Clermont Castle, February 1429

"That was delicious, my dear," I said, setting my fork down after savoring the last bite of the lamb chops.

Theodora smiled softly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, my Despot."

I looked at her curiously. "You’ve barely touched yours."

She hesitated, glancing down at her plate before answering. "I haven’t had much appetite these past few days."

A thought struck me, bringing memories of my sister in my previous life. "Do you think you might be pregnant?"

Theodora nodded. "I believe I am, my Despot."

Pregnant. A child... though doubt crept in almost immediately. Is it truly mine? Technically, I’m not Constantine. I’m Michael, a man thrust into another life, into another body. But the thought of having a child in this new reality brought an unexpected warmth, a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

During the winter months, I was anything but idle. Most of my time was spent sketching blueprints for various projects, which I kept under strict secrecy.

The prototype for the printing press began to take shape—wooden frames assembled discreetly in the workshop. Early tests with homemade paper and ink left my fingers stained but spirits high.

My firearm designs progressed surprisingly well, partly thanks to the Venetian hand culverin, which gave me insights. The musket design was coming together—my memory of paper cartridges and the stability of bronze for cannons was proving invaluable. If only George would return with the craftsmen, I mused, rolling a bronze prototype between my palms. Skilled hands were needed to breathe life into these designs. Acquiring gunpowder would be tricky too; I’d have to look toward the Venetians to procure the necessary ingredients for local production.

One amusing incident this winter was introducing double-entry bookkeeping to one of my tax collectors. The poor man was utterly baffled by the concept; it was a simple innovation in my time, but here it was revolutionary. Moments like that reminded me of the advantages I held—not just technological knowledge but the organizational skills of the 21st century. The thought filled me with a surge of confidence. If I could survive long enough, these innovations might change the course of history.

While waiting for George's return from Constantinople, I busied myself with organizing the region. My "triple base" strategy was beginning to take shape: Andravida would serve as the agricultural hub, collecting and distributing crops from the fertile lands of Elis. Clermont Castle would become the center of my military operations and home to a new arsenal. Glarentza would be the commercial and trade hub, housing workshops, assembly lines, and, eventually, a new shipyard and port. Plans for a hospital, theater, and distillery danced in my mind, though those would have to wait until the treasury allowed for such expenses.

But the reality of my finances was becoming painfully clear. The costs of building new infrastructure was already draining my limited resources. My treasury was running low, and I had been forced to sell some of my new estates in Arcadia to keep the projects going. It was a temporary solution, a patch over a leaking ship. I could only hope that George would return with adequate funds; otherwise, my grand designs might collapse before they could fully take root.

In the meantime, my workers were busy improving the roads between these districts and building a large warehouse adjacent to the castle, which would serve as a new arsenal and workshop for the printing press. The labor scarcity was a growing concern; with fewer than fifteen thousand souls in Glarentza and its surroundings, I needed to attract more settlers.

I extended offers of land grants to Christians from other regions, especially those suffering under Ottoman rule. Within a few months, fifty Tsakonian families, some Serbians from my mother’s homeland, and even a few wealthy Thessalonian families had answered the call. By March, the population had swelled by a couple of thousand—still insufficient, but a promising start.

My military, however, remained my Achilles' heel. I had a small force of forty horsemen, twenty crossbowmen, fifty archers, and about two hundred and fifty infantry. In times of crisis, I could levy around two thousand light infantry from the local populace, but they were poorly trained and of limited use. My brother Thomas, stationed in Kalavryta, could be relied upon for support if needed. However, I held no such confidence in Theodore, who resided in Mystras, more concerned with his spiritual musings than the defense of our lands.

As for the Venetians, I needed to tread carefully. Their holdings in the Peloponnese could be both a threat and an opportunity. I couldn’t afford hostility with them if I was to stand any chance against the Ottomans.

Andravida Crop Fields, March 1429

The sun blazed overhead, its warmth seeping into the fertile soil of the Andravida fields. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead as I stood among the rows of young wheat, the rich scent of earth and budding crops filling the air. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, but it did little to alleviate the heat—or my mounting frustration.

"Observe carefully," I called out, my voice carrying over the murmurs of the assembled farmers. Grasping the handles of the new heavy plough, I guided it forward, the metal blade slicing through the earth with ease. "With this design, your oxen can turn the soil more deeply and efficiently, enriching it for a better harvest."

The farmers exchanged wary glances. An elder among them, his face weathered by years under the sun, stepped forward. "Despot," he began cautiously, tugging at the brim of his worn hat, "we have tilled these lands as our fathers and grandfathers did before us. Such a contraption is... unfamiliar. Our oxen might not take kindly to it."

I clenched my jaw, feeling the tension knotting in my shoulders. "Change brings prosperity," I replied, striving to keep my tone patient. "The old ways have served well, but with this plough, you can work faster and yield more."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

A younger farmer shifted his weight, eyeing the plough skeptically. "But what if it breaks the oxen's stride? Or damages the soil? The risk seems great."

Suppressing a sigh, I gestured to the rich, dark furrows the plough had already carved. "The evidence lies before you. The soil turns smoothly, and the oxen bear the weight without strain."

Yet their doubtful expressions remained. The chorus of hesitant murmurs grew, each concern a barrier I struggled to dismantle. I ran a hand through my hair, the strands damp with sweat. Patience, Constantine, I reminded myself. These men need reassurance, not reprimand.

Just then, the distant thud of hooves reached my ears, growing louder against the backdrop of rustling crops. I turned to see a lone rider galloping toward us, dust trailing in his wake. The farmers parted as he reined in his horse, the animal snorting and pawing at the ground.

"Despot," the messenger panted, dismounting swiftly and offering a hurried bow. "George Sphrantzes has returned from Constantinople. He awaits you at the castle in Clermont.”

A surge of energy coursed through me, momentarily dispelling my frustration. "Thank you," I replied, my gaze shifting back to the farmers. Their eyes reflected curiosity and perhaps a hint of relief at the interruption.

"We shall continue this demonstration another time," I announced. "Consider what you've seen today."

Without further delay, I mounted my horse, a chestnut mare who responded eagerly to my touch. As I spurred her forward, the wind whipped against my face, carrying with it the mingled scents of wildflowers and freshly tilled earth. The fields and scattered cottages blurred past, my thoughts racing even faster than the landscape.

George has returned. What news does he bring? Have craftsmen agreed to come?

The journey to Glarentza was swift, and the familiar landmarks of the Morean countryside flew by. The sun cast long shadows as it began its descent, painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson. My anticipation grew with each passing mile, a mixture of hope and apprehension settling in my chest.

As I approached the castle gates, the stone walls rising proudly against the horizon, I noticed an unusual bustle. A crowd had gathered—men, women, and children clustered together, their belongings piled onto carts or strapped to weary mules. The murmur of countless voices filled the air, a mixture of dialects and accents.

Dismounting, I handed the reins to a waiting stable boy. My gaze swept over the scene before me. George stood near the entrance, his posture straight despite the weariness evident in his eyes. Beside him stood a dignified man in simple but well-made robes, his hands clasped before him.

"George," I called out, striding toward them. "Your return is most welcome."

He turned, a genuine smile breaking through his tired features. "Despot," he replied, inclining his head. "The journey was long but fruitful."

"I see you've brought companions," I noted, glancing at the assembled crowd.

"Indeed," George affirmed. "More than we anticipated."

The robed man stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Greetings, Despot Constantine. I am Theophilus Dragaš, at your service. Your mother, Her Holiness, sends her blessings and this letter." He extended a sealed parchment toward me.

Accepting the letter, I studied the man before me. Theophilus Dragaš—a name that stirred faint echoes within Constantine's memories. A scholar and distant relative, respected for his wisdom and piety. His eyes held a keen intelligence, and his bearing had a calm steadiness.

"Welcome to Glarentza, Theophilus," I said warmly. "Your arrival is timely. We have much to discuss."

He nodded appreciatively. "I am honored to be of service, Despot."

Turning back to George, I couldn't contain my curiosity. "Tell me, what news from Constantinople?"

George's expression grew more serious, yet there was a spark of satisfaction in his eyes. "We managed to secure two-thirds of the gold we sought," he reported. "But more importantly, word of your endeavors has spread. Over twenty skilled craftsmen and their families agreed to accompany us. Blacksmiths, carpenters, masons—all eager to build a new future here."

I felt a swell of gratitude and excitement. "This exceeds my hopes, George. You've done exceptional work."

He continued, "Nearly two hundred others have come—displaced nobles, scholars, and laborers seeking refuge and purpose. The situation in the capital grows dire, and the promise of stability in the Morea is a beacon for many."

I surveyed the faces in the crowd—some weary, others hopeful. Children clung to their mothers' skirts, wide-eyed and curious. Men stood protectively by their families, gazes reflecting uncertainty and determination.

"These people will find a home here," I declared. "We shall make the Morea a place of prosperity and safety for all who dwell within its borders."

A murmur of relief and gratitude rippled through those nearby. George gestured toward a stout man with soot-stained hands. "Despot, allow me to introduce Elias, a master bell maker renowned in the capital."

Elias bowed deeply. "At your service, Despot. I've heard of your plans and am eager to contribute."

I clasped his forearm in a gesture of camaraderie. "Your skills will be invaluable, Elias. We have a lot of need for talented hands like yours."

Theophilus stepped forward once more. "Despot, I have also brought texts and manuscripts from the remnants of the imperial library."

"Excellent," I replied, envisioning the wealth of information those works could contain. "Your contributions are most welcome."

As we moved toward the castle entrance, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The obstacles ahead were formidable, but with these new resources—both human and material—the path to strengthening the Morea seemed more attainable.

"George," I said quietly as we walked, "did you encounter any difficulties on your journey?"

He nodded solemnly. "There were challenges. Pirates in the sea, and tensions in the capital are high. The Ottomans press closer each day."

A shadow passed over my thoughts. The urgency of our mission weighed heavily upon me. "We must accelerate our efforts," I asserted. "Time is not a luxury we possess."

"Agreed," George replied. "I shall begin organizing the craftsmen immediately."

"Good. And Theophilus," I added, turning to the scholar, "we will convene soon to discuss how best to utilize the knowledge you've brought."

He inclined his head. "As you wish, Despot."

Before we could proceed further, a familiar figure approached—Theodora, her gown flowing gracefully as she walked. Her eyes met mine, reflecting warmth and quiet strength.

"Constantine," she greeted softly. "I heard of George's return. It's wonderful news."

"Indeed," I replied, taking her hands gently. "His journey was a success beyond measure."

She smiled, a hint of relief in her expression. "This will bolster our efforts."

Noticing the subtle shadows under her eyes, I felt a pang of concern. "Are you feeling well?" I asked quietly.

She nodded. "Just a bit tired, but nothing to worry over."

I squeezed her hands lightly. "Remember to rest. The welfare of you and our child is paramount."

A soft blush colored her cheeks. "I promise I will."

Turning back to George and Theophilus, I addressed them with renewed determination. "There is much to be done, but tonight, we shall rest and welcome our new companions. Tomorrow, we forge ahead."

They both nodded, understanding the significance of this convergence of events.

As evening settled in, the castle came alive with activity. Fires were lit, meals prepared, and the newcomers began to settle. The air was filled with a sense of cautious optimism—a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had loomed for so long.

I stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, watching as people found places to sit, sharing food and stories. Laughter mingled with the crackling of flames, and children chased one another under the watchful eyes of their parents.

Theodora joined me, slipping her arm through mine. "Look at them," she said softly. "Perhaps this is the beginning of something new."

"Indeed," I agreed, my gaze sweeping over the scene. "A foundation upon which we can build a future."

She rested her head on my shoulder. "I have faith in you, in us."

Her words warmed me. "Together, we will shape the destiny of this land."

She looked up at me, her eyes reflecting the flickering light. "I wanted to tell you—I've received a letter from my brother."

"Carlo?" I inquired. "What news does he bring?"

She hesitated briefly. "He writes of concerns in Epirus. Tensions with neighboring lords and whispers of Ottoman movements. He... also inquires about the prospects of an alliance."

I considered her words carefully. "An alliance could be beneficial, but we must tread cautiously. The political landscape is delicate."

She nodded. "I thought as much. I will draft a reply, but I wanted your counsel."

"Your wisdom is invaluable, Theodora," I assured her. "We will discuss it further and decide the best course of action."

A comfortable silence settled between us as we watched the festivities below. The challenges ahead were numerous, but with allies by my side and a vision for the future, I felt a steadfast resolve.

We will rise to meet the trials before us, I vowed silently. For the sake of all who look to us, and for the generations yet to come.