The last days of March brought a hard, shifting wind, cold enough for winter but carrying the smell of thawed mud and salt. It tugged at the rigging as the fleet neared the harbor.
At the mouth of the river, Ainos lay low and crowded beneath a pale sun, its roofs pressed close and its harbor thick with masts. Smoke hung in the cold air. Fishermen hauled in nets with reddened hands while merchants shouted in Greek and Italian along the quay. Donkeys strained under amphorae and sacks, and a crane turned above the waterfront with a slow groan. Somewhere inland, a smith struck iron, the sound carrying over the port.
From the high deck of the Katarina, Admiral Laskaris watched the harbor without warmth. A foreign port was never safe; once anchored, a ship lay open to every eye on the quay and every rumor that might be sold from it.
Ahead of them, the Kyreneia led the way into harbor, lower and leaner than the flagship. Behind came another galley and six smaller vessels. Inside the harbor, waiting as if they had been there all winter among the other ships, four Gattilusio galleys sat at anchor.
On the deck of the nearest, two men stood apart from the sailors with their cloaks pulled tight against the wind. One was broad and solid, with the easy stance of a man used to authority. The other was slimmer, his posture studied rather than natural.
They looked up as the Katarina entered.
Even at this distance, Laskaris saw their surprise. The ship did not resemble the galleys around her. She had no oars and no rowing benches, only high sides, a deep hull, and the look of a vessel built for sail and guns.
Palamede Gattilusio raised a hand to shade his eyes and let out a short laugh.
"What a beast," he said. "No man boards that unless he climbs like a damned goat."
Dorino Gattilusio leaned forward, looking not at the ship's height but at the dark gunports cut into her side. He pointed. "Those openings," he said quietly. "Cannons behind them. Why would you mount so many along the flank?"
Palamede grunted. "And no oars. In a calm she's a castle without legs, goes only where the wind lets her." His mouth twisted. "Impressive all the same."
Dorino seemed about to reply, but the ship's approach stole the moment. The Katarina was already under the harbor's eyes, already forcing every man on shore to adjust his sense of what the Empire could build.
A harbor boat pushed off from the quay and came alongside the Katarina. One man stood with a lead-line, calling the soundings and warning them off the eastern shoals, where the river silt shifted from season to season. Another pointed them toward deeper water with a short oar.
Laskaris watched the brown line where the Maritsa met the sea and nodded once. "We anchor off," he said.
Nestor came up beside him, his cloak damp at the shoulders. "Busy port."
Laskaris watched the galleys again. "Yes," he said. "And in a busy port, news is cheaper than fish. Make sure they learn only what we want them to learn."
When the anchor dropped and took hold, gulls wheeled and cried overhead. Laskaris climbed down into the waiting boat, steady on the ladder despite the movement of the hull. Nestor followed, then two officers and a small knot of guards, all worn from the voyage.
On the quay, Palamede Gattilusio waited with several attendants. He was forty-seven, soft in the cheeks, thick in the belly, but his eyes were a storekeeper's, always counting. Beside him stood Dorino Gattilusio, more than ten years younger, short and meticulously dressed, his voice smooth enough to sound almost delicate.
"Admiral," Palamede said in smooth Greek, inclining his head. "Welcome to Ainos. We are honored to receive the Emperor's ships."
Laskaris returned the nod. "Lord Palamede. Lord Dorino."
Dorino's gaze went past him to the Katarina. "Your ship is… is taller than the harbor stories," he said.
Laskaris allowed himself a faint smile. "It was meant to be."
Palamede snorted. "Fine enough, so long as it pays its way."
Then his expression settled.
"We are loyal to the house of Palaiologos, to the Empire," he said. "We have been for generations. We do not break bread with usurpers."
He did not name Demetrios. Dorino crossed himself lightly. "May God end that shame soon," he said.
Nestor stepped forward and produced the sealed letter, purple wax stamped with eagle and cross.
"As agreed in the letters," Laskaris said, "the two presses and the four Drakos are in the holds."
For a heartbeat Palamede's caution slipped and hunger showed. Then he mastered himself again.
"A generous Emperor," he said. "And a wise one."
Palamede's gaze traveled past the officers behind Laskaris to the knot of soldiers landed with him, muskets shouldered, barrels catching the thin sun, and then to the busy port pretending not to listen.
He nodded once. "Come. You will settle first. Then we can speak in private."
They walked through Ainos with Palamede's men ahead and Laskaris's officers close beside him. The soldiers followed behind.
Ainos was prosperous in the way of port towns: busy, noisy, and slightly rotten. Warehouses lined the waterfront. Sailcloth hung from balconies to dry. Near a shrine, a woman sold bread without looking up as they passed. Children watched the Romans with open curiosity.
Palamede's villa stood back from the waterfront, large enough to suggest wealth without drawing too much attention. Inside, the air smelled of oil lamps, old wood, and stored figs.
They were shown first into an outer chamber with benches, a brazier that smoked more than it warmed, and servants who moved quickly without meeting anyone's eyes. Their cloaks were taken. A basin of warm water was brought, then bread and sharp wine.
Not long after, Laskaris was led into a private room where maps had already been laid across a table. The shutters were half closed. Palamede poured wine. Dorino stood beside him in silence. Laskaris rested a hand on the edge of the map.
"You'll want news first, I take it," Palamede said.
"I do," Laskaris said.
Dorino leaned in before Palamede could go on. "What of Philippopolis?" he asked. "Is it true the Emperor wintered there?"
"It is true," Laskaris said. "He stayed through the cold. He built up stores and prepared the road.
Palamede's eyes flicked once. "And now?"
"Now he marches," Laskaris answered. "Toward Edirne."
Dorino looked down at the map for a moment, then back up. "Remarkable," he said. His gaze shifted toward the harbor. "And this ship of his—the Katarina. It really shows what he means to build."
Laskaris let that pass. "I counted four galleys in your harbor," he said. "Your letters promised five."
Dorino flushed slightly, but Palamede answered at once. "One remains at Lesbos," he said. "Repairs. A cracked rib. Salt gets into everything. "
Laskaris nodded. "What have you seen from the straits?"
Palamede spread his hands. "Little," he said. "It is still early. The season is only beginning."
Dorino spoke, quick to demonstrate usefulness. "A Genoese ship came through a few days ago," he said. "Straight from Galata. Passed the straits without harassment. Gallipoli did not bother her."
"Galata," Laskaris repeated.
He kept his eyes on the map. "If there is trouble at sea, we will not concern ourselves with names. Only with whether ports remain open."
Palamede gave a thin smile. "We understand each other."
Laskaris moved his finger along the straits. "And Gallipoli," he said. "What sits there now? What is real and what is port talk?"
Palamede looked down at the map. "Gallipoli has a tower over the harbor," he said. "It sees everything. A few cannons. A strong position. It would not be easy to take."
Dorino added, almost delicately, "It isn't a place you take by impulse."
Laskaris kept his eyes on the map. "And how many ships would you put there?" he asked.
Palamede's eyes went distant for a moment, counting memory and rumor. "Thirty galleys, give or take," he said. "And a few dozen fustas."
"A sizeable force," Laskaris said.
"It is," Palamede replied. "But their ships don't carry guns, perhaps a small cannon on a galley or two, as a boast."
Laskaris tapped Ainos and then the coast eastward. "We patrol here first," he said. "Short runs. We watch for two weeks. If orders come from His Majesty, we obey them. If not, we follow the standing order." His finger moved to the straits. "We take station and deny passage."
Palamede nodded. He liked plans that sounded like caution.
The meeting eased. Wine was poured again, and the talk turned to safer matters. Dorino glanced toward the door at the sound of servants preparing the hall.
"And the presses," Laskaris said. "What will you print first?"
Palamede gave a crooked smile. "A book about the great history of my house," he said with mock vanity, but his eyes remained serious. "So the world remembers we were not swallowed without leaving a taste."
Dorino's smile was thin. "And other things," he murmured. "Useful things."
Laskaris reached into his satchel and drew out a folded parchment wrapped in oilcloth. He set it on the table. "The imperial grant," he said. "Acknowledging and reaffirming your status and privileges, what has been given before, confirmed again."
Palamede took it carefully. Dorino leaned in to read over his shoulder.
Laskaris drew out a second paper. "And this is a catalogue. Prices for paper and ink. The Emperor told me to place it in your hands."
Palamede laughed once. "Your Emperor understands merchants," he said.
Laskaris allowed himself a polite smile. "Yes, he understands trade. And the men who depend on it."
Dorino folded the catalogue and set it beside the grant. "Enough for now, gentlemen," he said. "Come. Dinner is waiting."
Palamede stood. "My hall," he said. "The others are already there."
As they left the room, Laskaris glanced once through the half-closed shutters toward the harbor. The Katarina lay at anchor beyond the quay, still and imposing in the grey light. Beyond her, the sea stretched toward the straits.