The first winds of autumn carried with them the promise of change. The towers and domes of Constantinople rose into a sky mottled with cloud and sun, their shadows long and sharp across the city's marbled sprawl. From the palace's highest gallery, Constantine watched as the banners of Rome stirred in the breeze, bright against the horizon. This morning was different. The air felt electric, as if the whole world was on the verge of something new.
The city was busy even before sunrise. Down in the harbor, foreign ships waited for customs officers to arrive. Galleys from the western provinces jostled with tall-masted vessels from beyond the Black Sea, hulls heavy with grain, timber, salt, and strange cargo from lands so distant their names were spoken with reverence and suspicion. On the wharves, porters shouted in Latin, Greek, and a dozen other tongues as they wrestled crates and bales off the decks. There was a smell of fish, smoke, and the warm, sharp tang of distant spices.
