Appealing for Help

After the siege was lifted, Constantinople appeared peaceful once more.

As a powerless and overlooked prince, Vitus led a quiet life, even a somewhat boring one. His first task each morning was to attend matins. Religion was at the heart of the Empire's social life, and in their desperate circumstances, praying for divine protection seemed especially important.

After matins, Vitus went running alone in a secluded clearing, then ate a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, vegetable soup, and a little wine.

In the morning, he made a regular visit to the palace. The territory of the Eastern Roman Empire had shrunk to its utmost limits, and most nobles held only nominal titles and offices. With nothing to do, they gathered to engage in empty political discussions, mostly about securing aid from the pope and other Western powers. It was all the same old hackneyed talk.

"People are discussing the same things in the taverns, too. Honestly, is there nothing new?"

Before long, Vitus grew tired of these pointless activities.

With the emperor and his elder brother's tacit approval, he began observing more concrete matters, such as taxation and municipal administration. What he found was despairing: the Eastern Roman Empire had fallen so far that internal reform was already pointless.

Worse, the war had drained the Eastern Roman Empire's finances. Vitus had asked the emperor for funds to build a cannon foundry, but the emperor had refused:

"The treasury is empty. We've been months behind on the civil officials' wages, and can only compensate them with silk and grain. The empress sold five sets of jewelry yesterday to fund the embassy. There's no money to spare for a foundry."

In early October, with the embassy about to depart, Vitus hastily packed his belongings and boarded a Venetian merchant ship with three masts, bound for Italy to seek help.

The captain chose a route close to shore, passing through the Dardanelles Strait and into the Aegean Sea.

The sea breeze blew steadily from the northwest, right behind them. The crew didn't need to adjust the sails often, and the ship held a speed of about four to five knots. At night, the captain relied on the North Star and a bronze compass to find his way.

Before they knew it, the ship had reached the southern tip of the Peloponnese. Vitus went up on deck to look around. The coastline was jagged and steep, with broad olive groves stretching inland and the rugged Taygetos Mountains in the distance. In classical times, the Spartans had lived on the plain east of the mountains.

At dusk, the ship encountered a Genoese merchant vessel. The two crews exchanged friendly greetings by signal flags. Although Venice and Genoa were sworn enemies, ordinary merchant ships on the open sea still observed an unspoken code of civility and preferred not to invite trouble.

After rounding the southern tip of the peninsula, the sailors began to display their remarkable skill with lateen sails. When the wind was unfavorable, they continually adjusted the sails' angles, tacking back and forth in a zigzag course to sail against it.

A week later, the ship entered the Adriatic Sea. The Venetian sailors already knew these waters well. The captain ordered every sail raised, unfurling the lateen sails on the foremast, mainmast, and mizzenmast to make full use of the steady sea breeze.

On the morning of October 28, the lookout spotted the landmark at the entrance to the Venetian Lagoon: St. Nicholas Bell Tower.

The captain took the helm himself and guided the ship slowly into the lagoon. Vitus stood on the forecastle deck, taking in the wealthiest city in the West.

As the ship drew closer, the city's details gradually came into focus. Dozens of bell towers and towering church spires pierced the sky, while the rising sun cast golden light across the grand buildings.

All kinds of vessels passed them along the way: huge merchant ships returning from the East, swift and nimble galleys, and the small ferries common in the Venetian Lagoon—gondolas.

"So many ships! At least a thousand!"

Recalling what he had learned in recent weeks and what history books from a later age had recorded, Vitus gained a more vivid understanding of Venice's wealth.

Forty years earlier, Venice had defeated Genoa and other powers, winning undisputed control of the Mediterranean. Venice itself had more than a hundred thousand inhabitants, while the combined population of its commercial colonies, including Dalmatia and Crete, exceeded a million.

Thanks to its enormous trade volume, Venice's annual revenue reached 1.2 million ducats.

By comparison, France had a population of more than ten million, yet its revenue was lower than Venice's, at only one million ducats. England and the Ottoman Empire also earned less than Venice each year...

As Vitus mused, the ship approached Venice's main island. Palaces belonging to nobles and wealthy merchants lined the banks.

These buildings blended Byzantine and Gothic styles, with elegant arcades, pierced Gothic tracery, and walls inlaid with colorful marble. Gondolas were moored at their entrances, their hulls painted with the heraldic emblems of the families they served.

The ship moored south of St. Mark's Square, where pigeons flocked and people strolled and chatted. Along the edge of the square stood St. Mark's Basilica and the Doge's Palace.

Before long, the Doge of Venice heard that the heir to the throne had arrived. He came to greet them with a group of high-ranking officials in red robes, then hosted his guest at a lavish banquet. At first glance, the scene seemed perfectly cordial.

During the banquet, the heir to the throne asked the Doge to join a Crusade. The Doge gave no clear answer, offering only a vague promise.

Vitus sat quietly to one side, carefully weighing the Doge's intentions.

Venice's economic lifeline depended on trade with the East, and Constantinople was an important hub for the spice, silk, and wool trades. The Venetians were eager to expand their influence and push the Genoese aside.

On the other hand, Constantinople lay in the heart of Ottoman territory, like an impregnable fortress that could constrain the Ottoman Empire's growth.

After the meeting, Vitus warned the heir to the throne:

"The Doge is a pragmatist. He won't spend a fortune helping us launch an offensive against the Ottomans. He'd rather invest a little money to keep us fighting a defensive war and steadily wear down Ottoman strength, so the Ottomans can't challenge Venice for control of the sea."

Despite this, the heir to the throne did not give up. Over the next few days, he visited the remaining senior officials, but came away empty-handed.

After bidding farewell to Venice, the heir to the throne planned to travel overland to the Roman Curia and beg the pope to launch a Crusade to save beleaguered Constantinople.

The sky was gloomy. A cold wind swept down from the southern foothills of the Alps, brushing their faces. The members of the embassy wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves as they slowly made their way along a main road left over from Roman times.

Vitus rode a light chestnut mare, observing Northern Italy in this era. Once they left Venetian territory, the landscape around them began to change.

The farther they went, the clearer the scars of war became. Abandoned fields stretched in every direction. Rounding a hill, Vitus suddenly saw an abandoned village ahead.

The fences around it had all collapsed. Farmhouses, watermills, and other buildings had been burned down. Black ash swirled in the cold wind, and the air carried a faint, lingering smell of smoke.

"Stay alert!"

Lucas, the captain of the guards, ordered fifty soldiers to spread out and sent a few riders to scout the area. The rest stayed where they were.

After a long while, the riders returned, their faces deathly pale. "Report: We found no enemies, only corpses."

"A few corpses scared you this badly? How are you supposed to protect His Highness when you're a bunch of cowards?"

Lucas grumbled as he led the embassy into the village. The wind moaned through the ruins, stirring ash and dead leaves from the ground.

Soon, they passed through the village along the main road. The guard captain at the head of the column suddenly stopped, touched the cross pendant at his chest with his left hand, and began to pray under his breath.

In a clearing south of the village stood an oak tree. From its huge, bare branches hung a dense mass of human figures—dozens of them, by a rough count. Their clothes were ragged, and their bodies were frozen in their final struggles. Their emaciated fingers curled inward, telling of their despair in their final moments.

"Those greedy, brutal mercenaries!" the Venetian guide cursed under his breath, then warned the heir to the throne:

"Your Highness, this is the Noose Mercenary Group's usual trick. They rob anyone and everyone worth robbing. To be safe, we should hurry. If those men get in our way, your identity won't scare them."