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It was early March, and a fresh year brought whispers of both hope and foreboding. Glarentza's harbor teemed with life, as it often did when the sea offered calm waters. Merchants barked their wares over the clamor of dockhands unloading barrels of grain, crates of spices, and bolts of fine cloth. Fishermen patched their nets, calloused hands moving with practiced efficiency. The scent of salt and fish mingled with the faint aroma of roasting chestnuts from a nearby vendor. Above it all, the banners of Constantine fluttered in the brisk sea breeze—a stark contrast to the subdued faces of townsfolk who moved with hurried purpose. They knew change was coming; the very air seemed to hum with anticipation.

A fleet of Genoese galleys, their sails taut and proud, cut through the harbor's waters. At their prows, banners bearing the Sforza insignia flapped boldly, heralding the arrival of Francesco Sforza, the renowned condottiero. Constantine, flanked by George Sphrantzes, Captain Andreas, and Theophilus Dragas, waited on the docks. The Despot's armor, polished to a dull sheen, caught the sunlight, and his presence commanded attention even amid the bustle. Though outwardly calm, Constantine's heart beat faster than he cared to admit. Sforza's arrival represented a pivotal shift in their campaign against the encroaching Ottoman threat.

As they waited, Constantine turned to his closest companions, his voice low but steady. "Gentlemen, today marks a new chapter in our struggle. Sforza's arrival is both a boon and a challenge. We must tread carefully."

George Sphrantzes, ever the diplomat, nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, my lord. Sforza is a man of great skill, but he also knows his worth. We should expect his loyalty to hinge on the benefits we provide."

"Loyalty bought with coin is often a brittle thing," Captain Andreas added, his grizzled features set in a frown. "Still, his men are seasoned fighters, and their presence will bolster our ranks. But we must ensure they respect the chain of command."

Constantine gave a faint smile. "Your concerns are well-founded, Andreas. Discipline will be our cornerstone, and Sforza must see that we are no fractured force." He turned his gaze to Theophilus Dragas, whose quiet intensity often concealed sharp insights. "And you, Dragas? What say you?"

Theophilus hesitated briefly, his dark eyes scanning the horizon where the galleys drew closer. "I believe this is a test, my lord. Not only of our strategy but of our ability to lead men who may not share our cause beyond the promise of victory and reward. Sforza will measure us as much as we measure him."

Constantine absorbed the words, appreciating their layered meaning. "Then we shall ensure he finds us worthy. Let today set the tone for the alliance we build."

As the first galley docked, the group fell silent, private reflections giving way to the demands of the moment. Constantine's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword—not in anticipation of violence, but as silent reassurance. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he would meet them with resolve.

The lead galley docked with a precision that spoke of seasoned sailors. Sforza disembarked with measured steps, his imposing figure drawing all eyes. Clad in a crimson doublet reinforced with chainmail, he radiated confidence and authority. Sharp features and a penetrating gaze revealed the mind of a strategist who had built his reputation through equal measures of skill and ruthlessness.

"Despot Constantine," Sforza greeted with a small smile, inclining his head with the ease of a practiced diplomat. "It is good to see you again. I trust the Morea has treated you well since Terni?"

Constantine stepped forward, his expression warm yet measured. "Lord Sforza, your timely arrival is most welcome. The challenges we discussed in Terni remain as pressing as ever."

Their handshake was firm, silently reaffirming the respect established during their prior negotiations. George Sphrantzes stepped in with a gracious smile. "It is rare to see such unity of purpose between two men of vision. The challenges ahead will bring out the best in this alliance."

Later that evening, a grand dinner was held in the halls of Clermont Castle. Though modest compared to the lavish banquets of Venice and Florence, it showcased the best the Morea could offer—roasted lamb, honey-glazed figs, and spiced wine. Conversation flowed easily, and the camaraderie between Constantine and Sforza lent the gathering an air of confidence.

As the evening progressed, Constantine introduced Sforza to Maria, the woman who had come into his life less than a year ago. "Lord Sforza," Constantine said, his tone softening as he gestured toward her, "this is Lady Maria. She has been by my side through challenging times."

Maria smiled warmly, meeting Sforza's eyes with a mix of grace and curiosity. "Lord Sforza, it is a pleasure to meet you. Constantine has spoken of your skill on the battlefield."

Sforza's stern features softened into a faint smile as he inclined his head. "Lady Maria, it seems Constantine's words are as generous as his ambition. It is clear he values your counsel."

Maria's cheeks flushed faintly, though she remained poised. "I am simply here to support where I can, my lord. The Despot's vision is worth every effort."

Laughter and earnest discussion filled the hall, and though the challenges ahead were never far from their minds, the bonds of camaraderie and trust began to solidify.

The next day dawned crisp and clear. Constantine led Sforza and his lieutenants through the barracks and training grounds near Clermont Castle. As they approached, the rhythmic sound of marching feet and shouted commands filled the air. Constantine's pike infantry drilled with razor-sharp precision, their movements synchronised after months of relentless training under Captain Andreas' watchful eye.

Sforza observed silently, his critical gaze taking in every detail. After a particularly complex manoeuvre, he turned to Constantine, his voice carrying unmistakable approval. "Your men exhibit a discipline that rivals the finest I've seen. Such coordinated action is not achieved by raw recruits but by soldiers who understand their purpose."

They moved on to the Pyrvelos marksmen. At a given command, a controlled volley rang out, the crack of gunfire echoing across the field. Targets at remarkable distances fell with pinpoint accuracy, and the speed of reloading impressed even Sforza's seasoned lieutenants.

Sforza stepped forward, brows furrowed in astonishment. "These firearms—your Pyrvelos—are leagues ahead of what my men possess. We use arquebuses, but they are cumbersome by comparison. These are precision instruments. Who crafts them?"

Constantine smiled faintly, pride clear in his voice. "They are the product of skilled gunsmiths and relentless innovation. Each one is painstakingly made, a time-consuming process that yields unmatched results. They are a cornerstone of my strategy."

Sforza's gaze lingered on the weapons, a calculating glint in his eyes. "I would pay handsomely to arm my forces with such firearms. With these, even the most elite cavalry would falter."

Constantine raised a hand, his tone firm. "In time, Lord Sforza. For now, the Pyrvelos remain vital to our efforts. After this campaign, I would consider arrangements with trusted allies."

Sforza inclined his head. "A wise stance, Despot. You wield your innovations like a true strategist."

Next, they examined the Drakos cannons—compact and mounted for mobility. Sforza and his engineers studied their design, the practicality and ingenuity leaving them profoundly impressed.

Sforza ran a hand along the polished barrel of one cannon. "This is extraordinary. We have worked with heavy artillery, but nothing as adaptable as this for field deployment. These could disrupt even the best-organized cavalry charges."

Constantine nodded. "That is their purpose. The Drakos cannons are designed for quick deployment and mobility, allowing us to counter enemy movements with precision. Their true effectiveness depends on those who wield them."

Sforza grew contemplative. "Effective deployment will require training and careful planning. Your men show promise, but integrating these weapons with my seasoned mercenaries will take time."

Constantine met Sforza's gaze. "Your expertise is invaluable. Together, your experience and my innovations will create a force capable of meeting any challenge."

As they continued through the training grounds, the seeds of mutual respect took firm root. For Sforza, this was more than a display of readiness—it was a revelation.

"Despot Constantine," he said quietly, "what you have built here is remarkable. Your army, your weapons, your vision—all speak to a ruler determined not merely to defend but to lead. It is an honor to stand beside you."

Constantine smiled, and Sforza added, "And with the wealth I've seen flowing through Glarentza—your printing presses, your economic foresight—it's clear you have the means to sustain this ambition. A well-funded army is a dangerous one."

That afternoon, the key leaders gathered in the barracks war room. Maps of the Morea, the Hexamilion Wall, and surrounding Ottoman territories covered a large oak table. Flickering candlelight cast long shadows over the somber faces of those present. Sforza and his officers, George Sphrantzes, Captain Andreas, and Theophilus Dragas leaned in as Constantine outlined his plans.

"The Hexamilion Wall awaits us," Constantine began. "Thomas has reinforced its garrison with 800 men. We also have 600 seasoned pike infantry stationed there, along with ten installed cannons and a well-stocked warehouse of gunpowder and supplies."

Sforza traced routes on the map, frowning thoughtfully. "The Hexamilion is a natural focus, but the Ottomans excel at exploiting secondary positions. Your forces are disciplined, but integrating my men must be seamless. Language barriers, command hierarchies—these could easily become liabilities in battle."

George Sphrantzes interjected, "We've prepared interpreters and planned joint drills to address these concerns. Communication is paramount."

Constantine nodded. "Good. Let me lay out our total forces." He gestured to the map. "We have two units of 600 seasoned pike infantry each, totalling 1,200 experienced fighters, plus the 600 at the Hexamilion. We also field 300 Pyrvelos marksmen, 14 field cannons, 800 light infantry conscripts and 100 light cavalry for reconnaissance and rapid strikes."

He looked at Sforza. "Your contract from Terni commits you to about 4,000 men. Can you confirm their composition?"

Sforza inclined his head. "Certainly. I bring 1,000 cavalry—heavy lancers and lighter horsemen—for charges, scouting, and harassment. The infantry totals 3,200 men: pikemen, crossbowmen, handgunners, and melee troops. In addition, I have engineers skilled in fortifications and artillery placement, logisticians to manage supplies, and medics to tend the wounded. This support infrastructure will maintain our effectiveness."

Theophilus Dragas spoke up. "The engineers will be invaluable. If we can reinforce further the Hexamilion or create additional artillery emplacements, that would strengthen our position."

Sforza smiled faintly. "My men are no strangers to siege warfare. With careful positioning, these Drakos cannons can inflict significant damage."

The discussion turned to logistics, supply lines, enemy forces and maintaining troop morale. Sforza's insights were incisive, blending practical wisdom with a clear understanding of Byzantine vulnerabilities.

"The Ottomans will test not only our battlefield strength but our ability to sustain this campaign," Sforza said. "Your economic base in Glarentza is impressive, yet keeping supplies flowing to the Hexamilion and beyond will be a challenge."

Constantine agreed. "The profits from our book sales provide a solid financial foundation. We are ready to channel those resources to ensure a steady flow of supplies, but yes, we must stay vigilant and adaptable."

By the meeting's end, a detailed strategy had taken shape. Joint drills, interpreters, and careful planning would integrate Sforza's mercenaries with Constantine's forces. Sforza's engineers would fortify further the Hexamilion, and logisticians would secure supply chains. Every detail—from cavalry charges to the deployment of Pyrvelos marksmen—was meticulously planned.

As the others prepared to leave, Sforza lingered, eyes on the map. Turning to Constantine, he said, "This is a force unlike any I've commanded. Your vision, Despot, is not merely to defend but to redefine the rules of engagement. Together, we can meet any challenge."

Constantine's faint smile carried the weight of his resolve. "And together, Lord Sforza, we shall do more than defend. We will shape the course of this war."

The combined army assembled at Glarentza's outskirts, a sight that stirred awe and determination. Byzantine banners fluttered beside Sforza's, a visual reminder of their alliance. Columns of soldiers—Constantines infantry, Sforza's mercenaries, and supply wagons—stretched into the distance. Cannons, mounted on sturdy carts, gleamed in the sunlight.

As the army began its march, Constantine rode beside Sforza. Their conversation drifted between tactics and shared respect.

"We face a cunning and relentless foe," Constantine said. "Yet, with your guidance and our men's determination, I believe we can hold the line."

Sforza allowed a slight smile. "Victory is never guaranteed, Despot. But together, we may carve out the possibility."

The rhythmic sound of marching feet and creaking wagons filled the air as the army advanced. Constantine glanced over the soldiers, feeling the weight of their hopes and fears. In Sforza, he had found a partner of remarkable skill. Yet as the Hexamilion Wall drew closer, the enormity of the trials to come settled heavily upon him.