EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 17: On the Sea

Port of Glarentza, April 1430

The morning sun bathed Glarentza harbor in a warm glow, each sea ripple catching the light and scattering it like a thousand diamonds. I stood at the stern of the Kyrenia, the scent of salt and tar filling the air as a gentle breeze tugged at my cloak. My fingers traced the smooth, weathered wood of the railing—a silent witness to countless voyages across these ancient waters.

The familiar cries of gulls circled overhead, their calls mingling with the distant clamor of the bustling port. Merchants shouted, and sailors exchanged coarse jokes. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone echoed from the nearby streets. Amidst the vibrant mix of sounds, a flutter stirred in my stomach—a mix of excitement and unease that quickened my pulse.

"All the cargo is aboard, right?" I asked Damianus for what must have been the third time since dawn. This was my first voyage since arriving in this world—this body—two years ago.

"Aye, all's stowed and secured, Despot," Damianus called out, approaching with a seasoned sailor's stride. His weathered face bore a knowing grin. "She's heavy with cargo, but the Kyrenia dances with the waves like a dolphin eager to leap."

I turned to him, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "You've a poet's tongue today, Damianus."

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Just calling it as I see it, my lord. The sea's in a fine mood, and it'd be a shame to keep her waiting."

The Kyrenia—a sturdy two-masted galley, the only ship I owned—was rigged with lateen sails, sleek for Mediterranean winds. This ship had carried me here in 1427 and had been part of my brother's fleet in the naval battle of Echinades. Now, with six Drakos cannons mounted, I had made the Kyrenia the most formidable ship on these waters—a sleek predator— or so I believed.

As I stared across the deck, my mind wandered to the future. I knew I was ahead of my time, possibly by a century or more. No one else was using cannons like this for naval warfare. And yet... my plans grew larger with each passing day. I dreamed of constructing great carracks, Portuguese-style, built for the open sea and bristling with cannons. I could change the entire naval landscape of the Mediterranean—if I survived long enough to see it through.

Nearby, the Venetian trade ship we'd hired as a companion swayed gently, her crew bustling to secure the last of their provisions. The Venetians, renowned mariners though they were, had yet to embrace the true potential of naval artillery. Their heavy hold was prepared for cotton and goods from Ragusa, but they sailed without the thunderous power that rested within our cannons.

At the bow, George Sphrantzes stood engaged in earnest conversation with Damianus. George had become more than an advisor—he was a steadfast ally in this world that was still foreign to me. His calm logic grounded me when my thoughts raced ahead, plotting futures unknown to those around me.

"Despot," Damianus said, his voice drawing me back. "The wind favors us. Shall we set sail?"

I took a deep breath, savoring the salty air. "Yes. Let's not keep the sea waiting any longer."

Damianus nodded and turned to the crew. "Lower the sails!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the deck.

The men responded swiftly and efficiently, their movements practiced and sure. The sails caught the wind, and the Kyrenia began to pull away from the quay, gliding out into the open sea. The Venetian ship followed closely behind. As the wind filled our sails, I turned to Damianus. "Do you think this breeze will hold?"

"For a while," he said, nodding. "If we're lucky, we'll reach Ragusa in under a week."

I smiled, though a part of me wished our first destination could be Constantinople. There was no time for sightseeing now, however. Business awaited in Ragusa.