Morea, on high alert in response to the Ottoman movements.
The first news to reach those, led by Emperor Dragases, who were desperately trying to uncover the Ottomans intentions, concerned Venice.
For the first time in a long while, the Venetian resident merchant had requested an audience. Sensing an ominous air at once, the emperor accepted the meeting immediately—and thanks to that, he was able to obtain critical information.
“Be cautious, Your Majesty. The Ottoman forces will soon be on the move.”
A voice filled with certainty echoed through the imperial office. Of course, everyone knew the Ottomans would act before long. But none had made such a bold and clear assertion as the Venetian before him. The emperor’s eyes sharpened, convinced that there must be a reason behind this confidence.
“Something must have happened.”
“You are correct, Your Majesty. We Venetians recently signed several treaties with the Sultan of the Ottomans. All of it was to ensure the safety of Thessalonica and our trade routes.”
“You’re being surprisingly forthcoming.”
“It is because we deemed the threat that grave, Your Majesty.”
The Venetian bowed respectfully, unfazed by the emperor’s sarcastic tone. Seeing this, the emperor refrained from pressing further. Though the Empire and Venice shared a relationship filled with love and hate, at least for now, they stood as aligned powers with shared interests against the Ottomans.
Suspecting a Western ally—especially one relied upon for intelligence and naval strength—would only be shortsighted.
Reminded of this, the emperor slowly regained his composure. He had to be patient. How many times had he repeated this to himself? Only after confirming the emperor’s calm did the Venetian disclose the price the Ottomans had demanded.
“What we asked was simple: to halt the fortification of the Dardanelles Strait.
But the Sultan went further. He offered not only to ensure Thessalonica’s safety, but also to lift tributes. In exchange, what he demanded was a treaty prohibiting any hostile acts for the next five years.”
“Five years, is it?”
A period that could be considered either reasonable or vague. No doubt, the aim was to prevent Venetian interference while the Ottomans schemed something in that time.
The emperor mulled over the implications briefly but soon realized it was futile. He knew too little. Now was not the time for conjecture, but for gathering more clues.
“What’s the scope of this ‘hostility’ clause?”
“It covers a wide range—providing ships to enemies of the Ottomans, supporting them with funds—broadly speaking, any form of involvement in war.”
“In other words, they want you to stay completely out of any conflict. And I assume you agreed.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The Senate, concerned about Genoa’s recent gains, chose not to oppose the Ottomans but to build influence from within instead.”
So they sided with the Ottomans out of fear of Genoa’s expansion. What had been intended as a balancing act in the Aegean Sea had turned into a blade pointing back at them. Yet the emperor couldn’t fault Venice for their decision.
Especially since they had succeeded in delaying the fortification of the Dardanelles Strait—a matter of great importance to the Empire. Any effort to aid their isolated capital in the future would require control of the sea.
Thus, the emperor merely sighed in response.
“I understand. For you, there was no other choice. The mere fact that Thessalonica has been preserved is fortune enough.”
“Your Majesty’s understanding is more than we deserve.”
In truth, this outcome was far better than expected. According to the course of history, Thessalonica was to be left isolated without surrounding powers to divert the Ottoman threat. Unable to bear the overwhelming burden of defense, the city would eventually fall to the Ottomans. That it remained friendly to the Empire at all was a hopeful sign.
The only troubling matter was the treaty prohibiting hostilities for the next five years.
Whatever gains or protections Venice had secured, the pressure around the Ottomans had undoubtedly eased. Venice’s navy, which had been pivotal in blockading Anatolia and the Balkans, was now forced to pull back. And surely the shrewd Venetians understood the implications of such a situation. The Ottoman resurgence was a threat to both the Empire and Venice alike.
That was why they hadn’t hesitated to share such critical information. The Venetian merchant, speaking as a representative of the Senate, continued without reserve.
“The reason we believe the Ottomans are preparing to act is precisely because of this treaty. And sure enough, once we paid closer attention, we began to detect significant movements of troops and supplies.”
And this—this was the information Emperor Dragasēs had truly been hoping for.
“The Ottomans are moving troops?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The Sultan… the Sultan has been relocating forces to the Bulgarian region—outside our sphere of influence. And he has done so slowly and steadily, over several years.”
“If it’s been over years, it’s hardly ‘recent.’”
“Everyone was focused on Constantinople. We were no different.”
“…I see. The siege of the capital was a distraction.”
Only now did the fog shrouding the Ottomans’ true intentions begin to lift.
So it wasn’t a ploy to lure out Morea, but rather to keep neighboring powers fixated on the wrong target.
An army of eight thousand is no small force. Yet it was clearly not the full might of the Ottomans. The emperor had thought the small number a precaution against the strain of frequent campaigns, but now he realized it had been a deliberate ploy.
“And of all places—Bulgaria.”
Moving forces to Bulgaria would make naval supply lines difficult. Even so, the emperor couldn’t say the Sultan had miscalculated. Through past conflicts, the Sultan had likely realized that Venice was leaking substantial intelligence. Thus, it wasn’t odd for him to choose Bulgaria—a region beyond Venetian influence—to hide his true intentions.
Being deep within Ottoman territory, it would also make troop formation harder to detect. But the most concerning factor was this: because of these very reasons, it was nearly impossible to guess when or where the Ottoman advance would come.
“Is it really Albania?”
There was no denying that the Ottomans would face multiple obstacles in launching a direct campaign into Albania. The main among them was the Pindus Mountains, a natural fortress that effectively isolated the region of Epirus.
Thanks to this natural barrier, Epirus had remained relatively safe from Ottoman influence. And not just Epirus—southern Albania had also been shielded.
However, now that Skanderbeg had secured a route into Albania, could the fractured region truly withstand a full-scale Ottoman invasion?
Of course, the possibility that Albania might not be the next target couldn’t be ruled out.
Serbia and Wallachia were also potential avenues for Ottoman expansion.
Yet both Serbia and Wallachia were currently vassals under the sway of Hungary. If the Ottomans were to attack them directly, the West would be forced to weigh its options—continue its struggle against the Hussite heresy, or confront the growing Ottoman threat?
‘More likely than not, the scales will tip toward the Ottomans.’
It wasn’t optimism—it was a likelihood too significant to ignore. The Christian powers, worn thin by the Hundred Years’ War and the ongoing Hussite conflict, weren’t the only ones fatigued. The Ottomans, too, were weary after a series of campaigns and prolonged warfare. They wouldn’t risk provoking a Crusade. Instead, they’d choose a softer target—Albania.
With this reasoning, the Emperor turned his attention back to the Venetian representative.
And quickly recalled the nature of the Venetian state and its core values: a coldly rational entity that acted purely in pursuit of its national interest. That was Venice.
“Thanks to the valuable information you’ve shared, I’ve been able to deduce the Ottomans next target. I assume you tipped me off because you reached a similar conclusion. Are you also concerned about Albania?”
“You are as perceptive as ever, Your Majesty.”
The Venetian wore a faint smile—whether it was simple flattery or genuine admiration was hard to tell. But one thing was clear: his voice carried a touch more excitement than before.
Even so, this wasn’t a matter to be agreed upon too hastily. Knowing that Albania might be the next target didn’t mean they were ready to make a move just yet.
“But officially, I am still a vassal of the Sultan. Unless I renounce that oath, I have no justification to intervene in Albania.”
“The same applies to us, Your Majesty. We Venetians are bound by treaty. However, if the Albanians themselves were to rise up against the Sultan, they would, in turn, threaten his authority.”
“I see. So our thoughts do align.”
The Emperor’s and the Venetian’s gazes met in mid-air. The Emperor couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration. He could faintly sense the power that would one day make Venice the master of the Mediterranean. As expected, they had already prepared a plan.
“We’ve heard that Your Majesty seeks to foster cooperation among neighboring regions to prevent religious conflict in Albania. If your efforts succeed and the Albanians unite as one, they will surely rise against the Sultan’s rule. And should that happen, the safety of our ships—which were preparing to set sail with tribute—would no longer be guaranteed.”
Cunning devils.
The Emperor held back the sharp retort that came to mind as he listened to Venice’s plan. They weren’t outright breaking the treaty against hostilities just bending the rules. Later, if accused, they could simply claim they’d been raided. Devious? Absolutely. But strangely useful. Now, he was curious—why go to such lengths?
“You’re willing to push Albania to resist the Ottomans… why?”
At this, the Venetian finally revealed the edge he’d kept hidden in his eyes until now.
“Your Majesty, the moment the Sultan declared his intent to fortify the Dardanelles, peace between us ceased to exist. Peace—such a word is forgotten until one side yields. And we can only hope it is the Sultan who reconsiders first.”
The next word that came to the Emperor’s mind was not “cunning,” but “sinister.”
Truly, they were devious and calculating. And it was likely because of that very nature that they had risen to and maintained their current stature. Looking at the Venetian with a conflicted expression, the Emperor finally nodded.
“I will not forget your counsel.”
“May Your Majesty be ever praised.”
Though it was regrettable that the Venetian navy could no longer be counted on now that they had stepped back from the front lines, their support in consolidating Albania would be no small matter.
For both the Emperor and the Venetian envoy, this private meeting had been a satisfactory one. A secret pact had been formed. The Ottomans aggressive stance had ironically brought Venice and the Empire closer together.
But then, a variable no one had foreseen emerged.
A shocking event that stunned every power entangled in the complex affairs of the Balkans—
It was none other than the sudden unrest in Wallachia.
Leave a Reply