Allevatore_dicapre

In a usurped kingdom , amid a war-torn and  blood-soaked Italy, Conradin's battleground is set. To reclaim his birthright the crown of Sicily,  he must tread a path paved with blood, learning that he must do whatever it takes to ascend the throne.




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In the year 1266, the tale of Conradin, the last scion of an ancient imperial dynasty, unfolds. His once-great kingdom, Sicily, has been ruthlessly usurped first by his own uncle and now rests in the hands of the cunning French Count Charles. Through a treacherous plot involving the Pope, Charles managed to oust the Hohenstaufen from the Kingdom of Sicily and crowned himself as its king.

In the East, powers such as the Despotate of Epirus are keenly observing the instability in Sicily, poised to seize any advantage that may arise from the chaos. Meanwhile, the small Italian communes are caught in the political crossfire, aligning themselves with one side of the conflict or the other based on the prevailing political party in power and their vested interests. These shifting allegiances turn the Italian peninsula into a powder keg, where all-out war seems inevitable.

As the shadows of history close in around Conradin, the world watches with bated breath. Will he emerge triumphant, his name forever etched in the annals of Sicilian glory as the rightful king who defied insurmountable odds, toppling both the Pope and the usurper? Or will he, in his valiant struggle, become a tragic figure, a symbol of lost opportunities and shattered dreams? The future of Sicily hangs in the balance, and Conradin's destiny remains uncertain, poised on the precipice of history.

The return of the fallen king

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''Your grace'' he said, bowing, the rays of the sun reflecting upon his head. '' My name is Antonio Simonetti. I was sent here to discuss terms of peace. The city of Lucca feels as if enough blood has been spilled.'' as he finished he awaited a response from the king. As he did so he observed the man , or better yet  the boy, in front of him. ' I heard he was young , but I did not think like this; he is yet a child , his face devoid of any hair, it would not be surpising if he was a puppet'

''On that much we agree, my enemy is not here but south, and yet you stood before me sheathing your weapons against  my banner; what am I to make of that?'' Said the king, his eyes dropping any demeanor that a kid in the prime of his life should have had, glinting his eyes, and putting forward his shoulder, to assartain his superiority.

The art of diplomacy (2)