The Journal of George Sphrantzes – November, 1428

Two weeks have passed since the council meeting, and I cannot ignore the changes in Constantine. Since then, he has secluded himself in his chambers for long hours, emerging only to speak with a select few. Rumors have begun to spread through the castle; the servants whisper of his strange behavior, while the lords grow anxious at his apparent withdrawal from matters of state.

Yesterday, he summoned me to his study. I went in prepared to discuss the preparations for winter or the garrison's needs, but his words caught me off guard. "George," he began, his voice quieter than usual, "I need you to travel to Constantinople."

"Constantinople?" I echoed, trying to mask my surprise. The journey was not unexpected, but his timing seemed peculiar. "May I ask what you would have me seek there, my lord?"

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if fighting off some internal turmoil. "We need supplies, news from the emperor’s negotiations with the West, and any word on the situation in the capital," he explained. "More than ever, we must be prepared. Also, see if you can find craftsmen—bell crafters, goldsmiths, and blacksmiths in particular. We’ll need their skills for what’s to come."

I nodded, though his next words puzzled me further. "And speak to the brokers about the sale of the holdings I mentioned to my mother," he added. "It will give us the funds we need to move forward."

His eyes, once so confident and commanding, now held a haunted look. I could see it in the way he hesitated, the way his gaze wandered to the window as though searching for answers in the distant horizon. He spoke as if foreseeing challenges that have yet to present themselves.

"I will make preparations to leave as soon as possible," I assured him, knowing that gathering supplies and information could take time. His hand rested on my shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"Be careful, George," he said softly. "Things may not be as they seem in the capital. Be watchful."

I wanted to ask what he meant, to probe the source of his worry, but the moment passed. Constantine turned away, his eyes drifting back to the map on his table. This is not the man I have known for years. Two weeks have transformed him into someone more guarded, almost as if he carries the weight of knowledge none of us are privy to.

The lords have begun to notice his peculiar behavior. They whisper of his quietness, his sudden interest in matters he once dismissed as trivial. Yet none dare voice their doubts openly. To question the Despot’s actions would be to sow discord in these already troubled times.

I will begin my preparations to travel to Constantinople, though I cannot shake this feeling of unease. What has changed in Constantine, and why? Perhaps the capital holds the answers I seek. For now, I can only carry out his orders and remain vigilant, ever watchful of what lies ahead.

 George Sphrantzes

Author note: To read after chapter Six.