EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 27: March of Resolve

The morning air in Glarentza buzzed with tension and purpose. Six hundred seasoned pike infantry stood steady under the weight of their pikes; ninety Pyrvelos marksmen were resolute as they checked and prepared their firearms; fifty light cavalry sat on restless mounts; and ten fledgling cannons were arrayed near the rear—all stood in sharp ranks. Beside them, one hundred swordsmen awaited orders with hands resting on their hilts, while a larger, less experienced group of around nine hundred conscripted pike infantry shuffled anxiously, casting nervous glances at the seasoned soldiers around them. Constantine felt the eyes of every single one of them resting on him as their commander.

Nearby, a priest moved solemnly through the lines, clutching a small leather-bound Psalter book—the new Greek one, printed in a size small enough to carry onto the field. The priest read aloud blessings for the soldiers' protection, invoking the saints and martyrs. Many soldiers crossed themselves, nodding with the comfort that came with the familiar rites, while others listened with silent determination. The priest's words echoed softly over the rumbling voices of the crowd, growing fainter as he moved further down the lines.

Beyond the soldiers, a crowd of townspeople had gathered along the narrow cobbled streets, their cheers swelling with pride and anticipation. Families called out blessings, holding loved ones in long farewells. Mothers clutched their children close, and wives held their husbands' hands a moment longer before they let go, eyes glistening. Fathers placed hands on their sons' shoulders, saying last words of encouragement. Constantine caught the eye of an elderly woman who leaned on her walking stick, her gaze unwavering as she watched her grandson—a young, untested conscript—march into line.

Even in the excitement of the crowd, Constantine noticed the tense figures of Venetian traders standing apart from the bustle, their expressions uneasy as they watched the preparations with apprehension. Their wealth depended on the port of Glarentza and the steady flow of printed books. They understood well what the Ottoman threat could mean for their business, and, for once, the fate of Morea felt personal to them.

Constantine acknowledged the cheers with a nod, though his gaze lingered on the priest's blessing and the strained faces of the merchants. The crowd's hopes, the soldiers' determination, the merchants' livelihoods—all of it rested on his lead. As he straightened in the saddle, steeling himself, a fierce resolve took hold. Today, they would march to face Turahan Bey's forces. Today, he would test the strength of their unity, faith, and his own modern ideas against overwhelming odds.

Andreas broke the silence. "Turahan Bey isn't one for sieges. He'll pillage, as he did last time." His voice was firm, yet a glint of concern clouded his gaze.

Constantine nodded, recalling the Ottoman commander's reputation for swift, brutal raids that left villages smoldering in his wake. "Yes, we can't allow him time to move freely," he replied, masking his unease.

Sphrantzes spoke up, his usual confidence tempered. "With Turahan's reputation, he expects us to stay walled behind our castles. But meeting him on the field... that's a risk he wouldn't expect."

Constantine's resolve hardened. "Thats why we will offer him a battle on open ground. He may have numbers, but he's never faced this firepower—not from the field cannons, nor from the Pyrvelos firearms."

Arriving in the modest town of Chalandritsa, the small Byzantine army regrouped and absorbed fresh reports. Scouts reported that Thomas, fortified with several hundred soldiers at Kalavryta, remained isolated but in a defensible position. Far more troubling was the news of Turahan's forces, numbering around six thousand—a blend of Akıncı and Sipahi cavalry advancing towards them with grim precision.

Andreas turned to Constantine, his brow furrowed. "As we expected, Turahan isn't after our walls. He's come to force us into paying tribute through brute terror."