John’s firm resolve soon translated into bold action.
One by one, those who had supported for a cautious observation of the Ottoman situation began to lose their positions. The charge?
Conspiring to threaten the current regime. Before they could band together to resist, a single figure acted swiftly to arrest them: Manuel’s second son, Theodoros. Known as the Prince of Selymbria, Theodoros’s sudden emergence took everyone by surprise.
Yet, despite this being Theodoros’s first open involvement in state affairs, he showed no hesitation. Exercising the authority assigned to him by his brother John, Theodoros systematically dismantled the nobles aligned with the conservative faction.
By the time a day had passed, the conservatives who had rallied around Manuel were left staggering, having suffered a devastating blow.
The nobles of the conservative faction, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in the political landscape, urgently sought out Manuel, but the aging emperor did not make an appearance. Naturally, the confusion only deepened.
Stripped of their rallying point, the conservative faction lost their voice in court and found themselves largely imprisoned, unable to mount any meaningful opposition. Only a few managed to escape the brutal purge, including Georgios Sphrantzes, a young secretary overlooked due to his age, and the aged chancellor Notaras.
Even they, however, did not escape Theodoros’s gaze entirely.
Once Theodoros deemed the situation sufficiently under control, he made his way to the audience chamber where his brother John awaited him. Accompanied by soldiers, Theodoros marched into the court in an audacious display of disobedience. Witnessing this, Notaras, who had come to John seeking answers about the recent turmoil, trembled with anger as he scolded Theodoros.
“Your Highness, even as a member of the imperial family, there are protocols to be observed in the audience chamber of the emperor. Furthermore, you should be aware that you were not granted one sided authority to arrest officials occupying public office.”
But Theodoros merely responded with a smug, satisfied smile. As Notaras prepared to speak again, his words were interrupted by John’s calm, measured voice.
“All of it was done under my orders, Chancellor. There is no need to scold him.”
“…Your Majesty?”
Why had John granted such authority to Theodoros? Notaras dared not ask. For in John’s eyes, he saw something he had never before encountered—something he could not name but instinctively feared.
And that ominous feeling proved correct. As Notaras stood there, struggling for words, Theodoros sneered at him.
“Old Chancellor, do you still believe your emperor retains his throne?”
“My emperor? Your Highness, what are you saying? Who else would I serve but His Majesty John and His Majesty Manuel?”
“How foolish you are to think so,” Theodoros replied, his dark eyes filled with disdainful pity.
As anger began to rise within Notaras, he opened his mouth to retaliate, but Theodoros raised his arms, gazing toward the ceiling as if calling upon the heavens. With seriousness, he proclaimed:
“How can there be two supreme rulers under the heavens?”
The very concept of a co-emperor was absurd. The emperor was meant to be the Pantokrator (All Mighty), second only to Christ, the ruler of the world, a figure comparable to the twelve apostles. The idea of two such figures existing simultaneously was laughable to Theodoros.
He genuinely believed this. Though his cooperation with John had other motivations, this conviction lay at the heart of his actions.
Notaras, hearing this declaration, seemed to grasp the reality of the situation. His face turned deathly pale as he shifted his gaze from Theodoros to John, searching for confirmation of what he now feared.
“Your Majesty, do you understand the meaning behind Prince Theodoros’s words?”
In response, John remained silent, offering only a faint smile. That, in itself, was the answer. Notaras could no longer suppress his cry of despair. As he trembled, the sound of slow footsteps approached from behind. It was Theodoros.
“You have served the former emperor until now. From this moment onward, you must serve His Majesty instead, Chancellor.”
Notaras, still shaking in disbelief, was forced to accept the truth. There was no room left for denial. The city had already been entirely taken over by them. Emperor Manuel II had been deposed. And…
Even the faction that had supported Prince Constantine would disappear entirely as a result of these events.
All the facts spoke for themselves.
The vision Manuel had drawn up had failed.
//
The situation was deteriorating far more quickly than anyone had anticipated.
“Your Majesty…? Are you all right?”
A maid, whom Constantine vaguely remembered encountering once before, hesitantly spoke up. But there was no time to pay her any attention. The contents of the letter from Demicleos demanded his full focus.
As a part of efforts to silence unrest in the cities of central Greece, Plato had been sent to negotiate and persuade. The results were not insignificant. Plato’s emphasis on Morea as the last defender of Greek culture had succeeded in winning over a fair number of people.
However, this also meant that there were many who remained discontented. The newly established administrative body, the Ecclesia, had not had enough time—barely a year—to take root. Furthermore, the former elites were deeply resentful of having to share their power with others. Demicleos highlighted this point, warning that if a way to appease the elites was not devised, further defections might occur.
He also added an urgent plea for assistance, noting that Ivania’s frenzy were growing worse by the day.
It seemed she was venting her anger over not having seen him even once recently. Constantine was relieved he had arranged for Ivania to escort Demicleos; who knew what chaos might have unfolded had they met again after such a long time. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he closed his eyes for a moment.
Means to appease the elites… They likely wished to regain their status as rulers, but such a thing was out of the question. Hadn’t they been the very ones walking a tightrope between the Ottomans and the empire? Allowing one city to fall entirely into their hands was a risk he could not afford.
The only option was to rely on the newly empowered factions within the Ecclesia to keep those elites in check.
“…Time will solve this. Acting hastily would only worsen things.”
After all, the Ecclesia had been created for this very purpose. Barely a year had passed. As long as the groundwork was laid to allow the opposing factions to grow, stability would eventually return. With that thought, Constantine shifted his focus to the upcoming crowning of Thomas, the Prince of Epirus.
Or so he tried.
“Your Majesty, forgive the interruption, but… Her Grace has sent a message for you.”
The maid, who had been lingering nearby for some time, finally spoke up. So that was why she had been waiting. Without much thought, Constantine nodded and took the letter she offered. The maid, as if relieved of a great burden, quickly rushed out of the room.
It was probably something he needed to read alone, he thought, as he broke the seal on the letter.
“……Hmm….”
A wave of intense dizziness suddenly overcame him.
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