The passage of time erodes even the most magnificent civilizations.
Even the splendid palaces that once drew the envy of many crumble into dust, and names once spoken with pride fade into faint memories. Yet, through the remnants left behind by the forgotten, we can glean how they once lived.
The traces of once-prosperous times and the melancholic memories of those who lived in previous eras—it is inevitable. If there is a rise, there must be a fall, and passing the era to a new power is the fate of all mighty beings. One cannot block the rising sun with their hand. The fall has always been foreseen.
However, even if the arrow of fate points toward ruin, and the flow of time betrays them, the current powers do not yield easily.
Twenty years have been endured with the belief that it is a priest’s duty to fight against trials. Each time the enemy’s army surrounded the city, days were spent kneeling before the sacred altar, pleading for the empire to be preserved, at least through their time.
Thus, carrying the fallen glory on their shoulders, they have led the aging empire from behind the crumbled walls. After desperate struggles for survival, the empire now stands at its final crossroads.
Will they survive, or will they perish?
This has been a long-standing dilemma. Watching the remnants of past prosperity turn into desolate ruins was a concern that could never be shaken off. Fearing to find an answer, they only did their best.
Now, the final moment is approaching. An uncertain, anxious future looms just ahead.
Have all preparations been made?
Are you ready to face the trials?
These endless questions are known to be futile. Regardless of preparation, fate will demand cruel choices.
While still in torment, footsteps are heard.
The Emperor opens his eyes. Instead of the familiar office, a banquet set to welcome a guest appears. Soon, the Emperor’s weary eyes regain a bit of vigor.
It must be so.
Today’s guest holds special significance for the Emperor. Yet, despite his aging and inability to rise, the guest, understanding this, offers a respectful greeting and moves to the prepared seat.
“You seem very tired.”
“You’ve endured much as well.”
Neither was in a position to comment on the other. Both participants in the banquet were so exhausted that no spark of passion could be found. In a state of severe inertia, they each picked up their utensils. For a while, neither spoke, and only the quiet clinking of dishes filled the room. As the silent meal continued, the guest suddenly put down his utensils, prompting the Emperor to look up at him.
“Shall I call for the food to be changed? Perhaps a drink to cleanse the palate first?”
“…No, it’s fine. I paused because I have something to say. The meal is quite satisfying.”
“Something to say.”
The Emperor lets out a deep sigh. Though they could not meet often due to their respective positions, he had not considered this an unpleasant meeting. Perhaps it was the last meeting. The Emperor, aware of his own old age and fatigue, easily discerned that his guest felt the same.
Heavy worries can bring a person down. The weight that slowly crushed the soul eventually burdens the body as well. He knows how cruel it can be, having felt it for twenty years.
As someone who shares the same pain and rules over others, the Emperor decides to listen.
“What troubles you?”
“At first, I was joyful. I took pride in ascending as a ruler, inheriting my father’s renown. But now, the title of Sultan torments me.”
With these words, the Emperor’s guest and precarious ally, Sultan Mehmed I of the Ottoman Empire, extends his right hand toward the Emperor. The Emperor notices the Sultan’s hand trembling visibly. While he might have shown some weakness before, this was beyond usual. As the Emperor’s gaze conveys his doubt, the Sultan lets out a self-deprecating laugh.
“There was an attempt to poison me.”
“…”
“A slave died before my eyes. Yet no one in the court mentioned the incident. When I saw everyone keep silent, I realized something.”
The Sultan closes his eyes gently. He clasps his trembling hands on his lap and speaks with difficulty.
“That I must die because of the title of Sultan.”
“…Do you have any idea who the culprit might be?”
“The tribal leaders who dislike the Sultan’s authority, scholars who criticize my leniency, soldiers who disapprove of seeking diplomatic solutions… At some point, the number of those who might seek my life has grown this large.”
The Sultan’s shoulders begin to shake slightly. With his hands covering his forehead, he finally speaks of his greatest fear.
“And when I die, there will be a power struggle over the position of Sultan, just as I did.”
This worry was shared by the Emperor as well. He was well aware of the second prince Theodoros’s ambition for the throne. However, the Emperor had chosen another prince as the heir in preparation for any eventuality. Though the succession has been tentatively settled, the future remains uncertain. A brother killing another brother over power and honor is inevitable, stirring hatred among kin.
This tragedy was something both the Sultan and the Emperor shared.
“…A child who inherits the title of Sultan will not leave a brother who threatens his position alive. It has always been so.”
The Emperor soon realizes.
“…There is a child you wish to protect.”
“The name ‘Sultan’ could not protect. Instead, when I realized that the title was strangling my son’s neck, there was nothing I could do as the Sultan. It was as if I was strangling my beloved son with my own hands.”
Pretending not to hear the faint sound of sobbing, the Emperor fell into deep thought.
Holding a potential hostage who could threaten the future Sultan’s position was a significant political advantage. It could create a chance to incite internal strife and overcome the hopeless disparity in national power when the time came. Politically and as a ruler, this was the right decision.
However, the Emperor could not bring himself to make such a choice. To ignore a father pleading before a potential enemy leader to protect his child, for the same reason, was impossible for another father who shared that emotion.
“You have always regarded me as a father and have kept the peace as you once swore. Now we both know the end of that peace is approaching. Just as your end as Sultan is near, so too is my end as Emperor.”
The peace had been brief. As the unstable alliance neared its conclusion, both the Emperor and the Sultan were ready to pass their burdens to their successors. The fate of the empire and the city that had once enjoyed prosperity were no longer in their hands. Their successors would inherit the task of proving their efforts in the face of a cruel era. This moment was the last peace all would remember.
“As proof of our forgotten friendship, I will protect your son. I swear to guard him until my last breath, just as you once did.”
“Thank you.”
With this, the banquet concluded. The Emperor, accompanied by a few attendants to avoid drawing attention, saw off the departing Sultan. Everyone sensed this would be their final meeting, and the Sultan nodded silently before leaving.
The Sultan’s retreating figure was so somber that the Emperor continued to watch for a long time, feeling that if he left first, the Sultan would be left alone. Once the Sultan’s party had disappeared entirely, the Emperor knew that peace had ended.
Only a brief reprieve remained.
Amidst his complex emotions, the Emperor returned to the palace, only to be met by the reproach of Co-Emperor John VIII.
“Why did you let him go? That was a chance that will not come again!”
“What do you think should have been done?”
“The Sultan should have been killed. Then the internal strife could have been incited to buy time for the empire.”
As John raised his voice in anger, the Emperor remained silent. John’s words reflected the sentiment of the young. Over eight years, the empire had barely regained its footing, but the Ottomans had risen.
Now the gap in national strength was despairing.
If more time passed, that gap would only widen. The young concluded that a decisive battle with the Ottomans was necessary—a final struggle to defy fate. Yet, to the old and weary Emperor, John’s words sounded unrealistic.
“John, the empire can no longer determine its fate. That decision could lead to irreversible failure.”
“That’s why I’m lamenting the missed opportunity. The chance for the empire to decide its fate for the last time has slipped away.”
After berating the Emperor for a while, John eventually sighed, reading the weariness in the Emperor’s expression, and left. Soon after, Chancellor Notaras and the son of the Emperor’s long-time friend Sphrantzes, the chief secretary George Sphrantzes, approached.
“Your Majesty, you seem tired.”
“…I envy and fear the passion of the young. Yet, perhaps their passion will open a path that God will bless.”
“Your Majesty.”
“Unfortunately, I have grown too old to muster the courage to face trials. It is regrettable that I no longer have the passion that would please the Lord.”
Notaras, knowing the heavy burden the Emperor had borne, could not reproach him. Moreover, the Emperor was now seventy. He was too old to lead the empire. With eyes that knew the empire’s era was ending, how could there be any passionate enthusiasm left? After a moment of being choked up, Notaras could not speak, and the Emperor raised his head to look at him.
“Notaras, my friend in despair, can you permit me to lay down this burden before you?”
“How could I ever resent you, Your Majesty?”
“Do not worry… the time has not yet come.”
The Emperor offered a weary smile to Notaras. True to his words, the struggle was not over. He needed to hold his position a little longer to prolong peace, even slightly. At this moment, the Emperor’s last hope lay in the Morea, now consolidating a powerful centralized authority under Prince Constantine.
“By the way, how is the Morea these days?”
Unlike the resigned capital, Mistra was flourishing. With the wise Prince Constantine, things would have definitely improved. The question, posed with a hopeful heart, was answered as expected. Small Sphrantzes, who had remained silent, finally spoke.
“No bad news has been heard. The Morea is gladly accepting Prince Constantine’s rule, and even the Latins remaining in Achaia are compliant, knowing they will have their property rights acknowledged if they accept imperial rule. Thanks to this, Achaea, the most concerning region, has been successfully governed without any issues since Emperor Theodoros handed over the rule.”
“The rule of Achaea…”
His ambitious son Theodore would not have relinquished control so easily. The Emperor closed his eyes, hoping for the best outcome.
May it not lead to the worst.
T/L : You guys might get confused but Morea and Mistra are the same place. Its just that Morea is a bigger place and Mistra is a fortified town in Morea. Its also historically accurate.
Leave a Reply