EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 40: The Price of Steel and Legacy

The late afternoon light filtered through the grand windows of the Roman villa where Constantine had been staying, its warm glow stretching into elongated beams across the polished marble floor. Since his meeting with the Pope a few days earlier, a series of dinners with the local nobility had followed—opportunities not only to sample refined cuisine and rich wines, but also to carefully gauge their sentiments and subtly advance his cause. He had learned which families favored strong military action, which favored the union, and which feared the tidal shifts of alliances. Outside, the hum of the city formed a steady undercurrent, punctuated by the cries of merchants, the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone streets, and the distant tolling of church bells that marked the passing hours.

In the private chamber, Constantine stood at a table strewn with maps. His fingers traced the route from Rome to Terni, while his mind sifted through the implications of each step. Nearby, George Sphrantzes lounged, sipping wine with practiced nonchalance, while Bessarion entered quietly, his monastic robes rustling.

"Your Grace," Bessarion began, his tone deferential but purposeful. "I trust the arrangements for your departure are proceeding without issue?"

Constantine glanced up, the weight of the past days visible in his expression. "They are," he replied, his voice measured. "But I wanted to discuss your thoughts on Sforza before we move forward. A man like him requires more than an invitation to be swayed."

The name struck a chord, just as it had the first time Bessarion mentioned it. Constantine had paused then, the name stirring something deep in his mind, a ghost of recognition that wouldn't fully materialize. "Sforza." He repeated it now under his breath, the syllables carrying weight, as if they were tethered to a fragment of his past life.

Back then, as Michael, the name had meant little more than an intriguing part of a historical narrative. He could vaguely recall watching a tv series with Ellen—his wife at the time—on Italian dynasties, where the Sforza family's name surfaced amid intrigue and power struggles. The details were elusive, yet the impression remained vivid: ambition, cunning, and military brilliance defined them.

He exhaled softly, returning to the present. One thing was certain: whatever their role in this era, the Sforzas were not to be underestimated.

Constantine's gaze sharpened as he focused once more on Bessarion. "What do you make of him, Bessarion—his character, his ambitions? What would it take to draw his allegiance?"

Bessarion stepped closer, his eyes bright with the fervor of a scholar who had found something significant. "I have spent months discreetly gathering information about the most capable condottieri in Italy," he began quietly. "Francesco Sforza's contract with the Duke of Milan is expiring, and with the Milan–Venice war nearing its end, we may have a rare opportunity to secure his services. Among all the mercenary leaders, he has no equal, Your Grace. He is not merely a commander; he is an architect of victories. His recent triumphs, particularly on the Po, have solidified his reputation. But he is also pragmatic and careful in choosing his alliances."

George leaned forward, skepticism clear. "Pragmatic or mercenary? Men like Sforza serve coin first and honor second. Why do you think we need him in particular?"

"Because he is unmatched," Bessarion replied calmly. "No other condottiere offers his combination of skill, loyalty to his men, and strategic genius. Securing his services could shift the balance in our favor."

Constantine nodded, his gaze sharpening. "And what have we offered to entice him?"

Bessarion allowed himself a small smile. "Nothing binding yet. I've emphasized the chance to defend Christendom and hinted at the material support we could provide. His interest piqued when I detailed Your Grace's efforts—particularly your victory against Turahan Bey and the innovative use of artillery."