Constantine could feel his pulse in his ears as he crossed the threshold of the Apostolic Palace's audience hall. High, arched windows let in slanting beams of autumn light that mingled with the glow of oil lamps. Guards in vibrant striped tunics lined the marble floor, their polished breastplates mirroring Constantine's advance. The air smelled of frankincense and old stone. Despite the warm hue of the afternoon sun, a cool tension clung to the vast chamber.
At the far end, Pope Eugene IV awaited on a raised dais, framed by gilt icons of saints and apostles. The Pope's slender figure was draped in white and red vestments, the great keys of St. Peter embroidered in gold thread across his chest. By his side stood his nephew, Cardinal Francesco Condulmer, clad in the rich scarlet of his office. They both wore welcoming smiles. A gentle smile from a Pope, Constantine thought, could hide as much ambition as a scowl from a Sultan. He reminded himself that here, in the heart of Latin Christendom, battles were waged with velvet words and parchments sealed with lead.
"Welcome, Emperor Constantine," Pope Eugene said, voice echoing gently in the vaulted hall. The Pope's face was alight with genuine warmth, yet something calculating flickered behind his pale gray eyes. "It does this old heart good to see you again, victorious and safe. All Christendom has heard of your triumph at Domokos."
Constantine managed a humble smile. "Your Holiness is too kind. The victory was God's," he replied, his voice steady. "I am but His instrument… aided by many brave souls." Even as he spoke the piety expected of him, an image of Domokos flashed in his mind: smoke curling from shattered ramparts, his cannons thundering as terrified Ottoman horsemen scattered. The memory brought a mix of pride and sobriety. He pushed it aside to focus on the moment.
Cardinal Francesco stepped forward, beaming. "Tens of thousands of your fellow faithful rejoiced that day, Majesty. In Rome the church bells rang from dawn to dusk when the news arrived. His Holiness himself led a Te Deum in your honor." The cardinal's Venetian-accented words lilted musically, and he spread his hands as if embracing Constantine from afar. "Your victory at Domokos was not just yours, but an answered prayer for all who stand against the infidel."
Pope Eugene nodded, descending the dais with a rustle of robes. To Constantine's surprise, the Pope took him lightly by the arm in a familiar, almost grandfatherly gesture. "Come," Eugene said, guiding him off to the side of the formal throne. "We have much to discuss, my friend. We'll talk as allies now, not merely as Pope and Emperor." There was relief in leaving the ritual behind: the guards relaxed at a subtle signal, and a few monsignors who had been standing at attention along the walls slipped quietly out of earshot. The vast hall seemed to contract, the grandeur still there but less imposing as their footsteps fell softly on marble, moving toward a cluster of chairs by a tall open window. Outside, the sky was a Roman blue, but Constantine could see clouds gathering on the horizon beyond the Tiber.
A small table had been set near the window, bearing a flagon of watered wine and three silver goblets. Pope Eugene gestured for Constantine to sit, and took a seat himself with a sigh of comfort. Cardinal Francesco remained standing for a moment until Eugene chuckled and motioned him to join them. "We dispense with a bit of formality today, dear nephew. His Imperial Majesty has journeyed far; I won't have him stand through a long litany of state."
Constantine settled into the high-backed chair, feeling the smooth wood against his shoulders. A breeze eddied in, carrying a hint of autumn, dry leaves and distant hearth smoke. Pope Eugene lifted the flagon. "Wine, Constantine?"
"Yes, Your Holiness. Thank you." Constantine inclined his head. The Pope poured for all three of them, and Francesco finally sat as well, on the edge of his seat like a keen student.
"To your victories," Eugene said, raising his cup. His signet ring, heavy with amethyst, caught a glint of light. "May they be only the beginning."
They drank. The wine was mild and honeyed, doing more to moisten Constantine's dry throat than to cloud his mind.
"And to your victories as well, Your Holiness," Constantine replied after savoring a sip. "I hear the battles in these halls can be as fierce as any in the field. Yet you have tamed wayward councils and kept Christ's flock united." He offered the flattery smoothly. In truth, he knew Eugene's struggles with the Council of Basel were ongoing and anything but tame. The Pope's lips twitched at that, a shadow crossing his brow for a heartbeat. Constantine had touched on a sore spot, one he intended to salve quickly. "I pray that God grants me the same wisdom you possess, to guide my people through stormy seas."
Eugene's faint frown melted, replaced by a modest smile. "God's grace has seen us both through trials, has it not?" He set his goblet down. "Speaking of guidance… there is one endeavor, Emperor, in which your wisdom has guided the Church to unexpected blessings." The Pope's eyes shone now with a different excitement. "Your idea for the Papacy Edition Bibles, what a triumph."
Cardinal Francesco leaned forward eagerly, picking up the thread. "Truly magnifico. We can scarcely keep up with demand." He produced a slender ledger from within his robes as if he had been dying to share its contents. Constantine caught a whiff of fresh ink as the cardinal opened it. "Over nine thousand copies sold so far across Christendom," Francesco reported, tapping a page. "From the kingdoms of Spain and Portugal to the cities of France, even as far as England across the sea, noble houses and monasteries clamor for a Papacy Edition.
Constantine allowed a genuine grin to break through."I am overjoyed to hear it," he said warmly. He felt a flush of pride, not only for the business's success but for what it represented: knowledge spreading, the Word in the hands of many. And no small amount of gold lining Rome's coffers… and my own. "It seems the Good Lord blesses this endeavor."
Eugene chuckled, picking up a sheet of the ledger between two fingers. "The Good Lord and the miracle printers of yours." He peered closely at a figure, then looked up with a sparkle in his eye. "Our distribution network for these editions rivals that of the Venetian book merchants now, I'd wager. Hmm, Francesco?"
The cardinal nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed. We have outpaced them in Italy and France already." He almost giggled with satisfaction. "It helps, of course, that many bishops and monasteries are obliged, encouraged, I should say, to purchase copies for their libraries and churches. A gentle directive from the Holy See." Francesco shared a conspiratorial smile with his uncle. "Not that they complain, each volume is beautifully bound and illuminated. A treasure to behold. The clergy see it as an honor to own one."
Constantine inclined his head, feigning modesty while his mind raced. Encouraged to buy, meaning Eugene had made the Papacy Editions quasi-mandatory for church institutions. Clever. It guaranteed sales, and more importantly, it planted the Pope's influence in every abbey and diocese in Europe. "I took care that the craftsmanship be worthy of the cause," Constantine said. "Scripture, after all, should inspire both soul and eye."
"As it does," Pope Eugene agreed. He rested a hand on Constantine's arm. The contact was friendly, paternal, but Constantine detected the shift in the Pope's posture. Eugene had savored the honey; now it was time for vinegar and spice, the meat of their meeting. "Now that the Bible project is flourishing, what think you of expanding the Papacy's collection? Francesco here has been itching to ask you."
The cardinal closed the ledger and clasped his hands. "Your Majesty, our success cries out for new titles. Psalters, theological treatises, even works of history or philosophy that the Church deems edifying." His tone remained respectful, but Constantine sensed Francesco's ambition. Every new book was more income, more reach, and an opportunity for censorship or agenda, if the Church chose only certain works to print.
Constantine took a moment to gaze out the window at a bird gliding across the sky. He would play this carefully. Give them what they want, while guiding it toward what he wanted. "I agree, Your Eminence. The press should not fall silent. In Glarentza, I have scholars already compiling texts that could enrich Christendom. Some are ancient Greek works being translated into Latin, writings not widely known in the West. Others are new compilations: a concise encyclopedia of medicine, for example, drawn from Greek, Latin, and Arab sources." He saw Francesco's eyebrows lift in intrigue. That caught his fancy. "Of course," Constantine added smoothly, "we will coordinate closely with Your Holiness and the Curia to select titles that best serve the faith and the people."
Pope Eugene smiled in approval. "Excellent. A true collaboration of East and West learning." He spread his hands in a gesture of unity. "When Greek wisdom and Latin fervor combine, the result can only be illuminating." There was a subtle irony in his words, whether he intended it or not, an irony Constantine felt keenly. If only unity were so easy in matters of dogma as it was in ink and parchment. The Pope seemed to share that thought, for his expression grew more solemn. "This leads us, of course, to the greater matter at hand: securing Christendom itself against the Turk."
At those words, the ambient noise of the room, the soft shuffle of a distant guard, the whisper of wind, seemed to recede. Constantine set down his goblet. Now, war. He'd been waiting for this, heart quickening. The Pope leaned forward, fingers templed, and Constantine noticed how Eugene's knuckles, thin and age-spotted, tightened slightly as if bracing for a great endeavor. "Your victories in Greece have been inspiring," Eugene began quietly. "Domokos. Hexamilion. The gates of Thermopylae open again to Christian arms. You have done in two years what no Byzantine emperor achieved in decades prior."
Constantine felt heat rise to his cheeks at the praise, but he kept his voice even. "We have been fortunate, and the Ottomans have been fighting on many fronts. I took the chance God granted us. And I have had help, brave men from many lands."
"Fortune favors the bold," Cardinal Francesco interjected. "And God favors His champions." He gave a deferential nod to both Pope and Emperor. "Your successes have not gone unnoticed by the leaders of the West, Majesty. King Sigismund, pardon, Emperor Sigismund now" he corrected with a smile, " sends his congratulations as well. He is most eager to support a greater war against the Ottomans. With the Hussite heresy in Bohemia finally quelled, Sigismund finds himself with a battle-seasoned army and no immediate foe. He looks eastward, to the defense of Christendom's frontier."
Pope Eugene's eyes lit with a fierce satisfaction. "Yes. Sigismund has given me his word: he will proclaim a Crusade alongside us. He is prepared to muster thirty thousand men from Hungary and Germany for the cause." The Pope's voice swelled, resonating off the stone around them. "Thirty thousand, Constantine. Knights and infantry from all the empire's realms. A host the likes of which we have not seen in decades."
Constantine exhaled slowly, a controlled release of emotion. Thirty thousand… If true, this was beyond his most hopeful dreams. His mind's eye flashed to maps of the Balkans, German and Hungarian banners streaming south over the Danube, towards Serbia and Bulgaria, towards Thrace. Could it really happen? "God willing, it will be enough to turn the tide," he said. "With such an army, we could strike deep into Ottoman lands."
"And retake Constantinople," Cardinal Francesco added pointedly. He studied Constantine as he said it. "That, after all, is the jewel we intend to reclaim, is it not?"
Constantine did not miss the tone. The cardinal's words hung in the air. Retaking Constantinople meant dislodging not just the Ottomans but his own brother Demetrios, who squatted on the throne as the Sultan's puppet. The thought of Demetrios sent a cold twist through Constantine's gut. Many in the East still viewed Demetrios as a legitimate. And even among those who despised Demetrios, some wondered if Constantine's alliance with the Latin church was any less a betrayal. The union of churches, there lay the thorniest branch of this crusade plan.
Pope Eugene rose from his chair and began to pace slowly, hands clasped behind his back. The afternoon light etched his silhouette in gold, glinting off the polished tiles underfoot. "Constantinople…" he intoned, almost reverently. "The New Rome. I have never seen her, yet I feel her presence, wounded and yearning, all the way here in the Old Rome." He looked to Constantine, stopping his slow circuit. "We shall see her free, my son. This I vow. Sigismund's armies, the Papal fleet, your own forces, we will make it so."
Constantine met the Pope's gaze. Eugene's face was earnest, inspired; in that moment, he looked every bit the Vicar of Christ on earth, determined to rescue the downtrodden faithful. It moved Constantine, despite his innate caution. "With God's help, we will," Constantine affirmed. "I will not rest until my capital is restored. Demetrios and his heathen patrons will be cast out." He realized he'd curled his hand into a fist on the arm of his chair. Gently, he unclenched it. "However… We must consider how we undertake this great endeavor. Thirty thousand men marching from Hungary, coordination will be crucial."
"Indeed," Cardinal Francesco said. He set his empty goblet aside, all business now. "And there is also the matter of ensuring all of Christendom is spiritually unified behind the effort." He paused meaningfully. "The question of Church union."
A silence fell, punctuated only by the distant caw of a gull beyond the window. Constantine felt a slight chill as the breeze picked up. He had expected this topic, yet it still made his neck tense. The Pope resumed his seat slowly, folding his robes about him. His expression was contemplative. "Union… yes. The old wound, healed at last." Eugene's voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if painting a gentle dream. "You know, I have devoted much thought and prayer to this, Constantine. If the Eastern and Western churches can reconcile, even in principle, the impact on morale would be tremendous. Imagine: Greeks, Italians, Germans, Hungarians, all fighting under one Cross, no longer divided by schism. The crusade would take on the aura of divine destiny."
Constantine heard the passion in Eugene's tone, but also the calculation underneath. Union was more than a spiritual goal, it was a lever for the Pope. A reunited Christendom would greatly enhance Eugene's prestige at home, giving him a victory the troublesome Council of Basel could never claim. A prestige chip, as his inner voice phrased it in modern parlance. Constantine chose his response carefully. "Your Holiness, no one longs for the healing of that rift more than I," he began, and he meant it in part. "I have worked to soothe Latin-Greek tensions in my own domains. My clergy in the Morea are prepared to discuss union openly, without prejudice." He saw Francesco nodding; news of Constantine's pro-union leanings had clearly reached Rome.
"Excellent," Eugene murmured, fingers steepled.
"However," Constantine continued, gently but firmly, "before formal union can be achieved, we face a practical obstacle: Constantinople itself must be back in our hands, loyal Christian hands." His golden-brown eyes locked with the Pope's searching glance. "As of now, the Patriarch of Constantinople and many of the highest bishops are under Demetrios's sway, effectively under Ottoman captivity. Any declaration of union made while they are essentially hostages would be tainted. It would be seen by my people as coerced by foreigners and invaders." He spread his hands in a gesture of regret. "If we proclaim union too soon, it may ring hollow or even incite backlash among the Greeks and other Eastern flock. I fear it could fracture the very support we need for the crusade."
Cardinal Francesco's lips pursed; he leaned back, exchanging a thoughtful glance with his uncle. Pope Eugene's brow furrowed. Constantine felt the weight of their scrutiny. He hoped he had not misstepped. This was the one point he had to press, even if it disappointed them: they must reclaim the city before pushing union, or risk chaos.
Eugene tapped a finger on the arm of his chair, considering. "You may be right," he said at length. The admission seemed to pain him slightly, but honesty glinted in his eyes. "The Greek faithful have long mistrusted attempts at union, seeing it as capitulation. To attempt it while a usurper sits in Hagia Sophia…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Yes, I see. It could feed the very anti-Latin sentiment we seek to eliminate."
Francesco added quietly, "Not to mention, Demetrios and the Sultan would do everything to sabotage such a union from within, using their puppet Patriarch. They might call their own council to confuse the people." The cardinal's tone carried a rare note of empathy for Constantine's predicament. "It is a risk."
Constantine inclined his head in gratitude. "Once Constantinople is free and Demetrios removed, I will personally lead our delegation to whatever council you deem fit, Your Holiness, to finalize the union of our churches." He spoke solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. That was as much of a promise as he could afford. "We will make it a true reunion, celebrated in a liberated Hagia Sophia, with both East and West rejoicing." He allowed himself the image, a triumphant entry into the Great Church, Latin and Greek prelates side by side at the altar, the ancient hymns in two tongues ringing to the dome. It stirred both hope and dread in him. Hope for what it symbolized; dread for what it might cost in pride and concession.
"A vision to live for," Pope Eugene said softly. His face gentled. Constantine could see the Pope was moved by the thought; Eugene's eyes grew misty. "Very well. First things first: Constantinople. God's work in proper order." He reached out and squeezed Constantine's shoulder. "We will free your city, my son, and then heal our Church. One victory at a time."
Constantine released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you, Your Holiness." The Pope's grip was surprisingly firm for an intellectual cleric. Constantine met that resolve with his own. "With that settled, we can focus on the military campaign ahead."
"Yes," the Pope said, returning to briskness. "I shall issue a new Papal bull calling for the Crusade immediately. Francesco will see that letters are dispatched to every court from Lisbon to Krakow. Every prince of Christendom will be called to contribute men, ships, or coin." He paused, lips curving in wry confidence. "Not all will answer, of course, but the key ones will. I suspect even the French and English, busy squabbling in their endless war, will send token forces if only to not be left out of the glory."
Cardinal Francesco chuckled. "And if not, at least they'll buy indulgences to fund the rest," he quipped. Eugene shot him a mild reproving glance for his irreverence, but Constantine saw the Pope's mouth twitch. The truth in that jest was not lost on any of them.
"What matters," Eugene continued, "is that we make a grand show of unity and determination. I will lead the call, and I will also commit tangible support." He raised a thin finger. "First, gold: the Papal treasury will provide a war chest to help equip the armies, Constantine. It won't cover all needs, but it shall be substantial."
Constantine nodded gratefully. "Your generosity will make the difference, Holiness. Weapons, supplies, engineers… we are expanding our forces quickly, and coin is our lifeblood." He thought of the pike regiments and gunmen drilling back in the Morea, and how every new recruit meant more arms and armor to find. Papal gold could outfit thousands more.
"Second," Eugene went on, "the Papal fleet. It may be modest compared to Venice's, but I can send a squadron of galleys under the Church's banner. Ten ships, fully crewed and armed." He glanced at his nephew. "Francesco will lead them as papal legate and admiral."
Constantine turned to the cardinal in surprise. It was one thing for Francesco to be negotiating deals in chamber halls; it was another to imagine him in command at sea. The cardinal gave a small self-deprecating shrug, reading Constantine's look. "I grew up on the canals of Venice, Your Majesty. I'm more comfortable on a ship's deck than you might think." His green eyes glinted with excitement. "Besides, I would not trust anyone else to see that His Holiness's investment is well used and not… misdirected by others en route."
Constantine understood. By leading the fleet himself, Francesco would ensure the Pope's interests were represented during the campaign and likely keep a close eye on the secular generals. It was both reassuring and slightly alarming; a zealous cardinal with authority over ships and a divine mandate could be either a boon or a potential hindrance if disagreements arose in the field. Still, Francesco had proven a pragmatic partner so far. Constantine offered him a respectful smile. "I can think of no finer legate. Your presence will remind all that this is more than a political venture, it is a holy cause."
"Well said," Eugene approved. He brushed a speck of dust from his lap, as if dust had the temerity to settle on the Pope. "Now, about Sigismund's forces and Venice's role… how do you propose we coordinate these armies? The logistical challenge is immense."
Constantine straightened in his chair. He welcomed this turn to concrete planning. "Sire, I see two primary avenues. One: Sigismund's thirty thousand could march overland through the Balkans towards Thessaloniki, while my forces and our Italian allies move by sea. Two: we concentrate all forces for a single thrust, likely by sea, using Venice as the staging ground to ferry troops."
Cardinal Francesco frowned slightly. "Splitting the forces into two prongs, north and south, would catch the Turks in a vise, certainly. But it also means each force is smaller than the enemy's whole, at least until you meet up."
"Whereas one giant armada of united armies," Eugene mused, "would strike as a hammerblow in one location… but it might be sluggish to assemble and move, and easier for the enemy to shadow."
Constantine interlocked his fingers, elbows on the arms of his chair, and spoke as calmly as he would at his own war council. "If we split, coordination in timing is key. Sigismund would need to begin his march from Hungary while the fleet sets sail from Italy, so that both arrive at Thessaloniki near-simultaneously. Neither contingent should face Murad's main force alone." He cast a sober look between Pope and cardinal. "We all remember Nicopolis."
At the mention of the ill-fated Crusade of Nicopolis decades ago, Eugene closed his eyes briefly, lips moving in what might have been a tiny prayer for the dead. Francesco's jaw tightened. Sigismund himself had been a young king at that disaster; it was a lesson carved in Christian memory. "Never again," the Pope murmured, opening his eyes. "Hubris and lack of coordination damned those brave souls. We must avoid that fate."
"Precisely," Constantine said. "If we attack from two directions, we must be in perfect concert. If not, the Sultan can defeat us piecemeal." Constantine's mind, ever colored by the 21st-century knowledge he harbored, pulsed with analysis: supply lines, seasonal weather, communication speed. He thought of modern campaigns where splitting forces invited defeat in detail unless communication was instant, something they decidedly did not have in 1433. "It may actually be wiser," he continued carefully, "to combine at least at the final stage. For instance, Sigismund could march to a friendly port, say Ragusa, and there join with ships to bring his army across to the Morea. Alternatively, his army ties down the Sultan in the Balkans while our force moves north quickly."
Eugene held up a hand, tempering the excitement. "All this will require more detailed councils. We should involve Venice in these deliberations soon, as their navy and transports will be essential. I expect the Serenissima will join if only to secure their trade, though of course we will induce them with appropriate promises."
Constantine managed not to smirk. Venice would want payment in coin or ports, no doubt. Fortunately, he had already greased some wheels there. "At our last negotiation, Your Holiness, you recall we granted certain privileges to Venetian traders tied to your family and the Condulmers. Those influential men can help bring the Republic on board. Venice's interest in the book trade and now in the prospect of new markets freed from Ottoman control will incline them to our side."
The Pope gave a low chuckle. "You see? Our earlier compromessi bear fruit already. Venice's greed can be turned to God's purpose." He glanced at Francesco. "Still, best we dispatch envoys to the doge without delay. We dangle the prospect of expanded trading rights in a liberated Constantinople and perhaps some captured ports, and they'll come."
Francesco nodded, making a mental note. Constantine, watching the nephew's sharp features in profile, was again struck by how deeply the cardinal was enmeshed in all these plans: spiritual, military, commercial. Nepotism at its finest, a cynical modern part of him remarked. Yet Francesco thus far had been competent and energetic. Constantine could not deny he was glad to have him handling the curial legwork.
As their discussion continued, the tension gave way to growing optimism. They spoke of raising additional troops in the Morea and newly liberated central Greece, of equipping Sigismund's knights with some of Constantine's cannons. In turn, Francesco mentioned his contacts in Burgundy and Italy who could provide crossbows and horse fodder. For a moment, Constantine almost felt he was back in one of his own council meetings, just with more crimson robes and papal gravitas at the table. The sun had shifted noticeably lower, and a golden haze filled the room as motes of dust danced in the light.
It was then that Cardinal Condulmer cleared his throat gently. "Holy Father, before we conclude, should we address the… special request you planned to raise?" His tone was polite, but Constantine noted the way Francesco avoided his gaze, directing the question to his uncle. The Pope, who had been in the midst of reaching for the wine flagon, paused.
"Ah. Yes." Eugene's hand changed course and settled atop the table instead, fingers drumming once, as if steeling himself to broach a delicate matter. "One more item, Emperor, if you'll indulge an old man's counsel." The Pope's smile returned, but now it bore the softness of a kindly matchmaker or a concerned guardian. "We have spoken of armies and gold and ships… but there is another kind of alliance that can secure the future every bit as firmly."
Constantine felt an inward sigh forming. Here it comes. He had sensed an undercurrent all afternoon, hints dropped in certain names mentioned, certain praises. "You speak of a marriage, Your Holiness," he said, meeting the Pope's eyes directly. It was not a guess; it was an invitation for Eugene to proceed plainly. Best to discuss it openly than dance around.
The Pope's smile deepened. "Just so. A marriage. And not merely for diplomacy's sake, though it will serve that in abundance, but for the happiness and stability of your realm as well."
Constantine managed not to show skepticism at the word "happiness." Very few marriages of state had anything to do with personal happiness. He simply inclined his head for Eugene to continue. The lamps in the hall guttered slightly, and a servant tiptoed along the wall to trim a wick.
"You may recall," Eugene said gently, "that the Duke of Burgundy has been a staunch supporter of crusades in the past. Duke Philip is a proud and ambitious man, one of the mightiest princes in Christendom. His knights are famed, his treasury deep."
"And his appetite for glory… considerable," added Cardinal Francesco with a twinkle in his eye.
"Indeed," the Pope agreed. "When I mentioned to the Duke that a great campaign to restore Constantinople was in the offing, he was intrigued. However, Burgundy is far, and the Duke's commitments are many. To secure his full enthusiasm, I made a suggestion." Eugene folded his hands piously. "I suggested that the House of Burgundy, through his niece, might one day sit upon the restored throne of Constantinople, alongside your noble line."
A silence, then. Constantine became aware of the sound of his own heartbeat. Through his niece. It was exactly as he suspected. He maintained a neutral face, but he could feel the muscles in his jaw tightening. "You refer to Lady Agnes of Cleves," he said slowly. The name had reached his ears recently via a letter from his ambassador in the Dukes court, a letter he'd hoped was mere rumor. Apparently not.
Eugene's eyes gleamed. "Yes. Agnes of Cleves, the niece of Duke Philip by marriage. She is of Burgundian blood, well connected and well dowered. By uniting her with you, we seal Burgundy's commitment."
Francesco chimed in softly, as if to sweeten the pill, "She's a comely girl by all reports, Your Majesty. And while young now, only eleven years of age, she will in time grow into a fine lady. Such betrothals are often made early. The marriage can take place when she reaches suitable age."
Only eleven. Constantine felt a faint nausea coil in his stomach that had nothing to do with the wine. He kept his outward composure, but inside, the 21st-century man in him recoiled. The very idea of binding himself to a child bride made his skin crawl. In the 15th century, this was normal politics. But in the privacy of his mind, he grimaced. She's a child playing with dolls, he thought, and they would make her an Empress. He had known this could be asked of him, other kings married young girls for alliance, but knowing didn't ease his personal revulsion.
He realized a delicate pause had ensued. The Pope and cardinal awaited his response, Eugene watching him with a calm, almost benign expectation. No doubt they assumed he might be surprised, but not truly opposed. Constantine schooled his features to thoughtful consideration, hiding the turmoil beneath. He would not give an answer in haste.
"Your Holiness honors me with such a proposal," Constantine said carefully. His voice was measured, betraying none of the discomfort. "And the Duke of Burgundy honors me as well, considering an alliance of blood." He turned his empty goblet slowly with one hand, the silver catching the dimming light. "Agnes of Cleves… by all accounts she is of excellent character and breeding." She's also a sixth-grader, a sardonic inner voice barked, he silenced it. "It is a weighty decision. Marriage binds not only two people, but two realms, two futures."
Eugene nodded encouragingly. "Just so. In this case, it binds Burgundy firmly to the crusade and to the future of your empire. Philip has a son, but he also has great affection for this niece, who was raised at his court. He would consider her elevation as your Empress to be a crowning achievement of his house. As I mentioned to him, his illustrious house could crown Constantinople itself through this union." The Pope allowed himself a satisfied smile at the clever turn of phrase he'd used with the Duke.
"In more concrete terms," Francesco added, "Burgundy's contribution would likely include a brigade of knights, as well as significant financing of war expenses. The Duke may even outfit his own fleet contingent to join ours. All in addition to the legitimacy and influence his endorsement provides. No one in Europe would dare call this crusade a fool's errand if Burgundy is all-in."
Constantine pressed his fingertips together, elbows braced on his chair's arms, and bowed his head as if in contemplation. In truth, it was to hide the flash of vexation in his eyes. They were making an excellent case. A marriage to an eleven-year-old girl could win him the support of one of Europe's greatest powers. How many chances at victory would that secure? The wedding would be delayed anyway due to her age, giving him time. And it wasn't as though he had a marriage prospect otherwise, he was a widower, and his previous brief marriage had given no heirs.
He felt a small bead of sweat trickle under his collar. The conflicting voices inside him warred: duty and disgust, necessity and personal morality. In this medieval reality, refusing such an alliance might be seen as foolish, even selfish.
Constantine raised his head, face composed in a mask of polite gravity. "It is a most strategic match," he conceded. "Burgundy's might and wealth would considerably strengthen our cause. And I am… not blind to the dynastic benefit." He forced himself to say the next sentence lightly, with a faint, courteous smile. "An Empress from Burgundy would certainly bring a splendid dowry."
Cardinal Francesco grinned, clearly relieved that Constantine was taking it in stride. Pope Eugene's shoulders relaxed. They had likely anticipated more resistance from a proud Eastern ruler; perhaps Constantine's reputation as practical and open-minded was proving true. If only they knew the real calculation behind his eyes, a very different kind of open-mindedness.
"I admit," Constantine continued, "the news is sudden. I had not given thought to remarriage in these tumultuous times.Yet I understand the wisdom of planning for the future, even now. Especially now." He folded his hands in his lap, concealing the way his thumb worried against his palm. "Your Holiness, Lord Cardinal, I hope you'll allow me a little time to pray on this matter and consult with my council. Not to delay unduly, but such a decision is life-changing. I owe it to Lady Agnes, and to myself, to consider it with due care."