.

Although Andrei didn't kick him out, the atmosphere there made it unacceptable for him to stay overnight. Unless Varro relinquished his property, Andrei and his wife wouldn't treat him kindly.

"From now on, this place will no longer be my home."

As darkness fell, the Gas Streetlight on both sides of the street gradually came on. He looked up, letting the cool raindrops fall on his face.

In the distance, the faint sound of bells drifted in. After dusk, the church no longer received visitors, so he abandoned his plan to go there and walked along the street towards another mansion. He called out from outside the door, "Anastasia, it's me!"

Hearing the calls from outside, a woman in her early twenties ran over and opened the courtyard gate.

She is Varro's fiancée and is half Rus. She has fair skin, a tall figure, and striking features with long, light blonde hair.

Her hair was braided into a bun, and she wore a light blue, form-fitting dress with the skirt deliberately flared out to accentuate her curves.

At that moment, two maids approached from the direction of the main house, each carrying a wide-brimmed hat adorned with feathers and a snow-white mink shawl.

Seeing the expressions of the visitor and the mistress, the maid blushed slightly and silently stepped aside.

Varro embraced her full, warm body and immediately kissed her.

"Little dove, I've been thinking about you."

"Close, close the door."

After a long while, in the main bedroom, Anastasia nestled in her fiancé's arms.

"After we get married, you can't date those actresses anymore. You have to love me like Vitus loved his queen."

There are different accounts circulating in the Eastern Roman Empire regarding Vitus's romantic relationships.

Some say that he only had eyes for Queen Agnes. Others, based on historical records, believe that the emperor had more than six lovers. Half a century earlier, a peasant rebellion broke out in northern Levant, and the leader claimed to be a descendant of Vitus's illegitimate son.

However, the royal family firmly denies such rumors and is committed to promoting Vitus and Agnes as a model couple.

Through years of promotion, a custom has developed near Constantinople: before getting married, young people will make a special trip to the tombs of the couple to lay flowers.

Upon hearing Anastasia's request, Varro readily agreed.

However, his mind was not on that at all; instead, he was worried about his future in the army.

"The 17th Border Defense Brigade has been temporarily disbanded. What unit will I be assigned to next? I'm currently in Constantinople gathering information to try and secure a better position."