The Emperor

April 1424, Constantinople.

In the early morning, after attending the morning prayer at Hagia Sophia, Manuel II suddenly felt inspired and went for a walk in the ruins of the Great Palace in the southeast corner of the city.

From the 4th to the 11th century, the Great Palace had been the primary residence and administrative center of the Eastern Roman Emperors. It covered a vast area, overlooking the Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus Strait to the east.

In 1204, the Fourth Crusade passed through the Eastern Roman Empire. Instigated by the Doge of Venice, the Crusaders suddenly attacked their ally, captured, and plundered Constantinople, causing devastating damage to the Great Palace. Countless treasures flowed to the West.

In 1261, Michael VIII recaptured Constantinople. By this time, the Eastern Roman Empire was severely weakened. The Palaiologos Dynasty lacked the funds to repair the Great Palace and had to relocate to the smaller, more manageable Blachernae Palace.

"What did the Great Palace look like in its prime?"

The Emperor, leaning on his cane, slowly toured the familiar yet strange ruins. Broken walls cast long shadows in the sunlight, and wild grass grew freely between the stones. Occasionally, purple lavender and a few clusters of unknown yellow flowers could be seen. Broken mosaics peeled from the crumbling walls, faintly reflecting their former glory.

Half an hour later, he rounded a collapsed giant stone pillar, his feet crunching on debris, and finally arrived at a relatively intact terrace.

Instantly, warm sunlight slanted down, and the Emperor felt an almost luxurious sense of peace. He put down his cane, sat on a reasonably flat stone step, and enjoyed this rare moment of respite.

The terrace faced the Sea of Marmara to the east. The sea was azure, shimmering brilliantly in the bright sunlight. The white sails of a few merchant ships dotted the scene, moving slowly.

After a long while, John, clutching a stack of letters, found him. "Father, news from Florence."

Vitus? Manuel immediately thought of his neglected fourth son. In his opinion, the young man had been confined to the palace for over ten years, and his rare excursions outside might lead to some indulgence. As long as it didn't go too far, he didn't intend to pursue it.

"Open the letters and see what Vitus has been up to? Fighting, drinking, amassing huge debts, or fathering illegitimate children with some woman?"

John opened three letters, his expression becoming extremely strange, rendering him speechless for a moment.

The topmost letter was from Consul Albizzi, who highly praised Vitus's command abilities and artillery skills, attributing them to the excellent court education of the Eastern Roman Empire. He earnestly requested the Emperor to send scholars to teach his young son.

The second letter was from Giulio Di Maggio, inquiring if the Emperor had already arranged a marriage for Vitus. If not, he proposed an alliance, asking for Vitus to marry his daughter, Agnes.

The third letter was from Vitus himself, and it was the most extensive, spanning three pages. He briefly described his experiences over the past year and then devoted a large portion to explaining his reasons for concealment. The Emperor frowned as he read, muttering softly:

"Previously, Vitus claimed to be studying art in Florence, but that was just an excuse. This fellow has been fighting all along, and it seems he's been quite good at it."

John was reluctant to believe it. "I remember Vitus lived in seclusion for a long time, and since childhood, he preferred to stay in his room reading books. He never received military training. He's just a frail young man who couldn't even ride a horse and sprained his ankle on a mountain path. Is this news reliable?"

Manuel was also somewhat incredulous, but the Florentine consul wouldn't joke about such matters. He stroked his graying beard, recalling this unremarked-upon son.

Two years ago, when the Ottomans besieged Constantinople, Vitus's temperament suddenly changed. He abandoned his books on classical philosophy and turned to military writings, even mastering some form of precise artillery fire.

The Emperor found it both amusing and exasperating. As a young man with no prior military experience, he had spent only a few months reading and had inexplicably become Italy's most famous mercenary. His other sons, who received complete military education, including martial arts, horsemanship, and strategy, lacked outstanding command abilities.

"What is this? The son I carefully nurtured is mediocre, while the son I neglected is a military genius. Is there something wrong with my education?"

After sighing for a long time, the Emperor suddenly asked, "When you passed through Florence and attended a local banquet, do you remember Giulio Di Maggio?"

John fell into thought. "This man lacks noble titles. His only advantage is his considerable wealth, which can provide a generous dowry. I suppose Vitus is interested in that."

Vitus had neither a fief nor any hope of inheriting the throne. The high officials of the Eastern Roman Empire never took him seriously. For years, he had been like a shadow wandering through the Blachernae Palace. John did not object to his brother marrying a merchant; after all, he couldn't find a better option.

Meanwhile, in the southeastern region of France.

After a reminder from his attendant, the Dauphin finally remembered those Italian mercenaries. He issued an edict, ordering the mercenary captains to hasten to Bourges as quickly as possible.

Vitus had been staying at a country estate for a month and was already tired of such boring life. He and another mercenary captain set off immediately. The latter happened to be an old acquaintance of his—Piero of the Rotten Herring mercenary company.

After several days, the group passed through the gentle hills of the Berry region and finally saw the city of Bourges, situated on the banks of the Yèvre River.

As the current "royal capital" of France, Bourges looked rather dismal, like a giant refuge and barracks. Banners fluttered on the city walls, representing the various lords loyal to the Dauphin. Even before approaching the city gate, Vitus could smell a faint, lingering odor.

After the guards' inspection, Vitus entered Bourges. The streets inside were narrow and muddy, with refugees from the north everywhere. They huddled in corners, begging passing soldiers for food.

Not far away, a large group of soldiers gathered in an open space, watching a martial arts display. Two knights were fighting with long swords, while someone outside held a small booklet, moving around as if registering bets.

"Discipline is lax, even worse than the Italian mercenaries. No wonder they lost to the fewer English. "

Vitus lost all interest in sightseeing and quickened his pace towards the Dauphin's temporary court. Compared to the villas he had seen in Italy, this residence appeared simple and cramped.

The hall was crowded with people waiting to be received. Officials, officers, priests, and nobles gathered in small groups, their conversations forming a continuous hum. Everyone's expression was filled with anxiety and worry, their eyes occasionally glancing towards the closed door at the end of the hall.

After a long wait, a court attendant found Vitus and Piero and led them into the inner hall.

The room was not large, and sunlight streamed through the glass windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. At the end of the room, seated on an oak chair, was the Dauphin of France (Charles VII).