Chapter 642: A Monarch In Work
Skanderbeg’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, met Antonius’s. "I have not come for idle performance, Your Majesty. I seek something of great importance."
Antonius, weary from a procession of requests from various monarchs and delegates, inquired with a resigned sigh, "What is it you desire, Your Excellency?"
Skanderbeg’s intense gaze softened as he glanced at his son. "Age weighs upon me, I am now already an old man, losing the ability of wielding my blade as time passes day by day, yet my son , my precious son Gjon Kastrioti remains unready to rule. He yet lacks the wisdom and martial prowess needed to defend our land against any inside or outside threats and maintain peace and stability inside the realm. I ask of you, let him be a knight in your court, to learn the art of war and governance. In return, I offer my service as your general, my army at your disposal, and in turn, your protection over Albania."
Stunned, Antonius hesitated, "I must discuss this with my court, there is no need for the rush your excellency."
But Skanderbeg stood resolute. "I shall remain until your decision is made, and besides..."
The old national hero dropped by Antonius’ ears. "I know myself; I know that my body is failing, and I simply cannot afford to take any risk just in case if... anything extreme thing happens to me, or my court."
Antonius, touched by this display of paternal concern from a warrior of Skanderbeg’s calibre, readily agreed. "Your request is granted, Excellency."
"Great!" Upon hearing this Skanderbeg forked out a piece of paper seemingly out of nowhere. "I see that your state is a state of contracts, and thus you must sign this official contract agreeing to what you have just said!"
Antonius halted again and came over to take a look at the supposed contract, which only has nothing but merely one line on it: Treat my son as if he is yours.
With no further delays, the emperor signed it, and passed it to the old man, who took it over treating it as if it is a precious thing, before leaving his young son here, murmuring something by the young boy’s ears, and left the city gates. Antonius stood there and watched till the old hero’s sight disappeared beyond the street, gently gave the young gentleman a pat on the head, before turning back to his palace, while the young boy is being taken care of.
Skanderbeg too, left Constantinople immediately, leaving his son here. His stance is clear, if there ever exist a day where by he dies and the state of Albania is plunged into utter chaos, then Antonius is responsible for sending an army alongside with the young prince back to Albania for his safety.
The Grand Prince of Moskva, Ivan III, literally disappeared from the sight of the others for a month, sending a wave of panic down many as folks frantically tried to search for the foreign guest worrying if any accident has occurred, but only to eventually find out that the Grand Prince, with only him and a few courtiers, have already found themselves the jobs of a disciple in the Metal Forge of Constantinople directly under Jacob, working day and night in the forges trying to learn metal crafting skills by participating in the process.
When finally found, Ivan was a sight to behold. His once-immaculate beard was singed, his face coated in soot from the constant burns, and his royal hands that of a warrior bore the calluses of hard labour. The image of the formidable ruler was replaced by a comically earnest apprentice working days and nights. When he was being found, the Grand Prince is already profound in the Greek lingual, caught in the midst of a scolding from a senior smith, chastised for his clumsy attempt at pouring molten iron. The once majestic prince now stood, chagrined and sooty, amidst the sparks of the forge, a far cry from the regal persona he was known for, yet earnest in his pursuit of a craft so alien to his royal upbringing.
Antonius, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and concern, ushered the Grand Prince Ivan III towards a much-needed bath and comfortable accommodations within the palace. "Oh, my dear Ivan, what an extraordinary surprise you’ve turned out to be," he remarked with a hint of bewilderment.
"You are a Grand Prince, Ivan! A sovereign of your realm! To vanish in my city for an entire month, what drove you to such lengths?" Antonius queried, his voice tinged with a blend of disbelief and subtle rebuke. "Imagine the diplomatic uproar if it was known that a monarch disappeared under my protection. I’d become the subject of jest across nations! Rome, with my name, shall become a clown wide spread to the other states!"
Ivan, indulging in a richly flavoured cake, replied with a casual ease that belied the gravity of his disappearance. "There’s no need for such concern, Your Majesty. I made it clear to my people in Moscow not to worry, even if my absence stretched for months."
"But your absence worried me!" Antonius retorted, his stern gaze softening into a resigned sigh as he sat down opposite Ivan. "What was the purpose behind this mystery? Why did you decide to poof in the air? Was it a deliberate choice to embrace hardship? You could have easily sent a delegation of skilled men to learn about metal forging and weaponry... Ivan!"
Ivan, finishing his drink with a hearty gulp, chuckled. "Your Majesty, you must understand, we Muscovites dwell far from the heart of civilization. Technologies and advancements meander slowly across Europe’s vast expanses to reach our lands. We lived through centuries of internal strife, Scandinavian invasions and Tartar conquests, the Muscovites have lived for hundreds of years in an impoverished state just simply because we are not strong and advanced enough! We must grasp every opportunity to acquire this knowledge, regardless of the cost – even if it demands a Grand Prince toiling in the forges."
Antonius listened, his expression a complex tapestry of contemplation and intrigue.
"Let us put it simply, Your Majesty," Ivan continued, "the people of Moskva are accustomed to enduring hardship, facing challenges head-on. They cannot, however, tolerate stagnation, chaos, or backwardness. They may accept a dictator like ruler who is stern, even harsh, but never one who is gluttonous, weak, or indecisive. Such is the enduring spirit of the Rus – a spirit that values strength, decisiveness, and progress above all..."
"I am certain too, your Majesty." Ivan mused looking into the eyes of the emperor, "that even without me, future Russian monarchs will follow the path that I have took this occasion, venturing incognito into foreign lands to acquire cutting-edge technologies starting from the most humble positions and bring them back to Moscow, propelling our people towards a brighter future, building the state increasing its power, no matter the cost it takes."
Antonius nodded, absorbing the Grand Prince’s foresight.
"..."
There was a thoughtful pause before Antonius proposed, "Grand Prince, let’s expand our treaty. We previously agreed on a bilateral student exchanges and a compulsory mercenary conscription serving in the Roman army. May I propose a new clause: unrestricted academic travel for Rus people to Constantinople and Thessaloniki with all the courses open to them. While In return, Moscow should offer tariff-free trade for both import and export, and support us in reclaiming Cherson and Crimea, confronting the Tatars in Caucasia when summoned."
Ivan paused, contemplating the emperor’s ambitious vision. The Mongols in Caucasia, skilled cavalrymen and descendants of a once-mighty empire, were formidable adversaries, not to be underestimated, with the ability to rally up a massive cavalry force of more than ten thousand riders they are a foe that cannot be reckoned with easily, moreover the emperor has not even finished absorbing Bulgaria yet, where would he muster all those power to confront the Tartars and the Genoese beyond the range of the Black Sea?
Antonius, who seemed to see through the concerns in the eyes of the Grand Prince, made a slight laugh. "I believe that you have already seen the way how my army fights, and trust me Grand Prince, if something comes out from my mouth, it already means that I have the will and confidence that I can achieve the ultimate goals properly, what I need, is just your pressure from the north, so that I can have enough time for my troops to land on the shores, before the Tartar reinforcements arrive when we are not yet ready."
Ivan’s expression softened, and he rose to applaud. "Bold indeed, Your Majesty. If your confidence is so steadfast, I see no reason to oppose. I hope our free trade will enable the Romans to establish schools and factories, guiding my people in technological advancement during these trying times."
"Of course."
Their hands clasped in a firm shake, symbolising a new Chapter of cooperation and mutual ambition between their great states.
