Joannina Kantakouzenos did not have fond memories of her encounters with Prince Constantine.
It all stemmed from a brief exchange during their betrothal meeting.
“…Goodbye.”
With that curt farewell, he abruptly stood up and left. While it’s true she had been a bit sharp, couldn’t she be forgiven? She was young then, after all! These thoughts would cross her mind as she sulked, only to find herself trailing after Constantine, observing him with a mix of curiosity and resentment under the silent approval of the other attendants.
His routine was repetitive: eating, sleeping, studying, and training.
How could he endure such a life? Even at fifteen, Joannina couldn’t comprehend his intense focus and perseverance. As a child, she found it utterly baffling, and to her, Constantine seemed like a disagreeable eccentric.
One day, she overheard a conversation between Constantine and his steward.
“Your Highness, what drives you to such lengths? While dedication to studies is commendable, your indifference to others is concerning.”
A valid point! How could someone be so oblivious to the feelings of others? At this stage, Joannina had branded Constantine as an ‘odd person’ incapable of understanding emotions. But then, Constantine replied:
“I cannot afford to give up.”
What couldn’t he give up? Was she supposed to give up instead? Feeling her pride stung, Joannina narrowed her eyes at him. As if unaware of her gaze, Constantine began to stroke the mantle on his shoulders.
“Even I, as young as I am, understand that the Empire is in decline and new powers are rising. Some may see this as the inevitable dawn of a new era. It might sound blasphemous, but it’s true. We’ve reached this point after numerous turning points, and what awaits us at the end of this path is the final chapter of a long history.”
“Your Highness.”
“But even if a somber end awaits every great civilization and state, people must fight until the very end. Whether it’s a believer trusting in divine salvation, an honorable warrior believing in the glory of their sacrifice, or a father hoping to pass his life on to his children, I, too, will walk this path with conviction. I believe that this desperate struggle will be remembered as the people’s fight to retain their sovereignty, even in the face of historical inevitability.”
At that moment, Joannina saw a light in Constantine—a noble radiance that no one else in the capital possessed. However, Constantine seemed oblivious to this as he gripped his practice sword tightly.
“I am preparing for the future.”
From that moment, Joannina began to prepare for the future as well, specifically to become a worthy wife to Constantine. The harsh trials of the past had not been in vain.
“Joannina, how do you feel?”
“Try taking a deep breath. You’re going to burn up!”
Teasing remarks mixed with envy and admiration from those around her.
“It’s only natural. I’ve been preparing for this since then. I’ve taken care of my appearance, ensuring my beauty didn’t fade, and forced myself to memorize even the most tedious books to build my knowledge.”
Joannina was confident. Though she might not be perfect, she believed she was far more prepared than other noble ladies to stand beside Constantine.
But when will he come?
Now, all that was left was to wait for her husband, who had gone to attend to state affairs, even on their wedding night. Should she warn him that she’d cry if he neglected her on such an occasion? Joannina tapped her wine glass with her finger, trying to alleviate her boredom.
No, she’d cry if he didn’t treat her well.
How would Prince Constantine react if she cried and begged for comfort? Surely he wouldn’t ignore her. After all, as his wife, it would be a blow to his reputation if rumors spread about neglect. Perhaps he’d even be flustered and show a side of himself she had never seen before.
I hope he dotes on me. Joannina’s tapping grew livelier as she imagined the possibilities.
//
When faced with a crisis, people have choices.
They can evade it, hope to avoid the worst by surrendering, or resign themselves to a bleak future. The right path depends on the individual and cannot be easily judged.
Yet the most painful choice might be gathering the shattered remnants of hope. Amidst the widespread despair and apocalyptic predictions, people’s eyes reflect certainty of defeat rather than hope for victory.
Empty encouragements cannot revive those who have resigned themselves, as the present decline is more painful against the backdrop of past glory.
No one denies the Empire is hurtling towards ruin. The only question is when. That’s why it’s crucial to carefully choose when to draw the sword. We cannot face the rising Ottomans alone.
To counter the Ottomans, we need allies willing to stand beside us—alliances forged across nations and dynasties. The unifying cause is faith, and to rally an army under the cross, the Pope’s declaration is essential. Yet, I’ve never heard of the Pope positively responding to a crusade request.
Furthermore, our ignorance of Western Europe’s political landscape, due to our focus on the Ottomans, is a severe disadvantage. We don’t even know which potential allies could be reliable. Hence, I couldn’t support those calling for a decisive battle against the Ottomans. The last crusade’s defeat had already dampened spirits.
Can we be certain the Church’s authority will remain unshaken after successive failures? If the Church’s authority collapses, the rationale for a unified alliance across nations, peoples, and dynasties would weaken. The next opportunity might be the last, so we must conserve our strength for that moment.
Naturally, such a stance placed me in direct opposition to the hawkish faction gaining influence in the capital, as well as the conservatives.
“Konstantinos, Prince of Morea, your argument has gained no support.”
The bishop’s words at the meeting echoed the sentiments of everyone present. Co-Emperor John VIII, representing the hawks, and even my father, Manuel II, who usually supported me, cast disapproving looks. I had expected this. When everyone else divides into black and white, standing in the gray invites criticism. The first to attack was my fervent brother, John VIII.
“Constantine, even you must realize that we cannot avoid a confrontation with the Ottomans.”
As he said. For the empire to survive, it must defeat the Ottomans. To overthrow the Ottomans, who have already become dominant, the empire must inflict multiple critical blows, not just one. The problem is that the empire lacks the capacity to support such efforts.
Thus, a crusade is needed to achieve what is inherently impossible for the empire. Only an overwhelming victory that could balance the national power of the Ottomans and the empire in a single decisive battle can ensure survival. Up to this point, my views align with those of John VIII.
The problem is that John VIII has completely misjudged the capabilities of the Ottomans.
“Your Majesty… As you know, we cannot drive out those Saracens (Arabs) with our strength alone.”
“Precisely, which is why I have been saying that we must divide them before the gap widens further. If they turn their swords on each other, as Bayezid’s sons did before, the empire can benefit. Meanwhile, we will call upon the western church for a crusade to drive out all the Saracens.”
I felt an intense urge to clutch my head in frustration. Too optimistic. Far too optimistic. John’s words aren’t entirely unfounded. The empire has faced frequent disputes over succession due to a lack of clear inheritance laws, but the Ottomans lack any formal laws regarding succession.
Thus, any son of the Sultan has a legitimate claim to the throne, leading to inevitable fraternal conflicts. It’s a reasonable strategy to exploit this. The issue is…
“Seven years. That is the period of unstable peace we’ve maintained with them. While we’ve barely managed to regroup, they have subdued one threatening force after another, aiming to breach the Theodosian Walls.”
“Which is why we must break their momentum now, more than ever!”
No. This cannot be. The opportunity we have painstakingly gained must not be lost like this. The empire does need hope, but it must not be born from such expectations. The urgency and disappointment with the so-called ‘war faction,’ who misunderstand the Ottomans, boiled inside me. I could not hold back the cry that emerged.
“We cannot endure!”
Do they genuinely believe our nation still has strength? Are they all ensnared by past glories?
Or are they fleeing from the harsh reality of our decline?
“We cannot hold out!”
Had Western Europe been in a more stable position, they wouldn’t have watched the rapidly expanding threat of the Ottomans in silence. But hadn’t we already heard from Venice? England and France are consumed by the Hundred Years’ War, the Holy Roman Empire’s authority has plummeted, and Hungary is embroiled in battles against internal heresies, unable to assist!
And without Hungary’s participation in the crusade, the empire will face the formidable Ottomans alone for some time. The capital might remain safe, relying on the steadfastness of the triple Theodosian walls.
But Morea will not.
If the Ottomans target the empire, Morea will crumble swiftly, without proper resistance. History shows that victors win because they have the necessary capability. The conservatives likely understand this bitter reality. The one launching this attack now is the tired gaze of Manuel II, a father who has come to grips with the brutal truth.
“Are you advocating a fight against the Ottomans despite knowing this?”
“You know, Father, that this precarious alliance will not last long!”
“Your words are contradictory, Constantine. You refuse war yet simultaneously advocate for it. Have you not made up your mind?”
John VIII pressed me immediately. The young emperor and the old emperor, each from their positions, were pushing Morea to make a choice. How laughable.
“A confrontation with the Ottomans is inevitable. But now is not the time for that confrontation. When the western crusaders arrive, when the Ottomans are divided, and when our allies unite under the true name of faith to protect the Christian world, that will be the time for our decisive battle.”
“But we don’t know when that time will come…! We might never see that moment! Are we to wait in idleness for such an uncertain moment? Such complacency blinds us!”
John VIII stepped toward me, his gaze fixed. As I met his gaze without retreating, I felt the tension between us intensify.
“Now is that time. Now is the moment to unite under faith.”
“What makes you so impatient? What is driving Your Majesty to such desperation?”
“The guilt of having done nothing, and the helplessness of being unable to do anything!”
Finally, beyond the bloodshot eyes, I could glimpse John’s inner turmoil. What drove him was the overwhelming responsibility of his position, a burden he could never shed. The compulsion to achieve something must have been deeply ingrained through some incident—likely guilt.
“Brother, this is what I hoped for. You need not feel sorry for me.”
“You may think I am overconfident. But an elder feels this way. It feels like failing in my duty as an elder to have made you feel such burden.”
“So, it’s for your redemption?”
“Help me atone, Constantine.”
Such unnecessary responsibility. I won’t say it’s unpleasant to have a brother who cares, but sometimes, care—not hatred—creates distortion. The larger the matter at hand, the more the original intent can result in a skewed outcome. I cannot concede.
Besides… I felt it was not purely for atonement. If he truly sought atonement, he would have considered my opinions, even slightly. John VIII seemed impatient for another reason. I couldn’t help but believe that. If not, he wouldn’t be in such a hurry.
“No… I cannot assist Your Majesty with either your atonement or your true desires.”
John and I are different.
This is not merely about our appearance, impressions, or conduct. While the outcomes of our thoughts may be similar, our ultimate goals differ. The motivations may be alike, but the dreams they inspire are different.
“…What do you mean?”
“What I desire and what Your Majesty desires are too similar yet too different to be called alike. That is why I cannot help you.”
From the moment I suspected what drove his urgency, my mind had closed. Though we might shake hands for political reasons, we would never be true allies. The grand dream of rebuilding the empire—one seeks it for personal glory, the other for the citizens. This initial difference has grown into a complete contrast, preventing a true alliance.
In the increasingly tense atmosphere, I turned away from John, who was dressed in imperial regalia, without hesitation.
“Though it may be arrogant of me to say such things, I believe that devotion and passion are different.”
I suddenly thought of Manuel II, who must have arranged this meeting. The expressions of those aware that the conversation between Morea’s ruler and Co-emperor John had ended poorly were grim.
My father’s expression was no exception. He had hoped for a better future, resting his hand on his forehead, hiding his aging self. I felt sorry, but there was no other choice.
“As the ruler of Morea, I oppose the war faction’s claims. I do so knowing what consequences this may bring.”
Leaving only those words, I felt no need to stay further and turned to leave. As I did, John’s voice called out from behind.
“Very well, I will wait for the future as you say. I will remember this… Constantine.”
Simultaneously, I had a feeling. If we managed to drive out the Ottomans and the empire survived, John would surely target my life.
Yet, we were brothers, uncomfortably similar to walk the same path.
A man who doesn’t need to be emperor and a man who must be emperor.
As I walked away, I thought of John. He will likely be the next emperor.
But after him, I must become emperor.
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