EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Book II/Chapter 2: When Old Friends Stay Behind
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 21:13:16 +0000 UTCA brisk autumn breeze swept in from the Ionian Sea, carrying the tang of salt over the port of Glarentza. Early October sunlight danced on gentle waves, and gulls wheeled above the harbor, their cries mingling with the clatter of preparation along the docks. Constantine stood at the water’s edge, his cloak fluttering behind him, and surveyed the activity with a discerning eye. The Kyreneia, his flagship dromon, bobbed gracefully at anchor just offshore. Even from here he could see her long hull, sleek, bristling with double banks of oars. Dozens of deckhands swarmed over her like ants, tightening ropes and hoisting crates of provisions.
At Constantine’s side, Officer Manuel Laskaris gave a satisfied nod toward the Kyreneia. “Two more days, Your Majesty,” Laskaris reported, tucking a scroll into his belt. He was a wiry man with sun-beaten skin and a short beard, the look of a veteran sea officer who had weathered many storms. “Kyreneia will be fully fitted and crewed. We’re loading the last of the dried rations and water barrels soon. Oarsmen have been mustered and the lateen sail repaired. She’ll be ready to depart on schedule.” He pointed further down the quay where another vessel was moored. “The Helena, has had her gunwales reinforced. Captain Oikonomos says she handles a bit heavier now, but she’ll serve as a warship as planned.”
Constantine followed Laskaris’s gesture. The second ship, a broad-beamed merchant ship refitted for war, sat lower in the water under the weight of new oak planks and a handful of cannons visible at her sides.
“And the Venetians?” Constantine asked, turning back to Laskaris. The Emperor’s dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully under the brim of his simple felt cap. “They haven’t changed their minds, I trust.”
Laskaris shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. “No, Majesty. The two Venetian galleys arrived in the dawn. They’re anchored just beyond the breakwater.” He inclined his head toward two distant silhouettes in the harbor mouth, where foreign pennants fluttered. “Their captains have agreed to escort us at least as far as Corfu. Our course for Rome and their trade route north coincide for the first leg. Safety in numbers on the open sea.”
Constantine glanced out at the Venetian ships. Sleek and larger than his own, they bore the markings of St. Mark’s lion on their flags. He knew they weren’t joining out of pure charity; pirates occasionally prowled these waters, and a few imperial warships at their side eased their journey as much as his. Still, it was a welcome alliance. He gave a firm nod. “Very good. We sail at first light in two days, then. Coordinate with the Venetian captains on signals and formations. I don’t want any confusion if we run into trouble at sea.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Laskaris replied smartly. A few paces away, two sailors were arguing over a misplaced coil of rope. Laskaris barked a sharp order, sending the men scrambling back to work. Satisfied, he turned back to Constantine, lowering his voice. “We’ll have favorable winds from the south by the week’s end. God willing, that should carry us swiftly toward Corfu and then west.”
“See to it everything stays on track, Manuel,” Constantine said, resting a gauntleted hand briefly on Laskaris’s shoulder. The officer stiffened with pride at the familiar gesture. “I want no delays."
Later that afternoon, Constantine walked the perimeter of the military training ground just outside Glarentza’s barracks, his boots crunching on dry autumn soil. Rows of soldiers stood at attention under the warm sun, their spears and pikes upright, gleaming points aimed at the sky.
Constantine paused by a fencepost, hands clasped behind his back, and observed as officer Zenon barked an order. In practiced unison, a block of infantry snapped their long pikes down into a horizontal position, the iron tips all aligning with precision. The front rank knelt, the rank behind leveled their weapons over the shoulders of those before them, a crude but effective hedgehog bristling with steel. A ripple of satisfaction passed through the Emperor. The formation was far from perfect; he could see a few wobbles, the occasional awkward grip, and these men were still raw recruits, many newly drawn from farms and villages. Yet the basics were coming together.
As he walked past the ranks, he caught the smell of sweat, leather, and oiled steel in the air, a comforting, honest odor. The men’s faces glistened with exertion. Some were flushed with pride at performing before the Emperor; others looked grimly determined as they held their stance. Constantine made a point to meet as many eyes as he could, nodding ever so slightly in approval. A few of the younger pikemen nearly trembled with excitement when his gaze fell upon them, but they stood steady. They’ll do, he thought. With time and proper leadership, they’ll do.
He clapped a hand on the shoulder of Captain Theophilus Kantakouzenos, who stood nearby observing the same drill with arms crossed. “They’re shaping up,” Constantine said under his breath.
Theophilus Kantakouzenos, a stout man with streaks of gray at his temples, nodded slowly. “Aye. Not bad for green farmboys.” He stroked his short beard and added, “Proper boots on their feet, swords at their sides, and decent pikes in hand, I daresay they look like real soldiers now.”
Constantine’s lips quirked. Theophilus’s tone was gruffly approving, which from him was high praise. Indeed, outfitting the recruits had been no small task. Thousands of boots, blades, and pikes had strained the workshops and tanners for months. But seeing those investments borne out on this field made it worthwhile.
He raised his voice, projecting from the diaphragm as he’d learned to do in countless drills of his own. “Well done, men!” he called, stepping forward. The formation halted on cue, ranks straightening, shoulders pulling back. Hundreds of eyes snapped toward him. “Your Emperor is proud of you,” Constantine declared, letting his gaze pan across the troops. “Every day you grow stronger. Every day you prove that discipline and training can shape even the humblest recruit into a guardian of our empire.”
A murmur rippled through the assembly. The recruits stood a little taller. Constantine saw a few grins being quickly suppressed, youthful faces brightening at the praise.
He paced slowly along the front rank, hands still behind his back, speaking as he moved. “Remember this: it was brave men like you who held the line at Domokos and reclaimed our cities. Not some foreign knight or mercenary, Romans did that. With these pikes and with God’s favor, you’ll be the wall that no enemy cavalry can break.” He stopped and tapped the nearest recruit’s pike shaft with one gloved finger. “Hold them steady, trust in your brothers at your side, and no horse or janissary will scatter you. Understood?”
“Yes, Emperor!” came the thunderous reply. Their voices echoed off the stone barracks and out across the field.
Constantine allowed the ghost of a smile as he stepped back. Good, he thought. They have spirit. “At ease, gentlemen. Continue your drills,” he ordered. With a respectful salute from officer Zenon, the formation began to break apart into smaller units to practice maneuvers. The spectacle momentarily over, Theophilus Kantakouzenos excused himself to speak with the drillmasters about tomorrow’s plans. The yard returned to its clamorous rhythm, shouted orders, the dull clack of wooden practice swords in sparring, and the occasional laughter from off-duty men watching their comrades.
As the Emperor made his way toward the shade of a colonnade at the barracks’ edge, a familiar figure fell into step beside him. George Sphrantzes had been quietly observing the review from a respectful distance, but now he approached, bowing his head respectfully. “Your Majesty,” George greeted.
“Walk with me, George,” Constantine said, gesturing toward the open double-doors of the barracks. George fell in by his side as they left behind the clangor of the training ground. Inside the stone barracks hall, the air was cooler, carrying the mingled scents of straw, lamp oil, and polished leather. Off-duty guards snapped to attention as the Emperor passed; Constantine acknowledged them with polite nods, his boots echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling.
They reached a quieter corner near the armory, where shafts of late-day sunlight slanted through narrow windows, illuminating motes of dust suspended in the still air. Stacks of spears and swords lined the wall, their sharpened edges glinting faintly. Constantine stopped, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the hilt of a sword. George waited, sensing his friend had something weighing on his mind.
After a thoughtful silence, Constantine spoke softly, “The troops are in fine order. Things proceed exactly as we planned.” He ran his palm along the cool steel of the blade, pausing as if to gather his thoughts. “Soon enough, I’ll be departing. Before I do, I need to know you are comfortable with what I’m asking.”
George’s lips pressed into a thin line. A man of medium stature and close-cropped hair, he carried himself with the composed assurance of someone who had navigated countless court intrigues and battlefield negotiations. “Comfortable? Hardly, Constantine.” He glanced around cautiously, ensuring no ears overheard their private exchange, then took a half-step closer, lowering his voice. “You’re bound for the courts of Europe, dealing with sly cardinals and calculating princes. Who better to assist you in those delicate negotiations than I? God knows I’ve sparred verbally with cardinals and Venetian envoys enough to fill chronicles.” His voice held an imploring edge. George Sphrantzes had indeed spent many years as diplomat and confidant, negotiating tirelessly on behalf of Emperor John VIII and, more personally, Constantine himself. To remain behind at such a critical juncture was a bitter draught indeed.
Constantine listened patiently, his gaze softened by the affection he felt for the older man. Quietly, he reached out and gripped George’s shoulder, a gesture of familiarity rare in these shadowed corridors. “Your counsel in Rome would indeed be invaluable, my friend. I know that well.” He paused, weighing his words. Constantine trusted George more deeply than anyone alive. Yet even George couldn’t grasp the secret burden he carried—the heavy, silent weight of truths impossible to share, the knowledge of centuries unborn. Decisions had to seem rational, transparent even, yet each choice was shadowed by secrets he dared not reveal.
“But I need you here even more,” he concluded softly.
George began to protest, but Constantine gently raised his hand. “Hear me out, George. Mystras, Glarentza, the whole of the Morea, will require a steady hand while I’m away. If the Emperor and all his most trusted advisors leave for Italy, opportunists might see a tempting chance to stir chaos.” His voice dropped lower, quieter. “I trust very few people fully, George. You above all others. Theophilus, yes, and Captain Andreas to guard the north. But my brother Thomas…” he trailed off, shaking his head slowly, regret clouding his expression. “Thomas is blood, but trust him fully with the keys to the realm? Not yet.”
He turned fully to face George then, voice steady with decision. “That’s why I want you to serve as my regent in my absence. The people already look to you. The army respects you. And I need to know that someone I trust with my life is watching over everything while I’m away.”
George sighed, his brow deeply furrowed. He could scarcely argue this point. Thomas Palaiologos, Constantine’s younger brother and nominal heir, had yet to demonstrate the wisdom or restraint needed to hold the empire’s reins. Without Constantine’s peculiar insights and George’s pragmatic guidance, Thomas might prove dangerously impetuous. To leave him unguided was a gamble neither man was willing to make.
“I think Thomas means well,” Constantine continued gently, choosing his words carefully, “but he remains untested, prone to rashness. With you here, I have no fears. You’ll oversee all that is required to keep the realm from unraveling. He allowed himself a faint, reassuring smile. “Besides, the work here—recruitment, training, fortification—who better than you to manage these tasks? You practically built our network and supply lines from the ground up. The men respect you; Thomas respects you. If the orders bear the signature of George Sphrantzes, they will know it carries my full authority.”
George ran a weary hand through his hair, clearly torn. The faint sound of a distant bugle drifted through the window, reminding them both of duties beyond these quiet shadows. At last, he gave a reluctant nod, his voice softened by acceptance. “Your words honor me, Constantine. And yes… they carry wisdom.” He managed a rueful chuckle. “I once asked you never again to ride into uncertainty without me. But I suppose it falls to old friends to keep the home front steady.”
Constantine squeezed George’s shoulder warmly. “Precisely. Without men like you, my friend, even the grandest ventures would collapse to dust.”
George straightened slightly, pride gradually replacing the reluctant resignation in his posture. He offered Constantine a solemn bow. “Then consider the home front secure, Constantine. Whatever storms come, Morea will stand firm.”
Constantine held his gaze a moment longer, then gave a single, resolute nod. “Good. Then let’s go, we’ve a meeting to attend, and much yet to prepare before I sail.”
Comments
RENAISSANSE SI
Constantine’s definitely going to be hustling for as much support as he can get, alliances, gold, favors, anything to tip the scales.
RENAISSANSE SI
Absolutely! Skanderbeg will definitely show up! I won’t spoil exactly when, but he’s too iconic not to be part of the story. Just gotta let things build up a bit first, you’ll know when the time is right
John40500
The Turks are big threat to venetian trade and the holding in Greece. Constaintine on the other hand could either become a valuable ally or a massive threat, for the same reason
Hugo23
I do wonder about those Venetians... with all the ships now stopping in Glarenzta instead of their outposts in Morea and the curious man... removed. Perhaps someone is taking measure of this new Emperor?
John40500
Will you include skanderbeg early or later on ?
auburnfighter
So then seems like Constantine will be trying to get as much help as possible to win while also probably if he does get the help impressing them with his new equipment sounds like there will always be something fun that goes on
