Constantine, the prince marching north from Morea, and Sultan Murad, descending south to meet him.
Many observers of Balkan affairs identified the vicinity of Larissa as the likely clash point between the two forces. The area, dense with long grasslands, was believed to offer a tactical advantage by neutralizing the Sipahi cavalry.
However, these predictions were undermined by the unexpectedly slow pace of Constantine’s advance. There were various reasons for the delay: securing supply routes, gathering more accurate geographical knowledge…
But the lieutenants knew there was another, more significant reason. Although the prince had not voiced it outright, they could sense that his deliberate pace was not without purpose. Adriano, the young and spirited deputy commander, watched the prince’s figure ahead and fell into thought.
“His Highness wouldn’t have ordered this march without a plan.”
There must have been a reason why he had instructed Adriano to gather a considerable amount of Greek fire. Yet, the prince remained silent, refusing to elaborate on any strategy. Adriano did not see this as a lack of trust. He recalled the prince’s earlier warning to his retainers: just as they had eyes and ears, so too did their enemies. It was a clear caution against spies.
“Then I shall trust in Your Highness’s will.”
Adriano’s resolve was not misplaced. The true reason for the prince’s slow advance lay with the city-states of central Greece. By deliberately including several key cities along his march, he apparently sought to encourage them and secure supply routes.
However, his primary aim was to gauge their sentiments. Though nominally subordinate to the prince, central Greece was still technically under the Sultan’s domain.
Morea, positioned as an intermediary, acted as a steward of sorts—presenting itself as both an agent and ally of the Sultan, collecting taxes and delivering tributes on his behalf. This arrangement had been the result of the last war.
Expecting full subjugation within just a year was an empty hope, especially since the harsh measures taken in response to the Black Death had already sown plenty of resentment.
Furthermore, Constantine had come to grips with reality, thanks to the cautious advice of Demicleos and Plethon. The city-states had yet to decide whether they would become part of the Empire or remain under the Sultan’s rule. And what could be more terrifying in war than a threat looming from one’s rear?
Thus, the prince moved his army close to these cities to send a warning, ensuring they did not entertain other allegiances lightly. A distant force of ten thousand might inspire fear, but a closer force of six thousand was far more immediate and tangible.
Even so, the prince’s worries did not diminish. No matter how much he planned and maneuvered, ultimate victory was the only true solution to this uncertain situation.
Knowing how difficult victory would be, his concerns grew all the more burdensome.
But relinquishing the reins was not an option.
On the exact day marking one month since news of the siege of Constantinople and Sultan Murad’s southern advance, Constantine entered Nemeapatre in December 1421. Upon arrival, he declared a state of war and enforced enlistment so severe they were almost harsh. It was a far cry from the gentle ruler his subjects had once perceived him to be. Naturally, not only the soldiers who had fought alongside him but even the officers began to question his transformation.
Why was the prince acting so differently?
Why was he halting the advance instead of pressing forward?
The answer soon became clear in the military council that followed.
“Our battlefield will be here, at Nemeapatre.”
“…Your Highness, a siege is an effective way to buy time, but in situations where victory is crucial, it could isolate our forces and prove disastrous. Would it not be wiser to draw the enemy closer and use the terrain for guerrilla tactics?”
Remarkably, even Ivania, who was known for her silly remarks, offered a sound opinion for once. Had she finally awakened to her role as a commander? It was enough to bring tears to Constantine’s eyes—if he had been the kind of man who cried easily. Even Adriano seemed surprised by Ivania’s change, though he chose not to dwell on it, given the weight of the matter at hand.
“I share Ivania’s opinion. While Nemeapatre is indeed a strategic choke point, many city-states in central Greece are still wavering between the Sultan and us. A prolonged siege would likely push them further away.”
“I do not deny the validity of your points. However, the aim is not to hold a siege but to repel the enemy.”
“…Is that even possible?”
Though Constantine was known for his measured words, it was difficult to believe his declaration under such circumstances. No matter how firmly they had resolved to follow him, the boldness of his claim was not easy to accept. But Constantine had already devised a plan—a strategy he had envisioned from the time he first gathered his retainers to prepare for war.
“It will be a lure. Nemeapatre will serve as bait to draw in the Sultan.”
“A lure, Your Highness?”
Ivania questioned with evident doubt, her bright blue eyes reflecting both curiosity and disbelief. To address their concerns, Constantine revisited the fragment of ‘future knowledge’ that had come to him. Whether one called it foresight or knowledge of what was to come, it was the only way to overcome their numerical disadvantage. At last, he began to share his thoughts.
“I will open the gates for them.”
“Your Highness!?”
“Your Highness!”
The meaning behind opening the gates was clear. Even though both Ivania and Adrianos knew full well that the prince would never betray them, their instincts brought forth near-screams of disbelief. Naturally, Constantine was not one to be swayed by such reactions. Ignoring the startled expressions of his vassals, he pressed on with his explanation.
“Opening the gates does not signify surrender. It won’t be us opening them—it will be the citizens of Nemeapatre. Unable to endure the harsh demands, they will invite the Ottomans in, hoping to drive us out. That’s when the enemy will seize the opportunity and march into the city.”
An urban battle that would exploit the city’s terrain to inflict heavy damage on the enemy while minimizing unnecessary movements. That was the prince’s aim. Using the labyrinthine streets of the city as the battlefield, he would neutralize their numerical advantage with far fewer troops. Of course, such a plan alone would eventually be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
“And once enough of their forces are inside, we will set the city ablaze with the Greek fire we’ve prepared. The flames will sever their lines, and we’ll deploy our Spearmen to drive the scattered enemy troops into the inferno.”
Fire attacks typically require meticulous preparation and are heavily dependent on weather conditions. For ordinary fires to become truly threatening, a tremendous amount of flammable materials would be required. However, Greek fire was the empire’s formidable secret weapon—its flames could even burn upon the sea. Worrying whether such flames would prove sufficient was foolish.
Clearly, neither Ivania nor Adrianos had considered this approach. Both stood agape, unable to find words. Yet, Constantine had been preparing this strategy ever since he realized he would face Murad.
Choosing Nemeapatre as the main battlefield was a calculated decision. This was a strategy that would devastate the city, so he had deliberately chosen a location sympathetic to the Ottomans. Even if it fell, the losses could be mitigated.
He had resolved long ago:
Cities that favored the Ottomans would be abandoned. But those that remained loyal—they would be protected.
“…So the harsh measures were intended to draw the sultan’s attention after all,” Adrianos murmured.
“To deceive the enemy, you must first deceive your allies. From the start, I never believed half-measures would fool the sultan,” Constantine replied.
At the same time, his understanding of Murad’s motives made the plan possible. Murad sought to utterly crush Morea’s military strength, stripping the empire of all its remaining power. As long as Morea’s forces remained intact, the Ottomans would always feel a threat at their rear. This, Constantine intended to exploit. This time, he would succeed where countless others had failed.
If he could recreate the miraculous improvisation of János Hunyadi in the Battle of Belgrade, which shattered the seemingly unstoppable Ottoman momentum…
With Ivania and Adrianos still reeling from shock, Constantine clenched his teeth.
“Murad, I did not rise only to fall here.”
Fate’s decree of destruction, the heavy shadows of resignation and despair cast over his people, and even the great tides of history themselves—
He would overturn them all.
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