Chapter 624: The Deer, the Cries, and the Silent Window
Early August, year 1465,
Near the lush borders in the northern reaches of the Kingdom of Hungary, the town of Nitra became a focal point of strategic importance. King Matthias Corvinus of Hungary and Croatia had taken residence in his castle within the town, having been stationed there for the previous six months with calculated intent. His eyes were set upon George of Poděbrady, the Hussite king of Bohemia, with whom tension, fostered by religious discord and territorial ambitions, had been steadily escalating.
Matthias, ever the strategic monarch, heeded the call of the previous Pope, embroiling himself in a campaign not merely to quell a religious adversary in George but also to assert his regional dominance against the shadow of the King of the Germans, Frederick III of Habsburg. The fields around Nitra, typically serene and pastoral, were now awash with the black-clad soldiers of Matthias’s formidable ’Black Army’, diligently forging weaponry and siege apparatus, anticipatory of the looming conflict.
Matthias sees himself as a king among kings rivalling his counterparts such as Frederick of the Habsburgs, Louis of De Valois, and Casimir IV of Poland, held himself in high regard, a defender of the Christian faith amidst a continent of conflicting doctrines and ambitions.
He cast a wary eye towards the South, apprehensive of the burgeoning influence of what he deemed the infidel threat, steadfast in his belief that he was the singular monarch capable of staunching its spread, which naturally brings his attention to the new star of the Greeks, Antonius De’ Ricci, who has been doing the job for him in the past decade.
Antonius might not be aware of this, but king Matthias have been watching him since the start of his conquest, and naturally, the king is acknowledged of the conquests of Antonius, he gave a sniff on the proclaimed Antonius’ so called ’Greater Roman Ideology’, but still he appreciates the man’s effort in reclaiming Christian lands and minimising the threat he facing on the South, allowing him to set his focus somewhere else.
"Antonius’ coronation extends an invitation even to me?" King Matthias murmured, passing the unsealed parchment to his steward. "It appears that, after a century’s weary waiting, Constantinople – and the Greeks – are to behold a leader of competence."
"But, my Lord, a Latin born in Genoa ascends; will the Greeks verily accept him as sovereign?" inquired John Vitéz, the freshly appointed Cardinal Archbishop of Esztergom.
Matthias graced the bishop with a tacit glance, not uttering a word.
"Whence your thoughts linger, my Sovereign?" pressed the bishop. "It aligns with our diplomatic aspirations to forge closer ties with Antonius in the South, purging the Ottoman presence from Europa. This presents us a righteous opportunity to approach, to discern the man he truly is, whilst establishing new connections."
Yet, Matthias, shunning a response to his archbishop, directed his gaze to a robust man, arrayed in armour and crimson robes, silent behind him. "Pál Kinizsi, what esteem hold you for yon Hussites in the North?"
Pál Kinizsi, an emerging star within the ranks of the Black Army and in the blossom of his thirties, replied with an undaunted timbre. "They are feeble, my Liege."
"If," Matthias elevated his whip, indicating the Black Army garrisons beneath the battlements, "I grant you dominion of my forces, could you dispel those Hussites from my fortress in Senica ere three months expire?"
"Aye, my Liege," the young general’s eyes narrowed, his answer succinct and unswerving.
"Good." The king revolved back. "This marks your first venture leading an army solo. Betray not my trust; I believe in your might."
"My deepest gratitude, my Liege." The general bowed staunchly.
"Honourable Archbishop," King Matthias then adroitly turned to John Vitéz, "I may wish to commune with King Antonius personally. I perceive there may be mutual parlance between us, and perhaps it is timely to exercise the Latin that has been imparted upon me over the years."
"But your Majesty..." the Archbishop hesitated, swallowing nervously. "It is but customary for sovereigns to delegate a high-ranking noble – a count, bishop, or duke – to represent them at the coronations of new rulers. Moreover, the journey presents peril; you would traverse territories under the rule of Abbas Pasha in Wallachia and Bulgaria, lands of the Ottoman..."
"I am aware, and Abbas Pasha serves as one among my reasons for visiting King Antonius," Matthias interrupted.
The Archbishop’s throat tightened as an understanding seemed to dawn upon him. "But, my King, our forces are already drawn taut engaging the Hussites in the North; we can ill afford to open another front..."
"I am aware, your Holiness, but such is the dance of diplomacy: acquiring through the hands of others, exchanging one prize for another... Your Holiness, can I entrust Buda and the Kingdom to your stewardship during my absence?"
"If it is your wish, your Majesty," the Archbishop saw no merit in further contention.
"I shall depart within a day’s time," the King withdrew from the walls. "I must confess, there lies a certain eagerness within me at the prospect of meeting our Southern compatriots."
...
Within the burgeoning spring, word of the new Basileus’ ascension cascades through the halls of myriad courts, stretching across the chessboard of Europe and Asia. Letters, each sealed with the emblem of Constantinople, find their way into the hands of monarchs, some of whom harbour grievances with Antonius.
In certain distant courts, disdain for the Basileus takes form in torn parchment and trampled emblems, whilst murmurs of his illiterate, piratical past drift through grand halls. Others, however, bestow upon him the courteous semblance of regard, dispatching letters adorned with honeyed words, though beneath them lie undercurrents of indifference or scepticism. Yet, for those monarchs’ privy to the rumblings of the region, emissaries are dispatched, gifts and alliances in tow.
In Constantinople, the burgeoning renaissance unfurls under the weary gaze of Leon Battista Alberti. Now at the helm of architectural endeavours, Alberti, with parchment and quill in hand, etches the future, his brow often furrowed in contemplation of schedules and necessities, the diplomatic entreaties of the Pope relegated to mere echoes. A legion of over three thousand souls, culled from diverse paths of life, toil under his directive. Whilst the full revival of the city’s erstwhile glory remains a distant mirage, Alberti fashions a semblance thereof, with renovated Forums, the Hagia Sophia, ports, and the Palace of Blachernae ready to cradle a coronation of imperial resurgence.
Antonius, in turn, navigates through a sea unfamiliar, fraught with a concern of intimate nature: Anna, heavy with child once more. Originally destined for Thessaly, to probe into the morass of local governance and its alleged corruptions, the impending addition to his lineage alters his sails. Memories of absentia during Anna’s prior burdens of motherhood, and of their daughter Agatha’s first stumbling steps and babbling words, anchor him by her side. Alexios is dispatched in his stead, a delegation tasked with unravelling Thessaly’s tangled threads, offering Antonius a reprieve from the unrelenting cascade of fiscal grievances concerning the city’s rebirth.
Verily, Constantinople, that great cauldron into which the coffers of the kingdom seem to inexorably drain, consumes near half of the realm’s decade-long accumulations. Antonius deems it a necessity, foreseeing a horizon where the war drums are silenced, giving way to an epoch of peace and stability. His empire, resilient against the scourges of conflict at its heartland, requires a recalibration of strategy and resources as wars will no longer tread upon Roman lands, ensuring no easy path to marshal local support for campaigns.
In this emerging era, Antonius seeks to entrench the nascent roots of the reinvigorated Roman Empire, inaugurating laws, policies, and diplomatic ties that shall shepherd its ascent in the tapestry of years to come.
"Peace..." Antonius whispered, a sigh exhaling the word into the crisp, pre-dawn air. His fingers curled around the ledge of the window, pushing it open with a quiet creak. A breath, rich with the scents of the impending Mediterranean winter, wafted in from the south, a soothing caress against his skin. His eyes, reflecting the faint sparkle of the celestial blanket above, widened slightly in surprise as an incongruent symphony of sounds pierced the tranquillity – the sawing of lumber, the rhythmic striking of hammer against marble.
"Shut it!" Anna’s voice, sharp and weary, sliced through the mechanical din, her silhouette framed by the ambient light of the interior, a wailing Agatha cradled in her arms.
With a resigned sigh, Antonius relinquished the fresh air and silence to the clamour, shutting the window firmly. He turned, padding softly back toward his family, his gaze lingering on Anna’s exasperated expression.
...
Approximately four hundred Roman miles away, a throng of armoured men surged through the gentle embrace of the hillocks, plunging into the hushed sanctuary of the woods. Their war cries, echoes of Ottoman battlefields, splintered the calm as they brandished their blades, pursuing a scattering herd of deer, muscles coiling and releasing in a desperate bid for life.
At the heart of the cacophony, an elder warrior led three younger ones, their bows taut, arrows nocked, and eyes narrowed in focus. After a moment of relentless pursuit, the older man’s momentum ebbed, halting with an exhilarated exclamation.
"Go, my children! Show them your might! Show me your skill!" His words, a thunderous encouragement, ushered the younger warriors forward into the fray.
