Seeking Aid

With the siege lifted, Constantinople appeared to have returned to a state of tranquility.

As a prince without real power or influence, the life of Vitus was calm, bordering on the tedious. The first order of business every morning was to attend matins; religious faith was the core of imperial social life, and in such desperate times, seeking divine protection felt especially vital.

Once matins concluded, Vitus would jog alone in a secluded clearing before eating a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, vegetable soup, and a splash of wine.

In the mornings, he made his customary visit to the imperial palace. The territory of the Eastern Roman Empire had shrunk to its absolute limit, and most nobles held only nominal titles and offices. With nothing to do, they would gather for hollow political discussions, focusing primarily on securing aid from the Pope and other Western powers—all of it nothing but repetitive, empty rhetoric.

Even the taverns in the city are debating these same topics. Sigh, is there not a shred of originality?

Before long, Vitus grew weary of such meaningless activities.

With the tacit consent of the Emperor and his elder brother, he began to observe more concrete matters, such as taxation and municipal administration, only to reach a despairing conclusion: given the state to which the Eastern Roman Empire had fallen, internal reform had lost all significance.

Furthermore, the war had exhausted the empire's financial resources. When Vitus petitioned the Emperor for funds to build a cannon foundry, the latter refused:

"The treasury is empty. We have been in arrears on civil servant salaries for months, and can only compensate them with silk and grain. The Empress sold five sets of jewelry yesterday to cover the mission's expenses; there is no spare money to build a foundry."

In early October, as the mission prepared to depart, Vitus hastily packed his luggage and boarded a Venetian three-masted merchant ship, setting sail for the Italian region to seek aid.

The captain chose a route hugging the coastline, entering the Aegean Sea via the Dardanelles.

The sea breeze blew steadily from the northwest, providing a favorable tailwind. The crew did not need to adjust the sails frequently, and the ship maintained a speed of about 4-5 knots. At night, the captain relied on the North Star and a bronze compass to determine their heading.

Before they knew it, the sailing ship reached the southern tip of the Peloponnese. Vitus stood on the deck to observe; the coastline was jagged and steep, backed by vast olive groves, with the rugged Taygetos Mountains looming in the distance. The Spartans of the classical era had once lived on the plains to the east of those mountains.

At dusk, the ship encountered a Genoese merchant vessel, and the two sides exchanged friendly greetings via flag signals. Although Venice and Genoa were bitter rivals, a basic tacit understanding remained between ordinary merchant ships on the high seas, as neither side wished to invite unnecessary trouble.

After rounding the southern tip of the peninsula, the sailors began to demonstrate their superb skill in handling the lateen sails. When the wind was unfavorable, they constantly adjusted the angle of the sails, tacking in a zigzag pattern to sail against the wind.

A week later, the ship entered the Adriatic Sea, where the Venetian crew was already well-acquainted with the sea conditions. The captain ordered all sails to be raised, unfurling the lateen sails on the foremast, mainmast, and mizzenmast to take full advantage of the steady sea breeze.

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

The captain took the helm himself, maneuvering the sailing ship slowly into the lagoon as Vitus stood on the forecastle, observing the wealthiest city in the West.

As the ship drew closer, the details of the city became clear: dozens of bell towers and soaring church spires pierced the sky, the morning sun casting a golden glow upon the magnificent surfaces of the buildings.

Along the way, various vessels passed them by—massive merchant ships returning from the East, nimble and agile galleys, and the small ferries common to the Venetian Lagoon: gondolas.

"So many ships—at least a thousand!"

Vitus recalled the intelligence he had gathered during this time, as well as the records in historical texts from later ages, gaining a more intuitive understanding of Venice's immense wealth.

Forty years ago, Venice had defeated powers like Genoa to seize absolute hegemony over the Mediterranean. The Venetian mainland boasted over a hundred thousand residents, while the total population of its commercial colonies, such as Dalmatia and Crete, exceeded a million.

By virtue of its massive trade volume, Venice's annual fiscal revenue reached 1.2 million ducats.

In contrast, France, with its population of tens of millions, had a fiscal revenue that paled in comparison to Venice, totaling only 1 million ducats. Beyond France, the annual incomes of England and the Ottoman Empire also failed to match that of Venice...

As Vitus's thoughts drifted, the ship approached the main island of Venice, where the mansions of nobles and wealthy merchants stood along the riverbanks.

These buildings were a hybrid of Byzantine and Gothic styles, featuring exquisite arcades, hollowed-out Gothic window tracery, and walls inlaid with colorful marble. A gondola was tied to the entrance of each mansion, the hull painted with the coat of arms representing the family's status.

The ship docked on the south side of St. Mark's Square, where flocks of pigeons gathered and people strolled and conversed. St. Mark's Basilica and the Doge's Palace stood at the edge of the square.

Soon, the Doge of Venice received word of the Crown Prince's visit and led a group of high-ranking officials in red robes to welcome them, hosting a lavish banquet for the visitors. At first glance, the scene appeared quite harmonious.

During the banquet, the Crown Prince requested that the Doge participate in a crusade, but the other party gave no clear indication, offering only a vague promise.

Vitus sat silently to the side, carefully pondering the Doge's intentions.

The economic lifeline of Venice was tied to Eastern trade, and Constantinople was a vital node for the trade of spices, silk, wool, and more. The Venetians were desperate to increase their influence and squeeze out the Genoese.

On the other hand, Constantinople was located in the heart of Ottoman territory, serving as an impregnable fortress that could limit the expansion of the Ottoman Empire.

After the meeting adjourned, Vitus reminded the Crown Prince:

"The Doge is a pragmatist. He will not spend vast sums of money to help us take the initiative in attacking the Ottomans. He would much rather invest a small amount of money to let us continue to drain the Ottomans' strength in a defensive siege, thereby preventing the Ottomans from contesting maritime power with Venice."

Despite this, the Crown Prince did not give up his efforts. Over the next few days, he visited the remaining high-ranking officials, but to no avail.

Bidding farewell to Venice, the Crown Prince planned to travel overland to the Roman Curia to beg the Pope to launch a crusade and save the precarious Constantinople.

The sky was overcast, and a cold wind swept down from the southern foothills of the Alps, biting at the faces of the group. The members of the mission wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves as they moved slowly along the main road left over from the Roman era.

Vitus rode a light chestnut mare, observing Northern Italy during this period. Once they left the Venetian sphere of influence, the surrounding scenery changed quietly.

The further they traveled, the more evident the scars of war became; barren fields were everywhere. After rounding a hill, Vitus's field of vision suddenly opened up to reveal the remains of an abandoned village.

The outer fences had all collapsed, and buildings such as farmhouses and water mills had been burned to the ground. Black ash swirled in the cold wind, and the air was thick with a faint, lingering smell of charred wood.

"Stay alert!"

The captain of the guard, Lucas, ordered the fifty soldiers to spread out their formation, dispatching a few riders to scout the vicinity while the rest remained in place.

After a long while, the pale-faced riders returned to the ranks. "Report: no enemies found, only corpses."

"A few corpses have scared you into this state? How can we protect His Highness if we are stuck with a bunch of cowards like you?"

Lucas cursed and swore as he led the mission into the village. The cold wind whistled through the broken walls and ruins, emitting a low, mournful wail as it stirred up the ash and withered leaves on the ground.

Soon, the group passed through the village along the main road. The captain of the guard, who was at the very front, suddenly froze, his left hand touching his crucifix as he began to pray in a low voice.

In the clearing south of the village stood an oak tree. From its massive, bare branches hung a dense cluster of human figures—at a rough glance, there were dozens of them. The corpses were dressed in rags, frozen in the final postures of their struggle, their withered fingers curled tight, telling the tale of the despair they felt before death.

"Those greedy, brutal mercenaries!" the Venetian guide cursed under his breath before warning the Crown Prince, "Your Highness, this is the signature tactic of the Noose Mercenary Group. They will rob any target of value. For the sake of safety, we must pick up the pace. If we get entangled with these people, your status will not be enough to intimidate them."