I walked through the chilly stone corridor of Clermont Castle with George Sphrantzes at my side, my cloak trailing and my heart pounding harder with each step. In a few moments I would face my first council of the region's lords , the first true test of my newfound rule. The morning light was pale on the arched windows. I drew a slow breath, trying to steel myself against the anxiety thrumming in my veins.
"You seem quiet, my lord," George said gently, breaking the silence. His keen eyes searched my face. "Are you feeling fully yourself today?"
"I'm fine," I managed, though my voice was a touch too soft. In truth my mouth was dry and my pulse roared in my ears. "Just preparing for whatever awaits in that chamber." I flexed my fingers, willing the slight tremor to still.
George gave a reassuring nod. "Understandable. They will be expecting much of you." He lowered his voice. "The nobles are anxious, Despot. These lands are surrounded by watchful enemies, and even within, some doubters. They will take your measure quickly."
"I know." We reached the tall double doors of the council hall, where two guards pulled them open at our approach. Inside, conversation hushed and a dozen heads turned our way. I felt the weight of every gaze as I crossed the threshold.
I took my seat at the head of the long oak table, conscious of the scrape of the chair legs and the heavy silence in the room. The faces watching me were a mix of curious, wary, and impatient. Among them I recognized Lord Nikolas, silver-haired and solemn, and beside him young Lord Markos, sharp-eyed and restless. These men didn't know me, not truly. They knew only Constantine, the title and the bloodline. It was up to me to show them a leader.
"Good morning, gentlemen," I began, and was relieved to hear my voice come out steady. "Thank you for assembling. I won't waste time, there is much to do. I invite your honest reports on the state of our domain. Only with clear eyes can we guide Elis through the trials ahead."
A brief, surprised pause met my directness. Then Nikolas rose halfway from his seat to speak. He folded his large hands on the table; I noticed they were weathered and still except for a slight, nervous drumming of his index finger. "Your Radiance, as requested: Elis and Arcadia population stands at roughly sixty to eighty thousand souls," he said. His voice was gravelly with age but steady. "It's hard to be precise. Times are hard, many drift from their villages in search of work or bread."
I nodded, filing away that number. Not even a hundred thousand people to hold against the might of empires. "And the treasury?" I asked.
Nikolas exchanged a glance with the younger man beside him. Lord Markos cleared his throat. "Our coffers are… diminished, my lord," he said, frowning. He tried to sound matter-of-fact, but I heard the strain beneath. "The late rains cursed this year's harvest. Tithes and taxes have dwindled. After paying our garrisons and basic expenses, we have perhaps fifteen thousand silver stavrata remaining, and only a couple thousand gold ducats in reserve. If the drought continues through the summer…" He trailed off, letting the unsaid hang in the air.
A quiet murmur rustled through the hall. I felt a heaviness settle in my chest. Scarce coin, failing crops, anxious people, everything in this world was balanced on the edge of a knife. The lords were watching me intently now, waiting to see how I'd react to grim news they likely already knew. I clasped my hands to hide any unsteadiness and summoned what I could of Constantine's composure.
"We'll have to be clever with what we have," I said, my voice firm. "First, let's address the most urgent need: the harvest. Water. What can we do to help the fields if the skies won't oblige us with rain?"
The lords glanced at one another in surprise. A stout steward in a brown mantle spoke up hesitantly, as if unsure he'd heard right. "We… pray, Despot. Organize processions and fasting. Beyond that?" He offered a helpless shrug. "If God withholds the rains, there is little mere men can do."
I shook my head. "God helps those who help themselves. If water won't fall from above, we must draw it up from below." I leaned forward, hands on the table. "Many of our wells have silted shallow over the years, we can start by digging them deeper. In the worst-hit villages, send men to dredge the cisterns and irrigation canals. Perhaps we can even construct simple aqueducts or channels from nearby streams to fields that need it most."
At that, a few eyes widened. The lords exchanged uncertain looks. In their world, such interventions were uncommon. They were used to praying for rain or enduring drought, not engineering around it. I realized I might be pushing too fast.
Nikolas cleared his throat. "Ambitious measures, Despot," he said carefully. "Worthy goals, to be sure, but costly and laborious. We have neither funds nor idle men to dig half the countryside."
Before I could answer, George spoke up in a tactful tone. "Perhaps we begin with what can be done quickly," he suggested. "Clearing existing wells and repairing neglected cisterns can show results within weeks. Quick relief will reassure the people that their lord acts decisively."
I shot George a grateful glance. He had given me a face-saving way to scale back my grand plan into something immediately practical. "Yes," I said, seizing the idea. "We'll start at once. Identify the villages most stricken by drought and send teams to deepen their wells and clean their catchments. We can't make it rain, but we'll make better use of what water we have."
A current of approval seemed to ripple through several of the lords at the table. I even saw the tightness at the corners of Nikolas's eyes ease a bit. Yet he was not entirely satisfied.
Nikolas drummed his fingers lightly. "A prudent start, Despot. But if we divert our scarce resources to the hinterlands now, other matters will clamor for attention. The merchants of Glarentza, for one, they petition daily about the disrepair of the roads. They say trade falters because wagons get mired or break axles on our neglected routes. If we spend what little coin we have on village wells instead of roads, those merchants will accuse us of favoring peasants over commerce."
"And if we do the opposite," Markos chimed in, a wry half-smile on his lips, "the villagers will curse us for fattening purses in town while they go thirsty. Either way, someone will be unhappy." He gave a soft chuckle, as if amused by the inevitability of it.
He wasn't wrong. A lord could not please everyone, a lesson I had learned in another life managing teams and budgets far less medieval than this. I let out a slow breath. "Every coin we spend must be weighed," I acknowledged, scanning the expectant faces. "So we will balance needs as best we can. We address the most desperate need first: water for those who lack it. But as soon as that's in hand, we turn to the roads." I looked to Markos. "I'll need an assessment of which trade routes are most critical. The main arteries between our market towns, especially from here to Glarentza, should be repaired first. Once the lifelines of trade are passable, we can extend improvements outward to the smaller villages."
Nikolas nodded slowly, accepting the compromise. His fingers still tapped a restless rhythm on the table. "A reasonable plan. We'll see how it sits with those affected. Farmers pray for water, but merchants count their coins and they have long memories."
Markos gave a quiet snort of laughter. "True enough. A merchant will remember a missed profit years after a farmer forgets a good harvest. Either way, my lord, someone will grumble. But if you displease everyone a little rather than one side grievously, that's sometimes the best one can do." There was a spark of respect in his eyes now, beneath the flippant tone.
I mustered a faint grin. "If each side thinks I favor the other, perhaps I've done something right." A few of the men chuckled at that, tension easing further.
George cleared his throat gently. "One more matter, Despot, our defenses." The room quieted at once. Even Markos lost his grin. "The western wall of this very castle is deteriorating. I've had reports of crumbling mortar and loose stones. It hasn't seen proper repairs in decades. Likewise, our border patrols have grown thin. Bandits have raided a few outlying farms in recent weeks. Minor incidents, for now, but if we present weakness, larger threats will take note." He did not speak the name, but we all knew he meant the Ottomans.
A chill settled over the council chamber. The thought of Turkish armies looming just beyond the mountains cast a long shadow. I felt it keenly, knowing more than any of them how real that danger was. My mind flashed with an image of Constantinople's great dome on fire, of walls collapsing under cannon fire. Not yet, I told myself fiercely. That future will not come to pass today, not if I can help it.
"Our fortifications and patrols cannot be neglected," I said, my voice echoing a bit in the vaulted hall. "I want repairs on Clermont's western wall begun immediately. Use whatever materials are necessary, stone, timber, iron braces. I'll find the money somehow. As for the patrols, double them along every major road and mountain pass. If we're short on professional soldiers, enlist able-bodied locals as auxiliaries. I won't have bandits or anyone else preying on our people because we left a door unguarded."
Several lords straightened at the decisiveness in my tone. The captain of the guard thumped a fist to his breastplate with a firm "Yes, Despot," and I saw grim approval on Lord Nikolas's face. These men were seasoned to war; they appreciated a hard line on security.
"Repairs and reinforcements shall begin at once," George said with a satisfied nod. "Stability demands vigilance, after all."
I found myself releasing some of the tightness in my shoulders. We had covered the dire basics, hunger, trade, defense and I hadn't faltered or been openly challenged. The lords around the table looked more thoughtful than mutinous. It was more than I'd hoped for.
Before closing, I made a few additional requests: that Nikolas oversee a thorough accounting of our grain stores, armories, and treasury so I could see exactly what we had to work with, and that Markos draft a timeline and budget for the road repairs once we were ready to fund them. Both agreed with brisk nods.
With that, I thanked them for their candor and signaled that the council was concluded. Benches scraped back and the lords rose. One by one they bowed, some deeply, others with merely a courteous tilt of the head and filtered out of the hall. I returned their gestures with a measured nod and watched in silence as the great doors swung shut behind the last of them.
The moment I was alone, I felt the mask slip. A long sigh leaked out of me, and I slumped back in my chair, rolling the stiffness from my neck. My hands were trembling under the table, adrenaline still coursing from the stress of performing. But I had done it, my first council, survived and even, by some measures, successful. No one had called me a fraud or stormed out in disgust. It was almost hard to believe.
George remained behind, stepping close with a quiet smile. "You handled them well, Your Radiance," he said. "Decisive but open to counsel, that will earn goodwill."
"I nearly lost my nerve a few times," I admitted under my breath, running a hand through my hair. It was damp with sweat at the temples.
George's smile widened just a little. "You spoke as a leader today, and they saw one." He paused, then added in a lower tone, "But remember, not all consequences show themselves in a day. Each decision you made will have its price, in coin, in favor, perhaps in blood. We've set things in motion now. Time will reveal the rest."
"I understand." I met his gaze. His loyalty was steadfast, but so was his honesty. He was reminding me gently that every action I'd taken could stir pushback, a disgruntled merchant here, a wary noble there. And he was right. "It's only the beginning," I murmured.
"Just so," George agreed. He rested his hand briefly on my shoulder, a gesture of both solidarity and concern, then bowed and took his leave.
When the echoes of his footsteps finally faded, I stood and walked over to one of the arched windows. My legs felt unsteady, like I'd been in a battle rather than a meeting. Outside, the late morning sun was struggling through a haze of clouds. I pressed my palms against the cool stone of the window frame and closed my eyes. My heart was still thumping, but beneath the lingering anxiety a tiny ember of hope glowed. It had not gone badly at all.
Still… I knew mere patchwork fixes would not be enough to save this crumbling realm. We had bought ourselves a little time, perhaps, with wells and roads and repaired walls. But the Morea remained a fragile corner of a dying empire. The Ottomans would keep pressing. Our resources were scant. My people – yes, they were my people now – were weary and frightened, even if they tried not to show it. If I truly wanted to change the course of events, I would need to do far more than just meet basic needs. I would have to attempt the extraordinary.
That thought both terrified and exhilarated me. I had knowledge and ideas beyond any person in this world, and for the first time I dared to think I might actually use them.