EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Book II/Chapter 16: The Road to Thebes
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 21:41:10 +0000 UTCThe column of Byzantines, Burgundians, and the rest of the Crusader host wound its way north from Corinth in a shimmering ribbon of steel an
The column of Byzantines, Burgundians, and the rest of the Crusader host wound its way north from Corinth in a shimmering ribbon of steel and color. Under the high afternoon sun, lance tips and helm crests glinted as if aflame. Constantine rode near the head of the formation, the imperial double-headed eagle fluttering on a pennant at his side. To his left, Lord Jean de Croÿ cantered smoothly on a dappled grey charger, the Burgundian cross of St. Andrew streaming behind him. The thud of hooves on packed earth and the creak of leather accompanied their progress through the rolling foothills. Scrub and olive groves lined the road; the air was warm and laced with dust kicked up by thousands of marching feet. Yet despite the sweat beading on brows and the long miles behind and ahead, spirits were high. Greek cavalry joked in their tongue with Flemish pikemen through improvised sign, and occasionally a hearty cheer would rise from the ranks whenever the Emperor looked back. East and West rode as one now an alliance forged in faith and tempered by shared purpose.
Constantine guided his bay stallion a little closer to Jean’s mount, welcoming a brief respite from the clamor. Over the past days, a quiet ease had grown between the two men. In the clear light, Jean’s face appeared open and youthful beneath his polished half-helm, though strands of grizzled hair at his temples and the fine lines around his eyes hinted he was well into his forties. He wore a small satisfied smile as he surveyed the unified host. Constantine, clad in a light cuirass and travel-stained cloak to ward off the dust, returned the smile. For a moment, they rode in companionable silence, the snort of horses and distant shouts of sergeants punctuating the quiet between them.
Jean broke the silence first, his tone light. “Your Majesty, I must confess something has been on my mind during this journey,” he began, adjusting his reins. Constantine arched a brow playfully. “Only one thing, my lord? Surely there are many pressing matters to occupy you, supply wagons, campsite rations, the temperament of our Frankish horses on Greek fodder…”
Jean chuckled warmly. “Those, indeed. But truly, something grander stirs my curiosity. Ever since the day your remarkable books arrived in Burgundy, nearly two years ago, I confess I’ve been quietly consumed. Scholars at court, men whose pride rarely allows astonishment, stood dumbstruck by their precision, their effortless elegance. Some even whispered cautiously of alchemy or sorcery.” He let the words linger for a moment, then softened them with a delicate shake of his head. “Of course, now it is broadly understood that your method involves presses of some ingenious kind, yet the specifics remain tantalizingly elusive.” His smile was conspiratorial, gently inviting the emperor into confidence without demanding it.
Constantine felt a subtle tightening at his chest, the habitual caution that accompanied every inquiry into his miraculous contraption. He summoned a modest, somewhat tired smile, practiced, controlled, conveying enough candor to appear open, yet concealing all that must remain hidden. "Ah, the press," he murmured, with an easy shrug that hinted there was less here than met the eye. "You may find it disappointingly straightforward, Jean, a simple matter, really, of pressing inked letters onto paper."
The path dipped gently, slipping beneath an avenue of overhanging plane trees whose dappled shade offered momentary relief from the heat. As the horses slowed, Constantine leaned slightly forward, his voice intimate, carefully measured. "You see, I have always had something of an obsession with the ancients. In our libraries, there are echoes of old ideas, mentions of mechanisms employing screws and platens, means by which pressure might be evenly and easily applied."
He paused, his hand making a subtle, almost unconscious movement, turning slowly in the air, hinting at something half-mechanical, half-imagined. "With patience, perhaps a stubborn sort of patience, and many quiet failures" he smiled again, this time more genuine, as if amused by his own stubbornness "we merely fused together old insights. Eventually, and I must say rather humbly, something useful emerged."
He let the words drift, understated, gently dismissive, with just enough truth for Jean to grasp, and enough shadow to conceal all else.
Jean listened intently, blue eyes alight with wonder. “You give yourself too little credit, sire. Many might read of such things, but it takes vision to see how to put the pieces together, and courage to risk resources on an unproven endeavor.”
Constantine shrugged lightly, shifting in his saddle as they emerged back into sunlight. He watched motes of dust swirl in a golden beam. “Vision, or luck. Often I feel it was the latter. I was fortunate to have skilled help. Theophilus, my lead scholar and a team of clever smiths and carpenters did the true work of crafting the machine. I only provided… guidance and encouragement.” He offered Jean a crooked smile. “In all honesty, Lord Jean, I relied on knowledge far older and broader than my own. If there is genius in it, it belongs to the wisdom of ages and the hands of my craftsmen, not to me.”
Jean inclined his head, acknowledging the Emperor’s modesty, though he remained unconvinced. To him, it was obvious who the driving mind behind it was. “However it came about, the result borders on miraculous. The Duke of Burgundy himself is enamored of your invention. He treasures the volumes you’ve sent, our scribes in Dijon examined them page by identical page in disbelief.” Jean’s tone grew almost wistful. “The press could spread scripture and knowledge to every corner of Christendom. Imagine, a common ploughman able to own the Word of God or a captain receiving clear ordinances for every company. Yet I confess, sire, too many books in untested hands might unsettle the lowborn; wisdom must be guided.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I think too far ahead. But Duke Philip foresees how this art could strengthen the realm, any realm.”
Constantine felt a small thrill at Jean’s words. It was one thing to nurture his secret hope that the printing press might one day uplift the masses and bolster his empire’s unity; it was another to hear a noble from the West voice a similar dream. He allowed a more genuine smile. “It pleases me to know your Duke shares such a vision. In truth, I believe the press may prove as powerful in shaping the future as any army. We fight to save our empire and faith now, but in the years to come, letters and learning may hold our victory secure.”
They rode on, passing a cluster of thatched cottages set back from the road. A few peasants peered out, then waved timidly as the army passed. Constantine raised a gauntleted hand in return. Jean observed the exchange, the villagers’ faces brightening with cautious hope.
The Burgundian lord cleared his throat gently. “I see why you value such a tool beyond war. Duke Philip did not hesitate to fund your presses and purchase their fruits. And of course…” He paused, as if weighing whether to continue. When he spoke again, his voice was careful, diplomatic. “Of course, Your Majesty, Burgundy’s interest in your endeavors isn’t limited to books. The Duke’s offer of kinship, through Lady Agnes, speaks to how greatly he values alliance with you.”
Constantine kept his face impassive, but he felt his stomach clench at the mention of Lady Agnes of Cleves. He remembered too vividly the Pope’s smiling proposal, the way the wine had nearly turned to vinegar on his tongue at the thought of binding himself to a child. The 21st-century man within him recoiled still. Even now, he forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. He guided his horse around a rut in the road, using the moment to gather his reply. “It is a high honor,” he said evenly. “To be offered a bride from the Duke’s own family… I could not ask for a clearer sign of Burgundy’s commitment.”
Jean nodded, a courteous smile softening his expression. “His Grace believes deeply in forging strong ties, through blood as well as common purpose. Yet he means neither offense nor undue urgency, sire. His wish is merely for a betrothal as a guarantee, an assurance of union once Lady Agnes reaches maturity. He seeks nothing more binding at present, understanding fully that the lady remains a child.” Jean paused, allowing his words to settle, then added gently, “If it pleases God and Your Majesty, of course.”
Constantine exhaled slowly, relieved that Jean acknowledged the unspoken issue. “That is good to hear. I admit, the notion of wedding one so young…” He lowered his voice, for Jean’s ear alone, and allowed a hint of his true feelings to show in his eyes, if not his words. “It troubles my conscience. I have seen too often marriages reduced to mere contracts, with little care for the souls involved. I have no wish to cause the girl any unhappiness or fear.”
Jean’s expression softened with understanding. “You are a compassionate man, Your Majesty. Lady Agnes is fortunate that you consider her wellbeing.” They crested a small rise, and a refreshing breeze met them, tugging at their banners. In the near distance, the plains of Boeotia opened up, dotted with vineyards and cypress groves. Jean continued, “The Duke’s intent is not to burden you, but to bind our fates. Burgundy stands at a crossroad in the West. You may know that in the past we were entangled in the wars between England and France… But those days fade. For years now, Burgundy has trod a delicate path, neither bending the knee to King Henry of England nor to King Charles of France. We chart our own course.”
Constantine nodded slowly. This all accorded with what he’d gleaned from letters and visitors. “It’s a shrewd course. And now Burgundy turns its gaze to the wider horizon, toward us,” he said, meeting Jean’s eyes. “Toward the struggle against the Ottomans.”
Jean guided his horse around a fallen log, the beast sidestepping nimbly. “Indeed. This crusade is a cause that transcends those petty Franco-English squabbles. It unites all of Christendom, or so we hope. His Grace sees in it both a holy duty and an opportunity. By aiding you, by perhaps becoming kin to you, Burgundy secures a lasting friendship with the reborn Eastern Empire. With one niece on your throne, and perhaps one day an imperial nephew or niece of your blood in Burgundy… who can say what the future holds? A true bridge between East and West, under God’s grace.”
Constantine managed a thin smile. The logic was sound, even if the means still pricked at him. “A bridge under God’s grace, yes,” he echoed. “I cannot deny the benefit to my people, a powerful friend in the West, committed by bonds of family as well as faith. It would anchor Burgundy more firmly to our cause and perhaps dissuade any wavering when trials come.” He paused, then added candidly, “I am deeply grateful for Duke Philip’s support, with or without such a marriage. Tell me, Lord Jean, and speak freely… do you think your Duke’s resolve would falter if I, if we did not seal our alliance with matrimony straight away?”
Jean shook his head at once. “Not at all. Burgundy’s knights are here now, pledged to fight. They did not sail all the way to Greece on the promise of a wedding. They came for honor, glory, and the defense of Christendom.” He offered a reassuring smile. “The Duke’s word is given. He would see this crusade through regardless. The proposed union is meant as a pledge of lasting kinship, not a token to purchase our present aid. Please don’t doubt that, sire.”
Relief eased the tightness in Constantine’s chest. “Thank you. That sets my mind at ease.” He found himself genuinely liking Jean de Croÿ, an honest man, if ever there was one in politics. “When you write to your lord, tell him I hold his offer in the highest regard. I will consider it most carefully, with all reverence to Lady Agnes… but only after we have delivered Christendom from the Ottoman threat. Peace first, then marriage alliances.” He flashed a wry grin. “I suspect even the Pope would agree that campaign tents are no place to plan weddings.”
Jean laughed, a hearty sound that caused a few riders around them to glance over in curiosity. “On that, Your Majesty, Pope Eugenius would wholeheartedly agree. Very well, I shall report just that: that Emperor Constantine values the Duke’s friendship dearly and will give the matter due thought in calmer times.”
Arrival in Thebes
The spires of Thebes rose gracefully from the horizon, silhouetted against the glow of the fading day. Constantine clearly made out the stout defensive walls and the ancient citadel crowning its central hill. Banners of Thomas fluttered proudly from the ramparts, interwoven among the imperial standards. Seeing this, a deep warmth filled Constantine’s chest; Thomas had arrived exactly as planned, ensuring the city stood ready to greet their coalition.
Villagers and townsfolk from the outskirts of Thebes gathered eagerly along the road, the joyous news of the approaching army spreading quickly among them. Shouts filled the air, cheering loudly, "Constantine! Basileus!" and "Ieros skopos!"
As the column entered Thebes to the jubilant peal of bells ringing from the small cathedral, the gates stood open wide in welcome.
Just inside, Thomas Palaiologos waited on horseback, proudly flanked by a cohort of soldiers in polished breastplates. At the sight of his older brother, Thomas’s face lit up with a spontaneous grin. Impulsively, he spurred his mount forward.
Constantine barely had a moment to dismount before Thomas was upon him. Protocol forgotten in his excitement, Thomas swung down from his horse and embraced Constantine fiercely, armor clanging as they met. “Brother! You made good time,” Thomas exclaimed, drawing back with a flourish, abruptly remembering the watching crowd. Clearing his throat, he swept into an exaggerated bow. “Ah… I mean, welcome to Thebes, Your Imperial Majesty,” he announced theatrically, voice raised for the gathered audience.
Constantine clasped Thomas’s shoulders firmly, holding him at arm’s length to take in the younger man’s appearance. Thomas’s sandy-brown hair was damp with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed from the ride, but his eyes sparkled brightly with enthusiasm. He looked strong, confident, seasoned by battle yet buoyant with youthful vigor. Constantine’s own voice was gentle and genuine when he spoke. “It is good to see you, Thomas,” Constantine said warmly. “And Athens has sent us more brave sons, I see.” He nodded toward the assembled ranks behind Thomas.
“Yes, about five hundred from the Athens garrison, and more volunteers from the countryside,” Thomas replied proudly. “We reached Thebes two days ago.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “I wanted to ensure everything was in order for your arrival. And, I have news.”
By now, Jean de Croÿ and the other leaders had dismounted and drawn closer. Thomas greeted Jean with a polite nod and the others with enthusiastic handshakes, General Andreas, and the ever-composed George Sphrantzes, who had come forward with a leather folio of documents tucked under one arm. Once these courtesies were done, Thomas nearly burst with his tidings.
“Brother, just yesterday messengers arrived from Negroponte,” Thomas said, barely containing his excitement. “The Venetian and the Papal ships are ready to set sail northward!”
Constantine’s fatigue from the day’s march seemed to dissolve, as if some hidden weight had been eased from his shoulders. He grasped Thomas’s forearm tightly. “They are ready?” he repeated, his voice low but eager, eyes bright with the flicker of restrained hope. So far, so good, he thought, but he didn’t let the relief fully settle. In an age where messages rode on salt-stiff sails or the backs of tired horses, everything hinged on timing, a single delay, a storm, or a misstep in coordination could unravel months of careful planning. Making it move as one, land and sea, languages, egos, ambitions, that was the true test.
Still, for now, the signs aligned. The banners flew where they should and the sea stirred with the promise of allies.
Comments
RENAISSANSE SI
Oh such a great catch! You're absolutely right. That line definitely tiptoes into heretical territory for the time. I appreciate you flagging it. Jean’s enthusiasm got away from me there a bit, I meant it more as a glimpse of where things might go eventually, not as a formal position Burgundy’s taking in 1434. I’ll likely tweak the wording in a future pass to make it more era-appropriate while keeping the subtext alive. Love the way you're thinking about the Burgundian inheritance too, you’re not far off from where some threads are heading!
Wen L.
I agree with you, there are a few angles being played. Jean's unique use of language hints at some underlying differences between the Burgundian camp and Papacy at the very least. Historical changes are going to pile up. Hungarians are probably the purest with deeper roots to engage in war against the Ottoman Empire due to their geopolitical situation.
RENAISSANSE SI
Thank you as always!
RENAISSANSE SI
I actually thought about including the Chinese block printing connection early on, but in the end it didn’t feel plausible or organic within the story’s framework.
RENAISSANSE SI
Haha, yes, they do tend to snowball, don’t they? One move leads to another, and before you know it, everyone’s either planning a crusade or printing slogans. Buckle up, there’s more ahead!
Max Müller
Well things are being put in motion you are really leading us from cliff to cliff :)
N O
This is somewhat confusing to me as well - I thought he was in his late 20’s because historically he was born in 1405. But he was described last chapter as having strands of silver in his beard so I don’t know.
ThePolarParadox
How old is Constantine now? Iirc he should be in his 30s, yeah?
Gabriel Melnik
A good excuse for how he came up with the printing press could be the inspiration from Chinese printing block.
Hugo23
The Burgundians, Venetians and the Papacy all have too clear of a side angle on any deal made, especially in regards to marriage. They've overplayed their hand in my opinion, Especially with Constantine leaning on the fact with how young Agnes is in comparison to himself. He has no idea what deals Burgundy made with the Papacy to get them to push for it, or if their is a deal or a true matter of faith. They are treating him as uninformed of the reality of the West, when he is very aware of the fact that they are not a monolith. I do wonder if one of German Princes or one of the factions of the 100 years war will take advantage. Sigismund at least has somewhat pure motives (as pure as any ruler does) and is probably the only person who isn't interested in seizing Thessaloniki or using Constantine in a personal war. Which isn't to say he doesn't have his own angles, merely that his actions recognize the realities of his own and Constantine's position. The Burgundians and the Pope really seem to be drinking their own kool aid as it were. I also had the thought about the some 2000 german's and freebooters answered the call (essentially actual crusaders not called by oaths or getting paid for it). They are possibly the perfect people to deposit at the gates of strongholds and towns that refuse to surrender. Strong enough and intimidating enough that those invested aren't going to make the attempt. Weak enough that they can't really make trouble for the locals as long as they are supplied. Not to mention as they don't have a real tie to any of the other powers funding/pushing for the crusade. Easy recruits and easily rewarded, especially if their willing to convert.
Elaine
good chappie
Wen L.
"the Word of God printed in his own tongue" - Just a note, what Jean said to Constantine here is heresy against the Catholic Church. Under the Council of Tarragona in 1234, vernacular versions of the Bible are forbidden by the order of the Church, only Latin version is allowed. It's one of the factors within the wider Protestant Reformation later. Are you hinting at Jean II de Croy and Phillip's bent towards radical divergence from the Catholic authority? It's a small throwaway line, but contemporaries of this era would know it's heretical value. This can get really interesting later. By the way, If Constantine does pick up a Burgundian wife tied to Phillip's family, you could play out the Burgundian Inheritance early (have Philip the Good die without Charle the Bold as his heir in battle due to the lingering issues of the Hundred Years' War, just as Charles the Bold in our timeline didn't have any heirs) that the House of Habsburg (Future Austro-Hungarian Empire/Spanish Empire) would do in 1477 through the marriage of Mary of Burgundy and Maximilian of Habsburg. A Byzantine Empire with control over the Netherlands, you can easily achieve your goal of sending ships to the New World and extracting resources from the Americas before the Spanish. Bonus, Constantine can rebuild New York (formerly Dutch New Amsterdam) as something like New Constantinople or something.
russell marsh
It's seems are boy has dodged a bullet for now, remember at the end of the day the other leaders are still politicians even in these late medieval times. When there not kissing babies there stealing there lollipops.
RENAISSANSE SI
Glad to hear you're feeling the tension! The Crusade will be epic, but it needs the proper build-up.
Stapet
Once again we are anxiously waiting for the development of the story
