Do you know the feeling of trying your best, yet circumstances refuse to align?
The frustration of grinding your teeth to achieve one goal, only to be swiftly burdened with another task. The reality is that no matter how hard you work, without the help of others, your efforts often come to nothing. I wish I didn’t know this so well. My head throbs with a burning sensation, a reflection of the string of bad news that keeps coming.
Completely oblivious to my feelings, Adrianos began speaking in an excited voice.
“Now is the time, Your Highness! We must raise our troops and join Serbia without delay!”
Join? Join what exactly?
Does he really believe Serbia has a chance of victory against the Ottomans? Not even a smirk escapes me. How can they all view the situation so optimistically? Adrianos isn’t alone in this. Many outside the court of Mistra also demand we raise the army immediately.
No, this will only lead to ruin. I turn my head, and Adrianos’ voice grows louder.
“Your Highness! It’s time to make a decision!”
How ridiculous. Time to make a decision? My fists clench involuntarily. The frenzy for war, which began in the capital, now threatens to drag Morea into ruin. The only consolation is that Morea remains an autocracy.
“Drawing our swords would mean breaking our alliance with the Ottomans. We must proceed with caution.”
“Why…! Your Highness!”
His tone conveys disbelief. I had no desire to become a dictator. Yet, leading a suicidal charge against the Ottomans is a far worse decision. At the same time, I can’t help but curse the circumstances. Since the emergence of Mustafa, Bayezid’s last son, Mistra’s court has been steeped in this atmosphere.
The clamor for war grows louder from all quarters. People, driven by anger, are pushing an unprepared empire toward conflict.
Even Serbia’s ruler, Stefan, has misread the situation. How can he see this as an opportunity when Mehmed I’s regime has already stabilized? Yet, if we stand by and let Serbia embark on its reckless challenge, we risk losing the alliance we’ve just secured. Our strategic goal now boils down to a simple choice.
To either lead the war to victory or preserve Serbia’s strength.
Ah… I don’t want to do this. The urge to throw everything away is understandable. Perhaps the only solace is that the war faction hasn’t fully seized control. But that’s just a matter of time. The day John, the head of the war faction, runs the government alone, the Ottomans will turn their blades toward us without hesitation.
My aging father, Manuel II, will soon yield to the youthful fervor of Emperor John VIII. When that day comes, the empire will face the formidable Ottomans unprepared. The outcome is obvious to anyone. The capital’s diplomatic stance is the first step toward ruin. If that happens, the Ottomans won’t leave the hard-fought Morea in peace.
Of course, even if the situation worsens, my vow to protect the despairing remains.
Yet, whether we follow or defy the central government, either path will waste the hard-won time we’ve bought. The more this dilemma drags on, the more I lean toward conflict.
From my perspective, my brother and current co-emperor, John VIII, seems intoxicated by his own ambition. Johannes, obsessed with the idea of becoming a great emperor, has devised a grand and complex plans beyond the empire’s capacity. Plans that hinge on a critical and precarious necessities.
Inciting internal strife to gain advantage isn’t a bad idea in itself. The opposition arises from the fact that it’s being pushed through amidst numerous unresolved issues. For instance, Morea and the empire as a whole have devoted almost all their intelligence resources to monitoring the Ottomans, leaving them vulnerable to Western affairs.
We have no idea how many Western crusaders can be assembled for this grand ‘plan.’ I have some understanding of Western affairs due to my contacts with Venice… which only deepens my despair about the situation.
Moreover, they won’t just march out for nothing. The Pope will certainly demand something from the empire, likely the unification of the church under Catholic dominance.
How can we, without a single reliable ally, hope to achieve victory against the Ottomans?
I bowed my head, sensing the weight of destiny. Reckless resistance will crumble before slim chances, and the last reserves we’ve built for a final opportunity will be utterly destroyed. On that day, the fate of the empire will be sealed.
Our struggle to survive will be cruelly trampled, recorded as a futile twitch in the face of inevitability, and the empire’s name will gradually fade into obscurity over time. The somber end promised to all great civilizations, all great nations. No one doubts that one day a new era will rise over the ruins of a thousand years of history.
Yet, even if fate is set, one must fight to the end.
A devout believer clings to the hope of divine salvation, an honorable warrior believes their death will shine with pride and dignity, a father believes he can pass his life on to his children.
I, too, will throw myself into the finite flow of time with this belief. I trust that this ugly struggle will be remembered by someone as the fight of the empire’s people who, in the face of overwhelming odds, strove to protect their sovereignty to the end.
Thus, it must be avoided.
These years of effort were not spent to meet such an end.
To prevent it, Morea must secure the alliances the empire, as it was, failed to achieve. The pride and dignity that cling tighter in the face of impending doom. As a nascent force in southern Greece, less burdened by such constraints. It was a thought I had always held, but recent events in the capital solidified my resolve for Morea’s course.
“Could it be a mistake?”
Aside from a few crude pieces of furniture, the office was devoid of any items or people. Naturally, the murmured words echoed off the ceiling and walls, returning to the solitary speaker. Years spent pursuing a single objective. Reflecting on how the original goal was a carefree life with beautiful maidens made the change in oneself apparent. Beautiful maidens… there had been encounters with several.
…I hope they found good companions.
After a brief reverie, he picked up the pen without hesitation. The recipient was the elders of Venice. Though their relationship with the Empire had been stormy, they shared a common enemy. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Just as the Ottomans’ rapidly growing naval power threatened control of the Aegean, Venice was likely wary of them too.
He had to ensure that they could convince the Imperial court. Furthermore, he outlined a plan he hadn’t disclosed to anyone before. He was well aware that many would oppose it, and in extreme cases, it could even lead to civil war. Nevertheless, he pursued it because it was the only way for the fallen Empire to survive.
And so, with a much more serious demeanor than usual, he spent hours moving the pen.
“Your Highness.”
A low voice accompanied by a knock broke the silence. It was Demicleos, the Empire’s magistrate. He only visited when there was significant news to report. However, there were no prior indications. The issues brought forth by the Assembly were typically routine tax discussions, and judicial matters were handled by the magistrate, ensuring a clear separation of powers.
The only additional possibility was the feared end of destiny.
“Has the Ottoman moved?”
He hoped not, but the silence beyond the door conveyed the answer. He was the first to sigh, the last to resign. It’s all over. My efforts have amounted to nothing. In that moment of despair, Demicleos spoke.
“It’s not just that. There’s also a message from His Majesty.”
“His Majesty… my father?”
A father who was a respected emperor and an understanding figure, having devoted his life to saving the Empire. What message would he send in such circumstances? Expectations weren’t high. However, his doubtdul heart shifted upon hearing Demicleos’s words.
“‘I’ve hesitated for a long time, but now I can say it with certainty. Constantine, he is the only one fit to stand against the Ottomans.’”
…Why would he say such a thing now? Why, at this moment? This was a decision—a conclusion reached after much deliberation on the succession issue. These words could overturn it, potentially inciting a civil war for the throne.
Your Majesty, my father.
Have you foreseen that my hands would be stained with the blood of kin? Are you entrusting me with the cross I feared to bear, a cross that, once drenched in the blood of many, will bring peace to the world—the [Red Cross]?
“Demicleos, summon the Venetian envoy staying here.”
“What shall I tell him?”
The initial contact between Mustafa and Serbia had been made through Venice. Originally, they would have preferred not to get involved and hoped for Mustafa’s victory. Unfortunately, Mustafa’s chances weren’t high. The military discipline was completely different.
Serbia’s defeat was almost a certainty.
Therefore, the balance must be adjusted to prevent it from tipping entirely to one side.
“Convey the matter of an alliance. Tell them we are willing to become the pieces on their chessboard.”
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