Chapter 1: Born in the Purple Chamber

Chapter 1: Born in the Purple Chamber

Isaac awoke on a soft bed.

Looking around, he saw ancient relief carvings on the walls and furniture in various styles. Some were decorated in obvious Gothic colours, while others featured exquisite Eastern motifs.

Compared to the room's ancient opulence, the decorations seemed rather forlorn. The cabinet where the purple crystal pendant should have been placed had dim glass panels, and on the silver base stood a marble statue. The gold inlay on the bronze mirror had been stolen.

Isaac rushed to the mirror and examined his younger self.

The young man in the mirror was about ten years old, with a pale face and regular features. His brown eyes sparkled with melancholy; his straight nose sat squarely on his face; and his lips were slightly upturned, hinting at pride. His brown-black, curly hair was slightly messy, covering half of his eyebrows.

Looking at his handsome face in the mirror and the extraordinary decorations around him, Isaac smiled with satisfaction.

Given these conditions, this great opportunity to travel through time had certainly not been wasted.

Hadn't the immersion come all at once?

Dong, dong, dong!

"Come in!" Isaac was surprised to hear himself speaking a language he had never heard before so easily.

The heavy wooden door slowly opened and a servant walked in and bowed.

'Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure to see you awake. Your uncle, the great Basilius, is deeply concerned about you. If you are feeling well, please get dressed and follow me."

What a man of few words!

With that, he bowed again.

"Wait!"

The servant stopped in his tracks.

"Big brother, I still don't understand the situation. You have to give me more information!

How should I phrase it? Will I give myself away?'

Ahem—

'Who am I?'

Never mind! Since he's a prince, he has the right to be capricious. It wouldn't be nice to be mysterious.

The attendant was taken aback.

'You are Isaac Palaiologos. Your uncle, the great John, is the emperor of Rome and the Romans. Your father is Constantine, the despot of Moriah and the surrounding area."

Isaac's face changed dramatically.

It's real!

He had travelled back in time to the late Byzantine Empire. His uncle was the penultimate emperor of Byzantium and his father was the renowned Constantine XI.

That's not right. Constantine XI had no children. Could this be the result of his time travel?

A servant rushed in.

'Your Highness, the steward. The emperor has finished the mass at Hagia Sophia and is now receiving the envoys from Rome. He ordered me to summon you.'

'An envoy from Rome?' The steward furrowed his brow. 'Is it about the union of the churches again?'

The servant cautiously glanced at the steward's expression. "No, it seems to be about the Crusaders in the north."

'The emperor seems quite pleased.'

After thinking for a moment, he added,

Half an hour later, Isaac was dressed and seated in a carriage bound for the Grand Palace.

As they travelled, the carriage passed through most of Constantinople, giving Isaac a deeper understanding of the empire's decline.

Today's Constantinople was no longer the 'Emperor of Cities, Mother of Cities' of old; rather, it resembled a large rural marketplace.

A dozen or so villages stretched along the city walls, and as the carriage passed one of them, peasants dressed in simple clothes knelt before it, muttering prayers.

Farmers and citizens hurried about, but artisans and local merchants were scarce.

The most bustling districts were home to Italian Latin merchants and Turkish immigrants from Anatolia. The Venetian flag of St Mark flew high, gleaming in the sunlight and stinging the hearts of every Byzantine.

The horses panted as the carriages passed through Theodosius Square and Constantine Square, where ancient statues stood at the edges — the marble and bronze bodies were intact, but the gold, silver and jewels that had once been embedded in them were nowhere to be found.

During the great catastrophe more than 200 years ago, the wealth that the empire had accumulated over hundreds of years was plundered.

Although the Laskaris family's warriors eventually recaptured the capital, the pain of this loss has continued to this day, leaving the empire in ruins.

'We're here,' said the steward briefly.

The carriage stopped in front of the Grand Palace, near the famous statue of Justinian. The barren grassland in the distance was once the imperial horse-racing ground, and the spires of the Hagia Sophia Cathedral could be seen in the distance.

This was the emperor's residence, the centre of Rome, the capital of the empire and the centre of the world.

Once upon a time, the racecourse was filled with strong and proud knights in armour, and the square was crowded with Roman soldiers who shook the world.

Grain from Egypt, porcelain from the Far East, amber from the Baltic Sea, precious wood from the Black Sea coast and slaves from North Africa were once gathered here.

Edicts that could change the world were issued from here; healthy, strong city militias gathered here; military district leaders summoned well-trained cavalry and archers; and the emperor rode a horse covered in purple blankets and wore a purple cloak bearing the shining Roman eagle emblem.

The Patriarch and monks of the Hagia Sophia prayed for the Empire's victory. Wealthy merchants donated grain, weapons and slaves, and citizens shouted 'Victory!' as they threw flower garlands at the troops marching through the streets.

The victorious troops threw captured military flags and treasures at the statue of Justinian, which became increasingly encrusted with gold.

Now, however, the Great Palace lies in a state of semi-ruin. The emperor has few guests to entertain, nor enough gold coins to maintain the vast palace complex.

The hippodrome is gradually being deserted and the gold on Justinian's statue has been looted, leaving ugly scars. In the distance, the bells of Hagia Sophia seem to ring with a sense of tragedy.

This was Byzantium in its final days — the last days of Rome.

Isaac composed himself, bowed deeply to Justinian and slowly walked up to the throne.

The elderly eunuchs in the palace led him to the council hall, where he could hear bursts of laughter.

He pushed open the door and entered.

Sitting on the main seat was a middle-aged man with grey hair, a thin face, high cheekbones and wrinkles around his eyes and forehead — signs of long-term stress.

At that moment, however, his face was flushed with excitement and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a smile.

"Ah, Isaac, my child, I hear you are feeling better. Come, let me take a look at you!" Emperor John VIII said cheerfully.

"Let me introduce you to the envoy from Rome, Assistant Bishop Fojar."

Isaac glanced over and saw a smiling, middle-aged man sitting on a chair beside him. He was dressed in a white priest's robe and was wearing a Roman Catholic cross. Isaac bowed slightly.

'Your Majesty, I am completely well now. I am very happy to see you and your distinguished guest. I wish you all good health and happiness.'

John VIII waved his hand, motioning for Isaac to sit on the chair beside him.

"Your Majesty, what makes you so happy?"

"Bishop Fojar has brought us good news. The Polish and Hungarian king, Władysław III, has captured the Turkish border fortresses and arrived in the Varna region. The Serbian prince and mercenary troops from Bohemia will join them under the command of Hunyadi, and at that time, their forces will surpass those of Muhammad in both numbers and quality."

'Not only that, but at the command of Pope Urban VI, the Venetian fleet has blockaded the Dardanelles Strait. Murad II has withdrawn from the Karaman front and will be trapped in Anatolia, unable to provide timely reinforcements. The odds of victory in this holy war are very high.' Bishop Fojar added with a smile, emphasising the words 'the Pope's command'.

John VIII clearly understood the implication of Fojar's words. He stood up and placed his hand on his chest.

'May God forever bless him — the great Pope and the holy warrior.' He bowed his head slowly, his expression unreadable.

Fojar also stood up, satisfied, and prayed for the Pope.

Isaac had no choice but to pretend to be devout; his mind was racing as he sent his sincere regards to the Pope and the mother of Władysław III.

In a few days, you won't be laughing anymore.

Opening champagne at half-time is a sure way to court death.

After the Pope's messenger had left, only the smiling uncle and the miserable nephew remained in the empty hall.

John VIII was still lost in the beautiful vision painted by the messenger, fantasising about seizing this opportunity to regain his territory and recreate the achievements of Alexius and Michael VIII.

Isaac, however, already knew the outcome.

The Venetian fleet had indeed blockaded the Dardanelles, but their arch-enemies, the Genoese, had allowed Murad II's army to pass — after receiving a large sum of money.

Murad II crossed the Bosporus Strait, marched a thousand miles at breakneck speed and fought a decisive battle with the Crusaders at Varna.

The war was going well, but for reasons unknown, the young Władysław III ignored the warnings of the Huns and led his knights in a charge against the Sultan's central camp.

They fought their way to the Sultan's tent and could see Murad II's red and gold flag.

At that critical moment, Władysław III, the Crusader commander, shouted for his men to charge. He spurred his horse forward and led the charge, only to be stabbed to death by a common soldier.

Instantly, the entire army collapsed.

Władysław, the united king of Poland and Hungary, was killed in battle, while the legendary general Hunyadi János narrowly escaped with his life.

This marked the end of large-scale military aid from the Western Catholic world to Constantinople. News of the Ottoman Empire's success spread throughout Europe, and the Latin states were completely broken and did not dare to challenge the Ottomans for a long time.

Over the next few centuries, traditional Christian territories continued to be lost and the Ottoman iron hoof trampled across all of Southeastern Europe, from the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire to that of the Holy Roman Empire.

But that is all in the past.

'Isaac, you are almost twelve years old, which is no longer young. If you can recapture a few territories this time, I will appoint you governor!' John VIII was clearly in high spirits.

'Thank you, Your Majesty. I do not seek a fiefdom; I only wish for the empire to endure and for Your Majesty to remain in good health."

John VIII pouted unhappily.

'You really don't take after your father. If he were here, he would have started bargaining with me.'

'By the way, your father is currently marching north on the Corinthian Peninsula, coordinating with the Crusaders of Varna. I hear that things are going quite well.'

With that, he handed a letter to Isaac.

The handwriting was bold and fluid, clearly that of a strong warrior.

After skimming through it, Isaac understood the current situation. Constantine's military operations on the peninsula were progressing smoothly without encountering any significant resistance. However, there was a serious shortage of food and military equipment, and he was requesting support from the capital.

Constantine also expressed his concern for his brother and mother, as well as his longing for Isaac, whom he had not seen for a long time.

'Your Majesty,' Isaac said, raising his head.

'Leave the transport of military supplies to me. I also want to contribute to the war effort."

John was clearly a little surprised and looked closely at his nephew.

'You are only twelve years old. Your father relied on me to ride horses when he was your age..."

'But Muhammad next door became Sultan at the age of twelve.'

Isaac raised his head and looked into his uncle's grey-brown eyes.

That night, Isaac sat at the table thinking about the news he had received that day.

The crossing was a foregone conclusion, but it seemed like a dead end.

Defeat at Varna was inevitable — Murad II had probably already crossed the strait.

Constantinople was now in chaos, and the initial joy would turn to panic when news of the Crusaders' defeat reached the city.

His uncle had agreed to his request and he could leave the capital and venture out into the wider world.

But he had to do something to save Byzantium — and himself!

With this in mind, Isaac quickly scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and handed it to the attendant outside.

'Andrew, send someone to find out about these people immediately. Come back and meet me in the south.'

Andrew, the chief attendant, remained as silent as he had been that morning. He took the note and nodded.