EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 29: Walls and Warnings

The sun dipped low over the rugged hills surrounding Kalavryta, casting long shadows on the ancient walls of the town. Constantine rode at the head of his column, his army in tow, victorious from their recent triumph over Turahan Bey. At the gates, Thomas Palaiologos, his younger brother, stood tall, waiting to receive him. The landscape of Kalavryta was a fortress of nature itself—nestled in the mountains, the town overlooked vital passes, its strategic importance as clear as the rolling mists that drifted between the peaks.

The brothers greeted each other with a mix of warmth and formality, their familial bond deep but colored by the pressures of rule and warfare. Thomas, ever animated, clasped Constantine's arm, his face flushed with excitement over the recent victory.

"Brother," Thomas grinned, "you have outwitted Turahan! The new weapons... they were more effective than we had dared to hope."

Constantine nodded, his face betraying a mixture of pride and the weight of responsibility. Behind him, George Sphrantzes and Captain Andreas dismounted, exchanging knowing glances. They both understood that the true battle was yet to come.

As they entered the halls of Kalavryta, Thomas introduced his advisors, a gathering of local lords and military commanders. The atmosphere buzzed with optimism, yet Constantine could not shake a growing unease. Victory had come, but the Ottoman threat was far from over.

The next day, Constantine and Thomas convened a war council in the great hall of the castle of Kalavryta. The room, dimly lit by flickering torches, was filled with the sound of murmured conversations. The tables were strewn with maps and reports, detailing recent intelligence from the Ottoman forces and from spies scattered throughout the Morea.

George Sphrantzes stood beside Constantine, ready to brief the council on the diplomatic situation, while Captain Andreas, with his grizzled features and warrior's posture, loomed near the hearth, eyes fixed on the maps before him.

The council began with a review of the recent engagement.

"Turahan Bey has retreated and is heading back to the Hexamilion," Thomas started, his voice calm but resolute. "We have received reports confirming this."

"Our forces decimated his ranks. He will have to regroup. Murad II will not leave such a defeat unanswered, though," Constantine replied.

A silence followed, only to be broken by Thomas, who leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "How long do we have before Murad can send another army?"

Captain Andreas spoke up, his deep voice carrying the weight of many campaigns. "Months, perhaps. Turahan's forces have fallen back, but the Hexamilion Wall is still vulnerable. They will come through the Isthmus of Corinth and the wall again. We must strengthen our defenses there."

The murmur of voices quieted as Constantine leaned over the map, tracing the lines that marked the Hexamilion Wall. Thomas sat across from him, his expression taut with conviction.

"The wall is in poor condition. We must begin repairs immediately," Thomas insisted, his eyes scanning the faces of the commanders and nobles. "A delay would be disastrous. Every day that passes weakens our chances of holding back another attack."

Murmurs of agreement rose from several commanders, their faces alight with the victory over Turahan's forces. One, a younger commander named Kallistos, spoke up, his voice eager. "Let us press the advantage, Despot. If we pursue Turahan now, strike while his men retreat, we could weaken his ranks even further. Give him no chance to regroup."

Constantine held up a hand, calling for silence. He could feel the heady rush of victory around him, but his mind ran the numbers—supplies, soldiers, time. "Our resources are strained, and our men exhausted. Pursuing them would leave us exposed, and we can't risk drawing Murad II's wrath prematurely."