Side story: On the Frontiers

Zetouni, Central Greece – Early Morning, September 1433

Captain Andreas glared at the parchment scroll spread on his desk as though it were an enemy. Inked numbers of nails, timbers, and gold coins danced before his eyes in the dim light of his office. “We’ve barely enough iron to finish the new palisades,” the quartermaster droned on, wringing a cap in his callused hands. “And the wheat, Captain – by Christ, the wheat stocks are running low. At this rate—”

“And at this rate,” Andreas cut in gruffly, rubbing his temple, “we’ll talk ourselves to death before a single Turk ever breaches our walls.” He pushed back from the desk, the wooden chair scraping the stone floor. Clack. He snapped the heavy ledger shut. “You have my orders, Manoli. Send riders to every village and hamlet – we need grain, flour, salted fish, anything to last winter. As for iron and timber, strip old buildings if you must. The walls at Neopatras and Domokos come first.” His tone was firm, brooking no argument. In truth, he was frustrated not with the quartermaster but with the endless supply problems that hounded the army. Andreas had not risen through decades of war to spend his days counting grain sacks. Yet here he was, neck-deep in requisitions and shortages when he much preferred the clarity of the battlefield. He forced himself to soften his voice. “I know it’s a strain. Just do what you can. We’ll make do.”

Manolis bowed and gathered his papers. “Yes, Captain. I’ll try the local merchants again. Perhaps on credit until more gold arrives from Glarentza...” The quartermaster’s words trailed off as the thump of hurried boots echoed in the hallway. A young officer burst through the door, cheeks flushed. Andreas raised an eyebrow, few would dare interrupt his meetings unannounced.

“Captain, pardon the intrusion,” the officer panted, offering a salute. “A new batch of recruits just arrived from the villages around here. They’re assembled in the lower barracks yard.” He allowed himself a quick smile. “There must be thirty or forty of them, sir, volunteers.”

Andreas’s stern countenance lifted, if only a little. It was heartening news; every able man in arms was a boon these days. And, he admitted silently, it was a welcome excuse to escape the tedious talk of wheat and nails. “Very good,” he nodded. With a dismissive wave to Manoli, he grabbed his cloak from a peg. “We’ll finish this later.” The harried quartermaster didn’t protest as Andreas stepped briskly past the junior officer into the corridor.

Moments later, Andreas strode into the crisp morning light of the barracks courtyard. The sun had just crested the pine clad hills to the east, bathing the yard in a pale gold glow. There, huddled in loose files, stood the new recruits. They were a motley bunch – wiry farmhands, broad-shouldered woodcutters, a few grey-bearded men-at-arms who must have fought in their youth and now returned to the call. Their breath misted in the chill autumn air as they eyed the seasoned captain approaching, some with nervousness, others with grim resolve. Nearby, a handful of veteran soldiers, the training sergeants, looked on with crossed arms.

Andreas paused before the recruits, his weathered face unreadable for a long moment. He was not a tall man, but he stood sturdy as an oak stump, with a barrel chest and a scarred cheek that caught the light. When he finally spoke, his voice carried across the yard, rough-hewn but clear. “Welcome, lads. Welcome to Zetouni, and to the Emperor’s army.” He paced slowly in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. “You’ve left your homes and fields to be here. I know that wasn’t easy.” His dark eyes swept over the line of faces, some young and drawn with fear, others hardened by loss. “Ottoman steel and flame have scarred our lands. Each of you has likely seen it firsthand – a farm burned, a cousin or brother taken in chains. But that is why you’re here, yes?” He allowed a tight smile. A few recruits nodded.

“You’re here because you believe, as I do, that we can drive them out.” Andreas’s voice gained strength, echoing off the courtyard walls. “Because you believe in Ieros Skopos, our sacred purpose.” At those words, several veterans standing by straightened proudly. The recruits murmured, and one or two made the sign of the cross. Andreas stepped over to a wooden post by the barracks entrance, upon which a freshly painted poster was nailed. It depicted the double-headed eagle of the Empire and bold Greek letters underneath. He thumped a gauntleted fist against it. “You can read this, lads? It says, ‘The Empire Needs You.’ And so it does. Each and every one of you.”

He turned back to the villagers-turned-soldiers. “The Emperor himself has called on all Romans to stand up and reclaim our homeland. In the Ieros Skopos, this holy cause, we fight not just for a lord or for land, but for our families, our faith, our very future.” His tone was passionate now, ringing with conviction. “Look around you.” He gestured at the old walls of Zetouni fortress and beyond, to the distant peaks where a new border had been drawn through blood. “Our armies have freed much of Greece from the Turk. Domokos, Neopatras, Livadeia, all back in our hands. But the war is far from over. The Sultan will not yield our lands so easily.” He let that hang in the cold air, then lowered his voice, rough but sincere. “That’s why we need you. To hold what we’ve taken. To push further until no foreign banners fly over Greece.”

A few of the recruits, the bolder ones, stood a bit taller now. A young man with a mop of black hair lifted his chin, eyes shining with determination. Andreas noted dirt on the lad’s tunic and the homemade cloth wrapped around the spear shaft in his hand, to keep splinters off. He’s barely seen sixteen summers, Andreas thought, and yet he’s here. He felt a surge of respect for them all. “Train hard,” he barked, in a commanding tone once more. “Obey your instructors. I won’t lie, the weeks ahead will test you. But stand firm, and you’ll be fighting alongside veteran brothers, for a just cause. And God willing, you’ll see an Empire reborn and your children free of the terror of the Turk.”

One of the older recruits, a grizzled man with a huntsman’s bow, raised his voice unexpectedly: “Long live the Emperor!” A cheer, tentative at first , rose among the villagers. “Long live Constantine!” a few cried. “Ieros Skopos” others added. Andreas allowed himself the faintest grin at their enthusiasm. He raised a hand to quiet them. “Enough chatter now. Markos!” he called to one of the drill sergeants, a swarthy veteran missing half an ear. “They’re yours. Get them kitted and see how they handle a pike.”

As the recruits were led off deeper into the yard amidst a bustle of activity, Andreas exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The truth was, despite his gruff facade, speaking to these fresh volunteers moved him. They reminded him why he fought, and why he endured endless nights of planning and provisioning. For them, he thought, watching the young villagers shuffle after Sergeant Markos, already peppering them with coarse instructions. The Empire’s fate rested on such humble shoulders now. Andreas gave the “The Empire Needs You” poster one last look, then turned on his heel. There was much to do.

Author’s Note: A fun POV side story about Andreas, stationed out on the empire’s new frontier. If you enjoyed this glimpse into his world and want to see a Part 2 (featuring some real frontier action ), let’s hit 30 likes on this post!