Book II/Chapter 4: The Master from Brescia (Patreon)

Lamplight flickered against the stone walls of the chamber as Elias entered, clutching a travel-stained letter. Constantine stood at the head of a long oak table strewn with maps and ledgers from the earlier council. George Sphrantzes lingered at his right, quill still in hand from note-taking, and he looked up curiously as the master blacksmith approached. The formal matters of war and supply had concluded; now, a more clandestine matter demanded attention.

Constantine’s gaze sharpened. “Elias,” he said quietly, “you have news for us?”

Elias bowed his head respectfully, stepping fully into the circle of light. Soot still smudged the creases of his rugged face and hands, a testament to hours spent at the forge, even at this late hour. He unrolled the letter carefully. “Emperor, the long-awaited message from our agent in Italy has arrived.” His voice held restrained excitement.

“He’s in Brescia now,” Elias reported. “After failing in Venice, he finally sends word of success. A master blacksmith has agreed to come to us.”

Constantine exchanged a quick glance with George, whose brow creased slightly at the mention of Venice. They both understood the difficulty their agent had encountered there and how tightly the Venetian guilds guarded their artisans.

Elias continued, his voice growing more confident. “The man’s name is Luca Ardemani, of Brescia. A master of blast furnaces and the finery forge. He’s reputed to be brilliant…but also somewhat embittered by his circumstances.” Elias allowed himself a slight, wry smile. “It seems Luca quarreled with his own family guild. They drove him out of their confidence. Now he’s eager for a new patron who will let him pursue his ideas.”

A furnace that could churn out iron by the ton could change everything. Constantine’s heart quickened at the thought, but he kept his voice measured. “Go on, Elias.”

Elias cleared his throat and lifted the parchment to read a particular section. “Master Luca is willing to relocate to the Morea, along with two of his chosen apprentices,” he said. “But he has conditions. Substantial ones.” He glanced up, gauging the Emperor reaction. Constantine’s expression remained unreadable, steeled for whatever price progress required. “He requests a one-time relocation fee of five hundred ducats,” Elias went on carefully, “as well as monthly wages of thirty ducats for himself and five ducats for each of his two apprentices. In addition, he asks that we provide housing and food for all three, and construct a new forge and furnace for his use, funded by us.”

For a moment, silence greeted his words. George’s quill slipped from his fingers, blotting ink onto the parchment. He stared at Elias as if unsure he’d heard correctly. “Five hundred ducats…up front?” he burst out. His chair scraped the floor as he stood. “By God, that’s twice—no, thrice—what a master craftsman earns in a year!” George’s voice echoed off the stone vaults, a mix of outrage and astonishment. He ran a hand through his brown hair, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “I can already imagine poor Theophilus’s face when he hears of this. He might collapse on the spot!”

Constantine allowed himself a faint grin at that, picturing his austere advisor Theophilus Dragaš crossing himself in horror at the sum. It was a welcome moment of levity, but the gravity of the demand quickly returned. George shook his head, muttering, “Five hundred ducats… Does this Luca think we mint gold coins in our cellars?” He looked to Constantine imploringly. “Surely, Emperor, we cannot consider paying such an exorbitant price, not when our coffers are already under strain.” George’s protest was passionate, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern beneath the bluster. He of all people knew the state of the treasury; after all, he had helped tally the costs of their many projects.

Elias did not flinch at George’s reaction. The blacksmith stood straight-backed before the table, his calloused hands folded over the letter. “I understand the sum sounds outrageous,” he said earnestly. “I balked at it myself, at first. But Master Luca’s knowledge is unprecedented, at least for what we can acquire under our present circumstances. He has nearly twenty years of experience in the latest methods of ironworking. The blast furnace, the finery forge, these are techniques that could multiply our iron output many times over.” Elias’s dark eyes gleamed with the fervor of a craftsman imagining new possibilities. “With Luca’s methods, we could smelt and refine iron on a scale we’ve never managed. Armor for everyone, steel tools and weapons in plenty. His apprentices are trained in these techniques as well, effectively giving us not one expert but a small team.”

George crossed his arms tightly, still unconvinced. “Expensive team,” he grumbled. “For that price, I’d expect him to bring the secrets of Damascus steel or turn lead into gold.” He paused, then added dryly, “Saints preserve us when Theophilus finds out. I wager he’ll demand we start eating boiled grass to save coin if we agree to this.” The corner of Constantine’s mouth lifted at George’s sardonic humor. But Elias pressed on, tone firm.

“Emperor,” Elias said, addressing Constantine directly now, “you tasked me nearly a year ago with seeking out exactly this kind of expertise. You remember how our own production falters.” Constantine nodded subtly, recalling the report earlier that evening: even with improvements, their armories struggled to meet quotas. The dearth of quality armor and the slow output of weapons like the pyrvelos fire-tubes had been a point of worry. Elias continued, voice low and persuasive. “No local smith can build what Luca can. In Venice, not a soul would even speak to our agent, the guilds forbid their masters from selling their craft abroad. Luca’s willingness to come is a rare opportunity. He’s an outsider even in his own land, a master scorned by his family. That makes him perfect for us. He wants to prove his ideas on a grand scale, and we can give him that chance.” Elias let that hang in the air a moment, then added, “Yes, his price is high. But consider what we stand to gain. If he can truly set up a functioning blast furnace here, we could forge all we want en masse. We could plate our soldiers in good steel mail and breastplates, where now most fight in leather.”

Constantine’s gaze drifted to a ledger lying open on the table, Logothete Dukas’s inventory of arms from the previous meeting. He remembered the bleak figures: only a part of the new infantry had helmets, and fewer still had any breastplate at all​. Most went to war with chest wrappings of hardened leather. It was a vulnerability that had weighed on him. Now, Elias’s words ignited a spark of hope. Constantine could almost see it: great furnaces roaring in the night, smiths hammering out not ten or twenty breastplates a month but hundreds. Plows, nails, and tools too, every facet of industry fueled by this new metallurgy. The vision was intoxicating.

He realized George and Elias were both watching him, awaiting his judgement. Outside the wind sighed against the battlements, as if urging him to be bold. Constantine slowly exhaled, then stepped away from the table. He moved toward the narrow window that overlooked the courtyard. In the distance, the glow of the forge was visible, even at this late hour, orange sparks dancing up into the black sky as a handful of smiths labored overtime to finish a batch of spearheads. He thought of those men and their sweat, their traditional forges yielding only so much, so slowly.

“It is a princely sum,” Constantine said at last, turning back to face his companions. His voice was calm, deliberative. “No one can deny that. Master Luca demands a fortune and more.” He walked back to the table, resting his hands on the back of his chair. “Yet... what he offers may well be worth three times the cost. We must look beyond the immediate price tag and see the long-term gain.” His grey eyes flicked to George, meeting his friend’s concerned scowl with unwavering resolve. “We’re building an empire that can withstand what’s coming. The Ottomans and any who would challenge us, without superior arms and armor, all our soldiers and forts will eventually fall. You both know this.”

George opened his mouth as if to argue, but then closed it, thoughtful. Constantine went on, passion rising subtly in his tone. “We have seen how a lack of good steel hampers us. Our new pike men have pikes and courage, but too few helmets, and almost no cuirasses. We need a leap forward.” He tapped a finger on the table for emphasis. “Luca Ardemani represents that leap. He has the knowledge to forge not just better swords, but the very backbone of a modern army and even economy.”

Elias nodded vigorously, relief and gratitude visible on his face now that he heard the direction of Constantine’s argument. George sighed, rubbing his beard. He respected Constantine’s strategic and innovate mind, he always had, but it was his duty to question extravagance. “Constantine, the treasury is under great strain,” he said, moderating his tone to a gentler, worried rumble. Constantine was not dissuaded; if anything, he looked more determined now, his features set in that familiar look George recognized from many bold schemes before.

“I’m aware,” Constantine replied. He gave George a small, conceding nod. “Funding this will hurt in the short term. We’ll have to tighten our belt elsewhere.” His mind was already working, balancing ledgers, prioritizing projects. “We can defer some of the lesser projects for a time. The new Tachis Ippos relay stations slated for Central Greece, for instance.” He glanced at George, recalling how his friend had once cautioned him about the costs of that courier network expansion. “Those can wait. Communication lines within the Morea are much improved already, we won’t collapse if we delay building a few more post stations beyond the Hexamilion wall until next year.”

George slowly nodded. It was true; they had laid down a decent foundation for the relay network already​. Postponing the planned expansion north of Corinth would free up a considerable sum in labor and materials. “And what of the other expenditures?” he asked. “We might trim some fat from lesser fort renovations, palace luxuries…”

Constantine managed a thin smile. Only George would lump “palace luxuries” in with strategic budgets, ever honest and unafraid to suggest the Emperor forego his own comforts. “Done,” Constantine agreed readily.

“Sit down with Theophilus,” Constantine instructed firmly. “Cancel every possible extravagance. Do whatever it takes: arrange wholesale offers on some book titles, sell them in advance at better prices if we must, even parcel off some of our surplus land estates. Anything necessary, George. Find the coin to bring Luca here.”

At that, George’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. He still looked pained by the cost, but he could not deny the sense in Constantine’s words. “Very well,” he conceded softly. A faint grin tugged at his lips as he added, “At least give me advance warning when you break the news to Theophilus. I’d rather not be in the same room when he learns of this particular expense. I value my hearing too much.”

Elias chuckled under his breath, and Constantine allowed a quiet laugh. “I suspect I shall hear an earful on frugality and sin,” Constantine said, imagining the lecture already. “But I’ll handle Theophilus. In the end, he’ll accept it when he sees the first results from Luca’s forge.” Constantine’s eyes gleamed as he spoke, confidence radiating from him. He looked to Elias. “We agree to the terms. Luca shall have his five hundred ducats and the wages and support he asks. We’ll draft a contract confirming it.”

Elias let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yes, Emperor. I’ll have our agent in Brescia notified at once. He’ll convey our acceptance to Master Luca.” He hesitated, then added, “Luca did indicate he wishes to move quickly. He’s eager to depart before winter if possible, and likely before any local authorities catch wind of his leaving.”

Constantine understood. If Brescia was under the influence of Venice or the local guilds, they would not be pleased to see a master craftsman and two trained apprentices emigrating. “Advise our agent to assist Master Luca with whatever he needs to travel discreetly,” Constantine ordered. “If funds or an escort are required, see to it.” He trusted that their agent would manage the arrangements. “We can send a ship to pick them up on the Italian coast if need be. Perhaps on my way north I can facilitate his passage.”

George raised an eyebrow. “On your way north? You mean during your trip to Rome?”

A subtle smile touched Constantine’s lips.“Why not?” he said. “If Luca is prepared soon, he and his apprentices could meet us somewhere along the route. I’ll be in Italy anyway. I could even greet him myself and ensure our new investment reaches the Morea safely.” The prospect pleased him: to personally welcome the man who would stoke the forge-fires of the empire’s future. “Either way, Elias, make certain all is ready for his arrival. Begin preparations to build his workshop in Glarenza, near the arsenal. We’ll want the foundations laid and materials gathered by the time he sets foot on our soil.”

“Yes, Emperor,” Elias said promptly. He was practically beaming now, energized by the success of his mission and Constantine’s commitment. “I’ll see to the design of a proper furnace house first thing. I’ll draw up a list. And housing, I’ll arrange to refurbish the old foreman’s residence by the foundry for Master Luca.” He caught himself and smiled apologetically at George. “With as little expense as possible, of course.”

George gave a good-natured snort. “Ha! See that you do, my friend. Theophilus will haunt your dreams otherwise.” With the decision made, his humor was returning. In truth, even George felt a ripple of excitement beneath his financial misgivings.

Constantine clapped a hand on Elias’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, Elias. We asked for the moon and you’ve nearly delivered it. Now we just have to pay for it.”

Elias ducked his head modestly. “The credit belongs to our agent. He took great risks approaching Luca.” A glint of pride shone in the blacksmith’s eyes. “But I believe this will transform our capabilities. I’ll make sure Master Luca has everything he requires to begin his work the moment he arrives.”

Constantine surveyed the two men. “Very well. We have our course.” He placed a hand on the table, fingers splayed over a scattered sketch of fortifications and supply lines, an empire mid-rebirth. “Luca Ardemani will come, and the Morea shall stoke new fires of industry.”