A few more days had passed since I woke in this strange, medieval world, still struggling to balance Constantine's fragmented memories with mine. Every day brought new insights but also new questions. Constantine's life was slowly becoming more apparent, yet the gaps remained frustrating. Today, however, was different —the day of my first meeting with the local lords and advisors. It was a test of leadership, and I couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at me as I prepared to face them.
I sat at a heavy wooden table in the sunlit dining chamber, a simple but hearty breakfast spread before me—the aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the earthy scent of olive oil and herbs. Across from me, Theodora sipped her herbal infusion, watching me with soft concern. Her presence was gentle, but her gaze told me she could sense my unrest.
"The honey is from our hives," she said, attempting to ease me into conversation. "It's delightful."
I nodded absently, pushing the bread around my plate as my mind spiraled. I had been a Despot in the Morea for a few months, but I had only genuinely settled into this role over the last month. There was still so much I didn't know—so much Constantine's memories couldn't provide in full detail. The weight of that knowledge, the responsibility to act on it, had been bearing down on me for days.
I forced a smile in Theodora's direction. "It's excellent," I replied, though I barely tasted it. My thoughts were miles away, circling around the looming meeting with the local lords and the weight of what they would expect from me.
She reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing mine. "You seem distant again," she observed softly. "Is something troubling you?"
I took a breath, glancing into her concerned eyes. "It's just the usual matters—affairs of state. Nothing you need to worry about," I said, though my words felt thin. How could I explain that I was still an outsider, drowning in memories not my own?
A knock at the door interrupted us, and George Sphrantzes entered, bowing deeply. "Despot," he greeted me, his voice composed yet subtly probing. "The council has gathered, awaiting your guidance. The lords are eager... perhaps too eager."
I stood, grateful for the distraction, but expectation still pressed heavily on my shoulders. "Duty calls," Theodora said softly, offering me a supportive and knowing smile.
With a nod, I followed George out of the chamber. The stone corridor echoed with our footsteps, and I could sense George's curiosity as we walked. His glances were brief, but I knew he was trying to read me, trying to understand whats wrong with me.
"You seem... preoccupied today, my Despot," George ventured carefully. "Something troubles your mind?"
I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure. "These are challenging times," I replied carefully. "I've been reflecting on our position—our holdings, our future."
George nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, the lands of Elis and Arcadia offer much, but the Ottomans watch us keenly, and the nobility... well, they remain wary. And your brothers... their eyes are never far."
His words were a reminder of how little time I had truly spent here. Though I had been named Despot a few months ago, I had only recently begun to settle into my position. The lords had yet to see much of me, and today's meeting would be their first real opportunity to gauge me as a leader.
We arrived at the doors of the council chamber, the murmur of voices beyond falling silent as George pushed them open. Inside, the gathered lords and advisors turned to face me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and expectation. Some offered respectful nods, while others merely watched, waiting to see what kind of man I truly was.
I took my seat at the head of the table, my heart pounding as I met their gazes. This is it. They didn't know me, not yet. I would need to tread carefully, to use the knowledge I had from Constantine's memories without revealing my uncertainties.
"Gentlemen," I began, letting my voice carry across the room, "as you know, I was appointed Despot of the Morea several months ago. However, I've only just begun to fully settle here over the last month or so." I allowed my gaze to sweep the room, seeing their curiosity deepen. "Today, I ask for your reports and insights. Together, we will chart the best course for the prosperity and safety of this region."
George nodded in approval before stepping forward. "My Despot, Elis and Arcadia are rich in resources, but vulnerable. Poor harvests plague the villages, roads hinder our merchants, and the defenses of Clermont Castle waver."
Leaning forward, I surveyed the council chamber. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating dust motes that danced above the polished table. The faces of the gathered lords were etched with concern, lines deepening around their eyes.
"Tell me of our realm," I said, my voice steady but edged with urgency. "How many souls inhabit our lands? How does our treasury fare?"
Nikolas, his hands clasped tightly before him, glanced at Markos. "Despot," he began, his voice gravelly with age, "Somewhere between sixty and eighty thousand souls, my lord. Hard to pin down numbers when men chase bread elsewhere.
Markos shifted in his seat, the young lord's brow furrowed. "The late rains have cursed us," he said quietly. "Harvests fail, and our coffers feel the strain. We've but 15,000 silver stavrata and 2,000 gold ducats remaining. If the drought holds..."
An uneasy silence fell. I could feel the weight of their unspoken fears, the desperation that clung to the air like a damp fog. My gaze swept the room, noting the downcast eyes, the subtle tension in their shoulders.
George then added: "Another 2,000 ducats remain reserved, Despot—funds prudently set aside earlier."
I nodded, processing the information. The population wasn't large, and the drop in profits was significant, but not disastrous. It was something we could manage—if we took the right steps. "We need to focus on stabilizing the harvests," I said. "If the drought worsens, what measures can we take to ensure water reaches the fields?"
"We need to improve irrigation," I said firmly. "We can build aqueducts or deepen the wells in the worst-hit villages."
Silence. Some of the lords exchanged glances. Nikolas cleared his throat. "Aqueducts, Despot? Noble plans, but costly, slow, and thirsty for silver."
Sphrantzes leaned in slightly, voice calm but pointed. "Ambitious, my lord, though perhaps first we clear existing wells. Quicker results will reassure the peasants of your decisive action."
"Good," I said, feeling a flicker of confidence. "Let's start with the villages most affected. Allocate resources to strengthen their irrigation systems. We can't afford another poor harvest next year."
Silence. A few of the lords exchanged glances.
Nikolas, his fingers drumming lightly on the table, cleared his throat. "A prudent choice, Despot. But resources are not endless. The merchants have already petitioned for road repairs, claiming that poor trade routes are hurting commerce. If we direct funds toward irrigation first, they will see it as favoritism toward the farmers."
Markos, younger and sharper, leaned forward. "Yet, if we put roads ahead of irrigation, the villagers will grumble that we fatten purses while they go hungry." He gave a pointed smile. "Either way, someone leaves this chamber dissatisfied."
I felt the weight of their words settle over me. It made sense—every coin spent was a coin taken from somewhere else.
Sphrantzes spoke at last, his voice measured. "Villages without water perish quickly, merchants may wait a little longer. Priorities must be set clearly."
I exhaled slowly, adjusting my approach. "Then we begin with irrigation in the villages most affected by the drought. But as soon as we stabilize those, we divert attention to the roads. I want a report on which routes are most critical for trade—those will be the first repaired."
Nikolas inclined his head slightly, but his fingers still tapped against the table—a quiet, restless beat. "A balanced approach, Despot. We shall see how it sits with those affected." He let the words linger. "Farmers pray for water, but merchants count their losses in coin. And they have long memories."
Markos smirked but said nothing.
Sensing the moment had passed, I pressed forward. "What about the roads?" I asked, turning to Markos. "You mentioned they're in disrepair."
Markos nodded. "Yes, Despot. The roads between Clermont and the smaller villages have become difficult to traverse, especially for merchants. Trade has slowed as a result."
I considered that carefully. I knew the merchants were powerful, but just how much could they pressure me? Could I afford to delay the roads? If they grew too unhappy, they could turn to Venetian or Genoese intermediaries instead of relying on local trade.
"We'll prioritize repairing the main trade routes first," I said. "Start with the roads between Clermont and the larger towns—the ones that bring in the most revenue. Once we have those in order, we'll extend repairs to the more remote villages."
Markos let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Spoken like a ruler who understands coin. Merchants speak louder than starving peasants."
Nikolas's expression was harder to read. "And the villages?"
Sphrantzes leaned back, watching me. He wouldn't answer this one for me—I had to own it.
I met Nikolas's gaze. "The villages will see results in time. The treasury cannot fix everything at once. For now, we focus on what brings the greatest stability to the region."
Nikolas studied me for a moment, then finally gave a slow nod.
The murmurs around the table weren't immediate agreement, but they weren't outright rejection either. A compromise had been struck—for now.
George cleared his throat. "Defense remains a pressing issue, Despot. Clermont's western walls crumble slowly, patrols along borders thin dangerously. Bandits nip at our edges—mere irritants now, but unchecked threats grow swiftly."
I frowned. The memories of Constantine's military knowledge stirred in my mind. The Clermont wall defenses were crucial, but so were the borders. The Ottomans loomed like a shadow over this region, and I knew from history what was coming.
"We need to strengthen both," I said, my voice firm. "Reinforce the western walls immediately, but don't neglect the borders. Increase the number of patrols along the key routes, and make sure we have enough men to handle any raids."
George gave a satisfied nod. "Sound strategy, my lord. Stability demands both vigilance and fortification."
I glanced around the table, seeing a mixture of relief and approval in the faces of the lords. They had expected leadership, and while my solutions weren't revolutionary, they were grounded in practicality. It was enough for now.
"There's one more thing I'll need," I said, leaning back in my chair. "I want detailed reports on the population, the current state of the villages, and our trade deals. I need to know exactly what we're working with if we're to make the right decisions going forward."
Nikolas nodded. "We'll have those reports compiled for you, Despot."
I gave a small nod, feeling the tension in the room ease slightly. The meeting had gone rather well, but the pressure was far from over. There was still so much to do, and every decision I made felt like it was being scrutinized, weighed against the expectations of the man they thought I was.
The rest of the meeting passed with discussions of smaller issues—minor adjustments to agricultural planning, trade routes, and village patrols. The lords seemed comfortable with the direction I was taking, and for now, that was enough.
As the lords left the chamber, I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. It had gone well, hadn't it?
Sphrantzes remained seated, watching me with a look I couldn't quite read. "You handled the council deftly today," he noted quietly.
"But?" I prompted.
He took a sip of wine. "But we shall see, Despot. Not all consequences reveal themselves in a single day."
I nodded, though the weight of it all still pressed down on me. Beyond the closed doors, I could hear the faint murmur of voices—low, measured, deliberate.