Hello there I'm fine

As Emperor Romanos IV Diogenes, I undertook the campaign leading to the Battle of Manzikert in 1071 with a clear objective: to secure the eastern borders of the Byzantine Empire and repel the escalating threat of the Seljuk Turks under Sultan Alp Arslan.

The Seljuks had been steadily encroaching on our territories in Anatolia, and I understood that only a decisive military response could safeguard the Empire. I assembled a vast army, drawing soldiers from every corner of the Empire—Byzantine regulars, mercenaries, and allies such as the Pechenegs, Armenians, and Normans. However, despite its size, this force was plagued by internal divisions. Rivalries among my generals and factionalism within the ranks made unity and cohesion difficult to maintain.

In the spring of 1071, I led my forces eastward, intent on recapturing the strategic town of Manzikert and forcing a direct confrontation with Alp Arslan. We reached Manzikert on 23 August and swiftly took the town, but I knew that the true challenge lay ahead.

On 26 August, I ordered my army to advance, hoping to draw the Seljuks into open battle. My forces were arranged in three main divisions: I commanded the centre, Nikephoros Bryennios led the right wing, and Basilakes, my trusted Armenian general, commanded the left. The rear guard was entrusted to Andronikos Doukas, a man whose loyalty I increasingly questioned.

The Seljuks, however, were masters of manoeuvre. Alp Arslan's forces avoided direct engagement, instead harassing my troops with archers and swift cavalry raids. As the day wore on, my soldiers began to tire, their ranks thinning under the relentless pressure.

Realising that a decisive victory was unattainable that day, I ordered a withdrawal to regroup. But disaster struck. My orders were either misinterpreted or deliberately ignored by Andronikos Doukas, who treacherously withdrew his troops from the field. Whether driven by personal animosity or political ambition, his betrayal left my forces exposed at the worst possible moment.

Sensing the confusion and disarray within my ranks, Alp Arslan seized the opportunity and launched a full-scale assault. My army, now leaderless and demoralised, quickly collapsed. The Seljuks overwhelmed us, and I was captured.

In the aftermath, I was brought before Alp Arslan. To my surprise, he treated me with a measure of respect, though he symbolically asserted his victory by placing his foot on my neck. Nevertheless, instead of executing me, he offered terms for my release—ransom and a promise of peace. It was a moment of profound humiliation, yet I knew that the Empire's survival hinged on my return.

However, the consequences of my defeat at Manzikert extended far beyond the battlefield. When I returned to Constantinople, I found the political landscape irrevocably changed. My rivals, capitalising on my failure, overthrew me. I was betrayed, blinded, and eventually exiled, left to die in ignominy.

The Battle of Manzikert, which I had hoped would secure my legacy as the saviour of the Empire, instead marked the beginning of its decline. The loss of Anatolia to the Seljuks was the first in a series of events that would weaken the Empire beyond repair. My reign ended in ruin, and the Byzantine Empire would never again regain its former strength.