EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Chapter 40: The Price of Steel and Legacy
🕑 Added 2024-12-12 10:40:58 +0000 UTCThe late afternoon light filtered through the grand windows of the Roman villa where Constantine had been staying, its warm glow stretching into elongated beams across the polished marble floor. Since his meeting with the Pope a few days earlier, a series of dinners with the local nobility had followed—opportunities not only to sample refined cuisine and rich wines, but also to carefully gauge their sentiments and subtly advance his cause. He had learned which families favored strong military action, which favored the union, and which feared the tidal shifts of alliances. Outside, the hum of the city formed a steady undercurrent, punctuated by the cries of merchants, the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone streets, and the distant tolling of church bells that marked the passing hours.
In the private chamber, Constantine stood at a table strewn with maps. His fingers traced the route from Rome to Terni, while his mind sifted through the implications of each step. Nearby, George Sphrantzes lounged, sipping wine with practiced nonchalance, while Bessarion entered quietly, his monastic robes rustling.
“Your Grace,” Bessarion began, his tone deferential but purposeful. “I trust the arrangements for your departure are proceeding without issue?”
Constantine glanced up, the weight of the past days visible in his expression. “They are,” he replied, his voice measured. “But I wanted to discuss your thoughts on Sforza before we move forward. A man like him requires more than an invitation to be swayed.”
The name struck a chord, just as it had the first time Bessarion mentioned it. Constantine had paused then, the name stirring something deep in his mind, a ghost of recognition that wouldn’t fully materialize. “Sforza.” He repeated it now under his breath, the syllables carrying weight, as if they were tethered to a fragment of his past life.
Back then, as Michael, the name had meant little more than an intriguing part of a historical narrative. He could vaguely recall watching a tv series with Ellen—his wife at the time—on Italian dynasties, where the Sforza family’s name surfaced amid intrigue and power struggles. The details were elusive, yet the impression remained vivid: ambition, cunning, and military brilliance defined them.
He exhaled softly, returning to the present. One thing was certain: whatever their role in this era, the Sforzas were not to be underestimated.
Constantine’s gaze sharpened as he focused once more on Bessarion. “What do you make of him, Bessarion—his character, his ambitions? What would it take to draw his allegiance?”
Bessarion stepped closer, his eyes bright with the fervor of a scholar who had found something significant. “I have spent months discreetly gathering information about the most capable condottieri in Italy,” he began quietly. “Francesco Sforza’s contract with the Duke of Milan is expiring, and with the Milan–Venice war nearing its end, we may have a rare opportunity to secure his services. Among all the mercenary leaders, he has no equal, Your Grace. He is not merely a commander; he is an architect of victories. His recent triumphs, particularly on the Po, have solidified his reputation. But he is also pragmatic and careful in choosing his alliances.”
George leaned forward, skepticism clear. “Pragmatic or mercenary? Men like Sforza serve coin first and honor second. Why do you think we need him in particular?”
“Because he is unmatched,” Bessarion replied calmly. “No other condottiere offers his combination of skill, loyalty to his men, and strategic genius. Securing his services could shift the balance in our favor.”
Constantine nodded, his gaze sharpening. “And what have we offered to entice him?”
Bessarion allowed himself a small smile. “Nothing binding yet. I’ve emphasized the chance to defend Christendom and hinted at the material support we could provide. His interest piqued when I detailed Your Grace’s efforts—particularly your victory against Turahan Bey and the innovative use of artillery.”
“Flattery,” George interjected with a dry chuckle. “The man likely enjoys hearing his name tied to grand causes. But when the time comes, he’ll demand more than words.”
“True,” Bessarion admitted, his tone steady. “He has already outlined his expectations—an advance on his fees, logistical support, and victory bonuses.”
Constantine crossed his arms, his mind working through the layers of negotiation. “Sforza fancies himself a hero of his age. If we position this alliance as his chance to shape history, it could tip the scales.”
Bessarion nodded. “Precisely. He desires not just wealth but a legacy.”
“And that legacy,” George warned, “comes with a cost. Sforza will not hesitate to abandon us if a better offer comes his way.”
“Then we ensure there isn’t one,” Constantine said firmly. “This is as much about persuasion as it is about resources. He must see in us a greater cause.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Finally, Constantine straightened, his resolve solidifying. “We will find out when we meet him in Terni. Bessarion, have the guides ready and ensure the route is secure.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Bessarion replied.
George set his goblet down with a deliberate clink. “Remember, Constantine—Sforza respects strength and coin. If we want him on our side, we must show him that we are not a dying empire, but one prepared to rise.”
Constantine’s lips curved into a faint smile, the weight of his determination clear. “He will see it, George. Together, we will make it undeniable.”
The journey to Terni was brief. The narrow roads wound through patchwork fields and wooded Umbrian hills, the crisp air fragrant with early falling leaves and distant hearth fires. Constantine rode with George, always a few steps ahead of his attendants, never so far as to break formation. Bessarion’s letters had paved the way for this meeting, and Constantine knew how much it depended on the outcome.
They arrived in Terni late in the afternoon. The town bustled with mercenaries, quartermasters, and envoys from various Italian courts, all looking to secure or sell martial services in the restless political climate of Italy and beyond. Here, Francesco Sforza, the renowned condottiero, had established a temporary base. He had been active in Lombardy that year, orchestrating victories and bolstering Milanese fortunes against Venice. His name carried weight—rumor held that he could sway the balance of power with a single contract.
They would meet at the villa of a local noble sympathetic to Sforza, a minor figure whose lands nestled comfortably under the condottiero’s shadow. The villa, perched atop a gentle hill, bore a clean-cut stone façade: a balance of practicality and wealth. Constantine dismounted, brushing dust from his cloak as his retinue adjusted their armor and stowed weapons. A steward led him inside, where their host greeted him before guiding him to the meeting chamber.
Constantine entered the hall. Sforza awaited him with a few chosen captains. The famed condottiero was a man of stature and composure, clad in a fine woolen doublet over mail, as if always prepared to ride into battle. Upon seeing the Despot, Sforza offered a polite bow, setting a tone both political and martial.
They began with pleasantries. Over spiced wine and bread dipped in oil, Sforza commended Constantine for his recent successes—particularly his victory against Turahan Bey. “I have heard of your cunning,” Sforza said, leaning forward, “and of your use of artillery in open battle. Quite the innovation, Despot. Cannons in the field—though I imagine they were smaller pieces? The notion intrigues me.”
Constantine smiled, acknowledging the compliment while maintaining an air of modesty. “They were indeed small cannons, which we call Drakos, mounted on modified wagons for better mobility. Our aim was not perfect, but they unnerved Ottoman horsemen and gave us more control over the battlefield. I hear you, too, have stunned enemies on the Po. Your last victory there was extraordinary. I would be honored to have such skill on my side.”
It did not take long for the conversation to shift to the purpose of their meeting. Constantine spoke of his homeland in the Morea. “The Hexamilion wall is our shield. It is under major repair, and I intend to have it ready soon. I will have at least three thousand seasoned men-at-arms, three hundred hand-gunners among them, and at least twenty cannons for defense. I can also muster another three or four thousand conscripts, with support from my brother Thomas, who will send another thousand. But the Ottoman threat looms large. To hold the line—and perhaps, if fortune smiles, to strike a blow—we need your expertise and your men.”
Sforza listened, head tilted slightly, weighing each word. With the Milan–Venice war winding down, soon he might be free to consider new engagements. The idea of facing the Ottomans intrigued him. Their cavalry, Janissaries, and cunning commanders were renowned. Testing Italian arms and tactics—disciplined pikemen, handgunners, artillery—against such a foe appealed to his sense of legacy.
They turned to terms, naturally. Sforza’s initial demand was steep: 60,000 florins for a year’s campaign, half in advance. Constantine balked. “Thirty thousand in gold before your banners sail is too dear,” he said, “especially when we must also arrange ships and wagons for crossing the Adriatic.”
Negotiation became a dance. George watched closely. Sforza’s captains murmured. Both sides understood the game: the condottiero demanded a high price to test the prospective employer’s resolve; the employer sought staged payments and performance bonuses to ensure loyalty. After careful give-and-take, they settled on 18,000 florins in advance, with the remainder in monthly installments once the army took the field in the Morea. Victory bonuses would sweeten the deal. There would also be a fair arrangement over spoils of war—enough to satisfy Sforza’s men, but not so much as to encourage pillage.
Constantine presented a thoughtful gift: thirty Bibles from his personal stock. While Sforza was no scholar, he appreciated the prestige and symbolic worth of such volumes. He acknowledged the gesture with a gracious nod, recognizing the Despot’s attempt to cast their alliance as something more than a mere mercenary contract.
But it was Constantine’s next offer that truly captured Sforza’s attention. Leaning forward, the Despot spoke with measured intent. “You are a man of great strategic acumen, Lord Sforza. Your campaigns are already legend. Imagine if those strategies were preserved—not just for your men, but for future generations. A book, dedicated entirely to your methods, printed and disseminated widely.”
Interest flared in Sforza’s eyes. The promise of immortality through the written word thrilled him in a way that gold alone could not. He sat straighter, a pleased smile on his lips. “An intriguing offer, Your Grace. To see my methods etched into history—this would be a legacy worthy of the Sforza name.”
Constantine nodded, gauging the response carefully. He had struck a vital chord.
The envisioned army composition suited the Moreot forces. Sforza would bring around 4,000 fighting men: 1,000 cavalry, both heavy lancers and lighter horsemen, and 3,000 infantry—pikes, crossbows, handgunners, and close-combat troops—plus engineers, logisticians, and medics. Ships, likely hired from Genoa, would secure their passage to the Morea.
The notary was set to work on transcribing the condotta while both parties reviewed each clause. Sforza demanded assurances of regular payment and prompt provisioning. Constantine required loyalty and a guarantee against sudden abandonment. They both knew the vagaries of mercenary life. Yet Sforza’s ambition and interest in forging a grand legacy suggested he might be more than a mere sword for hire.
Quills scratched parchment, sealing words into binding obligation. When Constantine and Sforza finally affixed their signatures, the alliance came to life—iron and gold, faith and ambition entwined.
Afterwards, they spoke more casually, remarking on Italian politics, the availability of ships for the Adriatic crossing, and the quality of local Umbrian wines. Constantine chose his words carefully, aware that while the contract was signed, Sforza’s loyalty rested on reliable pay and future opportunities. For his part, Sforza observed the Despot’s demeanor, assessing his confidence and sincerity. Both men knew a contract was no guarantee of victory. Soon enough, the Ottoman Empire would test this alliance.
Later that night, in a private chamber lit by a single oil lamp, Constantine met with George. They reviewed the day’s events in hushed tones. George leaned forward, his expression shadowed with a mix of concern and resolve. “The cost will be steep, my Lord,” he said quietly. “By the time we’ve paid the advance, monthly installments, victory bonuses, and provided for the logistics of his army, it will exceed 80,000 gold florins. It’s a fortune.”
Constantine nodded, the flickering light casting sharp lines across his face as he contemplated the expense and the uncertainty ahead. After a moment, a faint smile touched his lips. “It is a good thing, then, that we made the deal with the Pope. Without that support, even entertaining such an alliance would have been impossible.”
George allowed himself a dry chuckle, though the weight of the situation remained heavy. “True enough,” he said, before his tone turned serious again. “Still, it costs us dearly, my Lord. But it is necessary. Without Sforza’s steel, we risk losing all we have rebuilt these past years.”
Constantine nodded again, the gravity of his decision evident in his expression. They had paid a high price, yet securing a captain of Sforza’s caliber might be the only way to hold the Morea against the coming storm.
The ink now dry on the condotta, Constantine and Sforza had entered a new chapter—one in which Italian cunning and Greek resolve would intertwine. Handgunners, pikes, cavalry, and cannon would shape the fields and fortresses of the Morea. History was poised to change in that agreement, made in a quiet noble’s house in Terni.
Comments
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter!
RENAISSANSE SI
Great idea, but I don’t think Sforza would be keen on staying in Greece for long—he’s far more interested in the deals and power plays back in Italy. That said, if they manage to counter Murad, who knows what opportunities might open up?
RENAISSANSE SI
Great questions! We’ll definitely find out as the story unfolds, but no spoilers from me—gotta keep the suspense alive! Tip: I do get inspired by what happened in reality, so keep an eye out for those connections.
RENAISSANSE SI
"Thanks so much! Just saw the article too—what an incredible find! Amazing to have a glimpse of Constantine as he was seen in his own time. Good stuff indeed! 🙌"
ioshf fikry
Excellent update today to go with today's news..they have found today in a small monastery near Patra the only known portrait of Constantine that was made during his life😯😯
Bobby Hill
I kinda hope we get to see Constantine's return and of what will happen when the Emperor's words arrive. Will his brother accept being pulled? What will happen?
russell marsh
You could offer land and title to him, if legacy is his main concerned that's a good way to secure his loyalty. Plus you can let him still be mercenary as long as he doesn't work for your enemies.
RENAISSANSE SI
Absolutely, you’re spot on! Dealing with mercenaries can be a double-edged sword—they’re skilled, but their loyalty often only lasts as long as the payments do. Constantine will have to tread carefully to keep them motivated and ensure their interests align with his goals.
russell marsh
Forces are mustering for the next round. Do be careful with mercenaries they can good but they say money talks nobody walks
RENAISSANSE SI
While researching potential mercenaries for this chapter, I was surprised to discover that Francesco Sforza was indeed likely available during this period. His contract with Milan was nearing its end as the Milan–Venice war began to wind down, making it plausible that he could consider new engagements. The pricing of Sforza’s contract in this chapter is based on historical records and what I could piece together about mercenary rates of the 15th century. These figures—like the upfront payment, staged installments, and victory bonuses—reflect the general practices of the era, highlighting the financial complexities of hiring a commander of Sforza’s stature.
