EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 43: The Condottiero's Arrival

Glarentza, March 1432

It was early March, and a fresh year brought whispers of both hope and foreboding. Glarentza's harbor teemed with life, as it often did when the sea offered calm waters. Merchants barked their wares over the clamor of dockhands unloading barrels of grain, crates of spices, and bolts of fine cloth. Fishermen patched their nets, calloused hands moving with practiced efficiency. The scent of salt and fish mingled with the faint aroma of roasting chestnuts from a nearby vendor. Above it all, the banners of Constantine fluttered in the brisk sea breeze—a stark contrast to the subdued faces of townsfolk who moved with hurried purpose. They knew change was coming; the very air seemed to hum with anticipation.

A fleet of Genoese galleys, their sails taut and proud, cut through the harbor's waters. At their prows, banners bearing the Sforza insignia flapped boldly, heralding the arrival of Francesco Sforza, the renowned condottiero. Constantine, flanked by George Sphrantzes, Captain Andreas, and Theophilus Dragas, waited on the docks. The Despot's armor, polished to a dull sheen, caught the sunlight, and his presence commanded attention even amid the bustle. Though outwardly calm, Constantine's heart beat faster than he cared to admit. Sforza's arrival represented a pivotal shift in their campaign against the encroaching Ottoman threat.

As they waited, Constantine turned to his closest companions, his voice low but steady. "Gentlemen, today marks a new chapter in our struggle. Sforza's arrival is both a boon and a challenge. We must tread carefully."

George Sphrantzes, ever the diplomat, nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, my lord. Sforza is a man of great skill, but he also knows his worth. We should expect his loyalty to hinge on the benefits we provide."

"Loyalty bought with coin is often a brittle thing," Captain Andreas added, his grizzled features set in a frown. "Still, his men are seasoned fighters, and their presence will bolster our ranks. But we must ensure they respect the chain of command."

Constantine gave a faint smile. "Your concerns are well-founded, Andreas. Discipline will be our cornerstone, and Sforza must see that we are no fractured force." He turned his gaze to Theophilus Dragas, whose quiet intensity often concealed sharp insights. "And you, Dragas? What say you?"

Theophilus hesitated briefly, his dark eyes scanning the horizon where the galleys drew closer. "I believe this is a test, my lord. Not only of our strategy but of our ability to lead men who may not share our cause beyond the promise of victory and reward. Sforza will measure us as much as we measure him."

Constantine absorbed the words, appreciating their layered meaning. "Then we shall ensure he finds us worthy. Let today set the tone for the alliance we build."

As the first galley docked, the group fell silent, private reflections giving way to the demands of the moment. Constantine's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword—not in anticipation of violence, but as silent reassurance. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he would meet them with resolve.

The lead galley docked with a precision that spoke of seasoned sailors. Sforza disembarked with measured steps, his imposing figure drawing all eyes. Clad in a crimson doublet reinforced with chainmail, he radiated confidence and authority. Sharp features and a penetrating gaze revealed the mind of a strategist who had built his reputation through equal measures of skill and ruthlessness.

"Despot Constantine," Sforza greeted with a small smile, inclining his head with the ease of a practiced diplomat. "It is good to see you again. I trust the Morea has treated you well since Terni?"

Constantine stepped forward, his expression warm yet measured. "Lord Sforza, your timely arrival is most welcome. The challenges we discussed in Terni remain as pressing as ever."