EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 33: Securing the Heartland

The command tent was heavy with the smell of damp canvas and the lingering scent of sweat and leather. Constantine stood over the war table, the map of Mystras spread before him. Red marks denoted the parts of the city his forces had conquered—the lower town—but the upper city loomed high on the map as it did in reality: fortified, imposing, and unyielding. Around him stood George Sphrantzes and Captain Andreas, both grim-faced and silent, waiting for Constantine to speak.

"The lower city is ours," Constantine began, his voice steady but low. "But the upper city is a fortress. The Iron Gate at that angle—" He gestured sharply at the map, tracing the steep incline and gate's placement. "—makes it impossible to position the cannons effectively. And what gunpowder we have left... it's barely enough for a couple of volleys."

Andreas nodded, arms crossed. "Even if we had the powder, Despot, an assault on that terrain would bleed us dry. The men are exhausted, and our casualties from the lower city were higher than expected. Theodore's defenders are dug in. If we attack, it'll be a massacre."

George stepped closer to the table, his tone calm but insistent. "Yet if we abandon the siege entirely, Theodore will reassert control over the entire city. He'll claim it as a victory, rally his supporters, and paint us as weak. The people of Mystras may not follow him, but they'll be afraid of him."

Constantine's gaze sharpened, and he turned to George. "The people know he is no savior. We've shown them that already. They saw us treat their wounded, share our food, and gift their monasteries the first printed Greek bibles. They've seen mercy from us—justice. Theodore's treachery is no secret."

"And that goodwill can be our advantage," George replied, nodding. We cannot win the upper city by force, at least not with a prolonged siege to starve them out. But if we withdraw, we can control the narrative. Let the people know we will return more robust, with Theodore's betrayal still fresh in their minds."

Andreas leaned on the edge of the table, his expression firm. "If we lift the siege now, Despot, it's not a retreat—it's a regrouping. We return to Glarentza, gather more resources, fortify the Hexamilion Wall, and prepare for what's coming from the Ottomans. Theodore may keep Mystras for now, but his supplies are low, and he won't find it easy to recover."

"But he will recover," Constantine said, his voice sharp with frustration. He turned away from the table, pacing the small space. "Every step back we take is a step he will seize. Every moment we give him, he will find new ways to undermine me—us."

George's voice was steady, soothing. "And every moment we are here, Theodore bleeds us of men and resources we cannot afford to lose. The Ottomans won't wait for us to finish this feud, Constantine. If we weaken ourselves here, they will finish what Theodore cannot."

Constantine stopped pacing, staring at the map, his hands braced against the table's edge. The weight of the decision bore down on him, pressing hard against his pride and sense of justice. He thought of the men who had already fallen.

He exhaled slowly and nodded. "We'll lift the siege."

George and Andreas exchanged glances, a flicker of relief crossing their faces.

"We withdraw to Glarentza," Constantine continued, his voice steadier now, decisive. "Regroup, rebuild, and prepare. The Hexamilion Wall must be our top priority, and our reserves must be restocked. Inform the men—make it clear that this is not a retreat. It is strategy. Theodore may have his citadel but will not hold it for long."

Andreas saluted and left the tent to relay the orders. George lingered a moment, placing a hand on Constantine's shoulder. "You've made the right choice, Despot. Sometimes, the wisest victory is the one delayed."