EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Chapter 39: Quills, Gold, and Power

The Apostolic Palace stood as a solemn testament to Rome's enduring authority—an enduring fortress of faith and influence that had witnessed centuries of councils, conclaves, and quiet accords. Its corridors stretched long and silent, save for the muffled shuffle of servants and the distant murmur of whispered prayers. Half-light sifted through tall, arched windows, illuminating frescoes along the hall. These depicted the Church's past in vibrant scenes: saints leading processions of the faithful, angels descending from celestial heights, and martyrs standing resolute amidst tribulation. Time had softened their once-vivid hues, leaving a gentle shimmer beneath the warm glow of candelabras. The aroma of incense drifted softly in the air, adding a heady thickness to the corridor.

Constantine moved forward with measured grace, his ornate robes whispering over the marble floor. He approached the grand chamber at an unhurried pace, aware that what lay beyond those carved wooden doors was not merely an audience but an opportunity to influence the course of history. Pope Eugene IV waited within, and their encounter promised to be both delicate and pivotal. The Pope's return from the Council of Basel had not been without controversy, and the question of a union between the Eastern and Western Churches hovered over these proceedings like a distant star—faint yet full of portent.

At last, Constantine stepped into the richly adorned chamber. Though impressive, the room did not bear the overwhelming opulence that he knew the Vatican would someday boast. Still, the tapestries were masterworks of woven narrative: divine interventions, holy battles, and great saints whose piety shaped Christendom. Heavy curtains muted the outside world, focusing the eye on the candlelit center, where the Pope himself was enthroned. The carved wooden seat, adorned with delicate filigree, seemed almost too grand for the small, round-shouldered man who occupied it. Yet there he sat, silent at first, the flickering flames reflecting on his bald head and lending his eyes a mysterious intensity.

A quiet descended as Constantine approached. He bowed his head in respect, his gaze briefly taking in the Pope's countenance. Pope Eugene IV studied the Despot of the Morea with keen interest, fully aware of who he was, what he represented, and the alliance he sought.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear Despot," the Pope said at last, his reedy voice cutting through the silence. Eugene IV raised his right hand, revealing the papal ring. "May God bless you and your endeavors." Constantine stepped forward and bent low, pressing his lips gently to the ring's surface—a centuries-old acknowledgment of Church authority.

Constantine then straightened and offered a deep bow, his voice composed and respectful. "Your Holiness, it is an honor to stand before you. May God guide your hand in the great work of His Church."

A hush settled in the chamber as the formalities concluded. The Pope shifted slightly forward in his ornate throne. His face bore the measured calm of a man who had weighed many demands and desires. He let a few heartbeats pass.

"I have received letters from your brother, Emperor John Palaiologos, regarding the union of our churches," said the Pope, pronouncing the Emperor's name with care. "It was raised at the Council of Basel, where the desire for reconciliation stood like a distant star—visible yet remote."

Constantine inclined his head. He recalled his brother's unwavering commitment to this cause, yet he knew his position here must be cautious. "The Emperor is deeply committed, Your Holiness," Constantine replied softly. "As am I. But such decisions are his to make. I stand only to reflect his will, not to shape it."

The Pope nodded slowly. Healing the schism was no trifling matter; it was a question of theology, politics, pride, and the soul of Christendom. He chose his words carefully. "The healing of our schism could bring strength not only to Rome or Constantinople, but to all Christendom. Should our traditions come together once more, old wounds might close, and a new era of cooperation might dawn."