EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Chapter 71: The Emperor and the Pontiff
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 23:49:40 +0000 UTCRome, late May 1433
A cool spring dawn painted Rome in hues of rose and gold as Sigismund of Luxembourg rode through the ancient city gates. The streets erupted in celebration at the new emperor’s arrival. Bells pealed from church towers, and a thousand pennants bearing the imperial eagle and papal keys fluttered above the crowds. Citizens of Rome, merchants in velvet caps, barefoot friars, armored condottieri, pressed at the roadside to catch a glimpse of the King of the Romans coming to claim his crown. Sigismund sat tall in the saddle, his fifty years carried with august dignity. He wore a mantle of crimson velvet lined with ermine, and a thin circlet of gold rested on his graying brow as a token of his kingly rank until the true crown was bestowed. As he passed, he took in the sights and sounds: the incense wafting from swinging censors, petals of spring flowers strewn in his path, the Latin chants of welcome from robed clergy. Rome, the Eternal City, basked in pageantry not seen in decades. Yet amid the jubilation, Sigismund felt the weight of history on his shoulders. He was keenly aware that today, he would stand where Charlemagne had stood, in the basilica that enshrined the tomb of the Apostle. Today, at long last, he would be crowned Holy Roman Emperor.
At the stairs of Old St. Peter’s Basilica, Pope Eugene IV’s entourage awaited. The Pope’s chamberlains in their rich brocades and scarlet hats descended to greet the emperor-to-be. Sigismund dismounted and, as tradition demanded, removed his hat and cloak, humbling himself before the Vicar of Christ. Trumpets blared a sonorous fanfare that echoed off the colonnades. Sigismund’s heart quickened at the sight ahead: the great bronze doors of St. Peter’s were thrown open, revealing a nave lined with towering columns and lit with countless candles. Beyond, at the far end under the lofty dome, he could make out the white figure of Pope Eugene IV seated upon the papal throne near the high altar. The Pope wore gleaming vestments of gold and white, and in his hands he held the jeweled Triple Tiara. Around him clustered cardinals in their crimson robes like so many blood-red blossoms, and bishops in miters of cloth-of-gold. The papal court was assembled in full splendor to witness this moment when imperial and papal authority converged.
Sigismund made the long walk up the nave with measured steps. With each footfall on the marble pavement, he felt the eyes of the court upon him. Latin psalms echoed from the choir, their voices soaring beneath the basilica’s ancient rafters. As he drew closer to the altar, Sigismund’s gaze flickered over the dignitaries gathered. He recognized the stern face of Cardinal Condulmer, the Pope’s nephew and right hand, studying him intently. Nearby stood a knot of princely envoys: the ambassadors of Venice and Aragon in dark silks, the Florentine delegates, even a representative from France. Their presence underscored the importance of this coronation for all Christendom. Many had doubted whether Sigismund, so long occupied with wars and councils in the North, would ever make it to Rome to claim the imperial diadem. Yet here he was at last. He allowed himself a faint smile, tinged with both pride and humility, as he knelt upon the embroidered cushion before Pope Eugene’s throne.
Inside the basilica the air was heavy with frankincense and candle-smoke. High above, the mosaic eyes of saints and martyrs glimmered down from the apse. Sigismund bowed his head deeply. An acolyte brought forth a golden gospel book, which the Pope held aloft. In Latin, Eugene intoned the ancient rite, invoking the example of Charlemagne, of Holy David and Solomon, calling upon God to bless His servant Sigismund. The words swirled in Sigismund’s ears, solemn and sonorous. When the moment came, he felt the Pope’s thumb trace a cross of holy oil on his forehead – the anointing that sanctified him to rule. The thick perfume of chrism mingled with the scent of wax candles. This is real, Sigismund thought, a slight tremor of emotion gripping him despite all his composure. By God’s grace, I assume the mantle fate long reserved for me.
A deacon presented the symbols of power: first the jewel-encrusted scepter, which Eugene IV placed in Sigismund’s right hand – symbol of justice and temporal power. Then the golden orb topped with a cross, which Sigismund received in his left – symbol of Christian dominion over the world. Finally, a hush fell as an attendant approached bearing the Imperial Crown. It was an ancient circlet of gold, heavy with gems, its eight hinged plates glinting in the candlelight. Sigismund felt his breath catch as Pope Eugene IV stood and lifted the crown with both hands. For an instant, Sigismund glimpsed his own reflection in the polished metal: a man with solemn gray eyes and a neatly trimmed white beard, looking far older than the fiery youth who had once charged rashly at Nicopolis. In that reflection he saw not just himself, but the weight of generations of emperors. His eyes drifted closed as the Pope gently lowered the crown onto his head.
“Accipe coronam imperii… Receive this imperial crown,” Eugene IV proclaimed in Latin, his voice firm and clear in the vast silence, “which marks you as the august Emperor of the Romans, ordained by God.” The instant the metal pressed upon Sigismund’s brow, a cheer erupted inside the basilica. “Vivat Imperator Sigismundus! Long live the Emperor!” The shout was taken up by the nobles and prelates present, then echoed by the masses outside who heard the cry and the tolling bells. Sigismund opened his eyes, blinking away a sudden sting of tears. In that eternal heartbeat, he felt the burden and glory of the moment sear itself into his soul. I am Emperor, he told himself. After so many trials.
He rose, and Pope Eugene IV extended the kiss of peace, a light brush of the Pope’s ring against Sigismund’s lips – an age-old gesture binding Empire to Church. As Sigismund straightened to his full height, crowned and invested, he met Eugene’s gaze. The Pope’s dark eyes were shrewd and unreadable, set in a face creased by both asceticism and Venetian canniness. Sigismund bowed to him respectfully, as protocol required. Yet in that exchanged look, a silent understanding passed: each was a man seasoned by turmoil, each needed the other’s support in the dangerous world that lay beyond the basilica’s walls.
What followed was a blur of pomp and celebration. There was a jubilant procession out of St. Peter’s, where the newly crowned Emperor rode beneath a silk canopy held by the Roman barons. Trumpeters heralded his every step. A state banquet was laid in the Vatican Palace, where endless toasts were offered in wine as sweet as nectar. Through it all, Sigismund maintained a gracious smile and spoke words of thanks and piety, yet his mind already churned with thoughts beyond the feasting. He caught snatches of conversation among the Roman courtiers about troubles in the East and whispers of the bold Greek upstart defeating the Turks.
Clearly, news had traveled even here, and it set imaginations alight. The papal court, for all its gilded ritual, was abuzz with rumors of war and wonders in distant Byzantium. Sigismund found himself keenly curious, but he held his tongue through the public ceremonies. There would be time enough to discuss such matters away from the ears of the curious.
Late that afternoon, as golden sunlight slanted through the colonnades, Sigismund was escorted to a private audience with Pope Eugene IV in the Apostolic Palace. The festive clamor of the day had subsided, leaving only the faint echoes of distant hymns in the halls. Two halberdiers opened the door to the Pope’s private library, and Sigismund entered to find Eugene IV alone, waiting for him. The room was modest by papal standards, high-vaulted with frescoed walls depicting biblical scenes in faded colors. A tall window stood open to the spring air, and the curtains stirred gently. The fragrance of old books and a trace of incense lingered. A single table was set with a flagon of wine and two simple cups, a sign that this meeting was to be informal and confidential.
“Your Holiness,” Sigismund began, inclining his head with respect. Despite now wearing the Imperial crown, he observed proper deference to the Pontiff. “I thank you for the great honor of today. It is a memory I shall treasure all my life.” His voice, a rich baritone seasoned by years of command, reverberated softly in the quiet chamber.
Eugene IV rose from behind the table and stepped forward, a warm smile easing his austere features. “Your Majesty,” he replied, extending both hands in welcome. “The honor is ours. It has been too long since Rome witnessed an Emperor’s coronation. God has willed that you and I build a new bond between throne and altar.” Sigismund noted the Pope’s careful choice of words—you and I. Eugene spoke as a partner in enterprise, not merely a pontiff bestowing favor.
They took seats across from one another. For a moment, the Pope’s gaze drifted to the open window, where the distant silhouette of St. Peter’s dome was visible. “This morning’s ceremony,” Eugene continued thoughtfully, “filled my heart with hope. A united Christendom, east and west, has never been more needed than now.” He turned back to Sigismund, folding his hands. “Which is why I wished to speak with Your Majesty in private. There are matters of grave import in the East that demand our attention… and present perhaps a divine opportunity.”
Sigismund leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The late sun cast a mellow light on the two men: the white-robed pope with his weathered, ascetic face and the newly crowned emperor in a plain doublet now, crown set aside on a cushion nearby. In this setting they might have been two old friends sharing an evening drink, save for the magnitude of their discussion. “I am at Your Holiness’s disposal,” Sigismund said. “Speak freely.”
Eugene nodded gratefully. He poured a little wine into each cup, his hands steady but slender, the hands of a scholar-monk turned statesman. “Your Majesty is certainly aware of the distressing situation that has plagued Constantinople and its empire these many years,” he began carefully. “Yet recent events have altered the situation dramatically. You may have heard vague tidings about Emperor John Palaiologos’s fate.”
Sigismund’s expression hardened slightly. “Indeed, Holy Father. I have heard troubling whispers, rumors of treachery and assassination. They say Emperor John was murdered by his own kin, but details eluded me.”
“Unfortunately, those rumors are true,” the Pope said with a deep sigh, a shadow passing over his features. “Demetrios Palaiologos, his own brother, assassinated him in cold blood to seize the imperial throne, aided by the Ottoman Sultan. Constantinople fell further under Turkish influence as Demetrios swiftly declared himself Emperor, a puppet whose power flows entirely from the Sultan’s will.” Eugene’s lips pursed with unconcealed disdain. “He has betrayed his blood, his faith, and his city.”
Sigismund absorbed the revelation grimly, nodding slowly as his suspicions were confirmed. “And Constantine Palaiologos of the Morea,” he prompted thoughtfully, “has he not also claimed the imperial title?”
“Yes,” Eugene affirmed with emphasis. “Constantine Palaiologos, ruling from the Morea, responded swiftly. He denounced Demetrios’s vile crime and accepted his supporters' call to become the rightful Emperor. His coronation in Mystras was solemn and public, gathering immense support from Greeks unwilling to bow to Ottoman tyranny.”
Sigismund stroked his beard, contemplative and solemn. “Then it seems the East is caught between two emperors: one legitimate by blood and spirit, and the other a creature of the Turks.” He sighed heavily. “I have heard already of Constantine’s bold resistance and his great triumph at the Hexamilion Wall. News of Murad’s retreat traveled fast; the Turks’ defeat is rare enough to stir every Christian heart from Buda to Paris.”
“Indeed,” Eugene agreed, gratified at Sigismund’s knowledge. “Constantine’s victory rekindled hope across Europe. But the Emperor of the Greeks has done more than wield sword and cannon. He has become a patron of learning, of innovation. He has accomplished remarkable things, Sigismund.”
Sigismund’s curiosity sharpened. “You speak of his book endeavors?”
“Precisely,” Eugene replied eagerly. “Constantine has established printing presses in Morea, not only producing Greek works but also Latin Bibles of exquisite quality. You yourself may possess one of these editions, I suspect—a particularly fine Bible, the special Papacy Edition, bears the seal of the Holy See itself.”
Sigismund smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. “Indeed I do. A remarkable volume reached my court in Hungary. At first, my scholars marveled, uncertain how it was made, so precise and uniform were its pages. I admit I scarcely believed their explanations at first.”
The Pope chuckled gently, pleased by Sigismund’s enthusiasm. “It has been immensely profitable, both spiritually and materially. The demand across Christendom grows by the day.”
Sigismund allowed himself a low laugh of admiration. “Extraordinary indeed. A Greek emperor, printing Latin Bibles to enrich and strengthen the Western Church. Such are the marvels of our time. Constantine Palaiologos seems a truly remarkable leader, brave, resourceful, learned. It would benefit us greatly to know him better.”
Eugene took a draught of wine and continued, “Furthermore, taking advantage of Murad’s setback, Constantine Palaiologos pressed the offensive. He has embarked on campaigns across Greece to reclaim lands long lost. I have dispatches that he liberated the Duchy of Athens from its Florentine lord who had sided with the Turks.” The Pope’s tone grew animated, as if picturing the map of Greece with widening territories of freedom. “And not only Greeks, but others have been emboldened by his successes. In Albania, the mountain chieftains have risen in revolt. Lord Gjergi Arianiti and other lords harry the Turks to reclaim their highlands. The whole Balkan coast is becoming a thorn in the Sultan’s side.”
Sigismund tempered his optimism with caution. “Murad will not suffer these defeats quietly. He is a formidable foe. The garrisons he leaves will be reinforced, and he will undoubtedly return with greater force.”
“True,” Eugene conceded, “and yet… even the Sultan is not invulnerable. My agents tell me Murad faces difficulties. If we Christians press our advantage now, while he is on his back foot, we might achieve what many have only dreamed of.” The Pope’s voice dropped, solemn and intent. “We could drive the Ottomans out of Europe entirely. We could free Constantinople and restore a true Christian emperor to that ancient see.”
Silence fell as Eugene’s words hung in the air. Sigismund felt a surge in his chest, a mixture of longing and resolve. To free Constantinople would be a crowning achievement for any Christian monarch. He reached for his cup and drank, gathering his thoughts. “Your Holiness speaks of pressing our advantage,” Sigismund said slowly. “I agree. Yet we must do so with prudence and unity. I have witnessed the price of impetuous crusading at Nicopolis. We ignored sound counsel, and the result was disaster. The flower of Western chivalry was cut down in a single day. I swore then that I would never forget why we failed.”
The Pope listened solemnly, folding his hands. “I know the tale well, Sire. No one questions the courage of those who marched, only the folly of their quarrels and vanity. What you propose is wisdom: any new crusade must avoid those mistakes.” He leaned forward. “That is why I wanted to speak with you, Sigismund. You have spent decades since Nicopolis forging unity in Christendom—ending the Western Schism at Constance, striving to heal Bohemia after the Hussite turmoil. You understand diplomacy and the necessity of cooperation. And now, providentially, there is a willing ally in the East, a visionary Emperor who has already united the Greeks and even Latin mercenaries under his banner. If we join forces with him, with the Church’s blessing, think what might be accomplished.”
Sigismund felt the old warrior’s fire kindle anew in his belly. He set down his cup, the faint clink on the table punctuating his resolve. “Your Holiness, you will find no reluctance in me. I have yearned to see Christian unity against the Ottomans all my life. If Emperor Constantine is indeed as capable and enlightened as you describe, then I believe we have been granted a rare chance.” He allowed a firm smile. “I am most eager to meet this Constantine—to speak with him, to learn from him even. The devices you mention, the printing press, the new cannons… I should like to see them with my own eyes. Such innovations could tip the scales of war. And I would extend to him, as Emperor of the West to Emperor of the East, my hand in friendship and alliance.”
Eugene IV’s face brightened with relief and enthusiasm. “Excellent. I had hoped Your Majesty would see it so. Together, we can begin laying the groundwork. I intend to call for a general crusade at an opportune moment—rallying kings, princes, and knights from all Latin Christendom. Your support as Holy Roman Emperor will be invaluable in galvanizing the German princes and the realms of Central Europe.”
Sigismund gave a determined nod. “I shall send envoys to the princes of the Empire at once, and to the Kings of Poland and Denmark, the Duke of Burgundy, and whomever else may heed the call. My own kingdoms of Hungary and Bohemia, God willing, will provide sturdy soldiers for this cause—especially now that the Hussite strife wanes and peace returns at home.” He allowed himself a moment of pride; after years of conflict, he had finally pacified Bohemia’s religious wars enough that those energies might be redirected against the true foe. “We must also court Venice and Genoa,” Sigismund continued, thinking strategically. “Their fleets will be needed to transport troops and choke off the Turks by sea. Venice, especially, might be enticed—the spice trade suffers under Ottoman pressure, and they have coveted another chance at the Aegean.”
At that, Eugene chuckled softly. “The Signoria of Venice will join any venture that jingles with coins, I suspect. I will use our influence with them—after all, I myself am Venetian-born, which they have not forgotten. Genoa too can be persuaded if the prize is right.”
The two men talked on, deep into the golden hour of the afternoon. They spoke of logistics, of timing and council. Eugene IV mentioned convening a council of the Churches—a great gathering where East and West might formally reconcile their longstanding theological schism as a prelude to the military alliance. “Constantine Palaiologos has shown openness to the idea of Church union,” the Pope confided. “ If we heal the breach between Orthodoxy and Catholicism at last, imagine the boost to our shared cause. The Greeks would fight with the knowledge that Rome stands fully behind them, and Westerners would see their Eastern brethren not as strangers but as fellow Christians under one spiritual roof.” Sigismund acknowledged this with a thoughtful hum. He knew such a union would be delicate—centuries of distrust could not vanish overnight. But if anyone could broker it, it might be this Pope with his diplomatic tenacity, working with an emperor who clearly valued results over dogma.
As they conversed, Sigismund occasionally studied Eugene’s face. The afternoon light etched lines of care on the Pope’s brow. He realized that Eugene IV bore his own heavy burdens: the restive Council of Basel challenging papal authority, political unrest in the Papal States, and the eternal balancing act of cajoling Europe’s monarchs. The Pope’s eagerness for a crusade was not just for spiritual glory; Sigismund understood it was also a bid to unify Christendom under papal leadership at a critical time. If a grand crusade succeeded, the Pope’s prestige would soar, and the conciliarists would be silenced. Sigismund, for his part, would secure his legacy as the Emperor who saved Constantinople and halted the Turks’ advance. Overlapping goals, indeed, he reflected. They each had something to gain, yet both truly yearned to deliver Christendom from the infidel threat. In that, their hearts were honest and aligned.
By the time the sun had sunk low and orange light spilled across the library floor, the outlines of a plan had taken shape. Sigismund stood, and Eugene IV rose with him. “Your Holiness,” the Emperor said with energy in his voice, “I came to Rome to receive a crown. I leave with more, I leave with a purpose renewed. The struggles of my past, every setback and every patience I have learned, shall serve in this. We will not hurl brave knights at the Turk like reckless gamblers. No, we shall forge an alliance of knowledge, faith, and steel.”
AUTHOR NOTE: In the original timeline, Sigismund of Luxembourg was crowned Holy Roman Emperor by Pope Eugene IV on May 31, 1433, in Rome. During this period, the Albanian revolt against Ottoman rule (1432–1436) was underway, led by figures such as Gjergj Arianiti. Both Sigismund and Pope Eugene IV viewed the Albanian resistance favorably, as it aligned with their broader efforts to counter Ottoman expansion in Europe.
In our novel's alternate timeline, these events are accelerated and intensified. The book deals generate substantial revenue for the Papacy, further fueling their political and military endeavors against the Ottomans.
Comments
Thara
Sigismund has power over Serbia and influence in Walachia, he himself control Bohemia and Hungary, he has the fund, the manpower and good generals like Jon Hunyadi to strike now.
RENAISSANSE SI
Indeed!
RENAISSANSE SI
Absolutely—this one's gonna be a marathon, not a sprint! 😅 Got a long road ahead, but I’m excited to keep building it piece by piece.
RENAISSANSE SI
Haha yes, our hero is still flying solo for now… but let’s just say I’ve got a few ideas brewing for his next marriage 👀 And you're not far off—political marriages do have their perks, especially when empires are at stake. Stay tuned!
Mafioball
Our hero is still single, if I remember correctly... Does Sigismund have any unmarried younger female relatives? A pact between emperors would bind them by blood... And if the last Luxembourg died without heirs...
Ben Robbins
A solid beginning to a massive undertaking.
Mineseikea
Maybe, but he has canons and fire arms. With time they will only get better and faster to produce. They are developing tactics and other methods for industry development and lots of other things like health and food production. I believe that if he is quick he could potentially do it. It will take a long time for the still very much feudal Europe to properly get moving on having a unified standardized, trained, professional army. Something Constantine is already building.
russell marsh
I don't think that's possible at this time maybe his descendants but I can see him taking back Greece and Anatolia. Anything else is a bridge to far sadly
russell marsh
Deus vult!
Mineseikea
Personally I want to see Constantine restore the Roman Empire to its heights. Constantine is the only one and true emperor of the Roman Empire. Not this filthy barbarian.
RENAISSANSE SI
Thank you!
Elaine
good chappie
RENAISSANSE SI
That's a good question! Constantine’s true ambitions and the complexity of his motivations will gradually be revealed—and may even evolve—as we proceed deeper into the story. So stay tuned!
ioshf fikry
I wonder how will Constantine react to this development..after what is his real ambition is? To only destroy the turks or liberate all the Greeks..even those under latin yoke
