The return of the fallen king

Chapter 2: Building the Wings to Fly

<<''To those that flee comes neither power nor glory''>>

- Homer

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(For context, Conradin's realm was stolen by Charles, the king of France's brother, who was summoned by the pope in order to combat Manfred, Conradin's uncle.)

Three men moved silently through a castle hall, their footsteps echoing on the cold, stone floor. No words passed their lips, but inside their minds, chaos reigned. Doubt gnawed at them—had they made the right choice in pledging allegiance to a boy still in the bloom of youth? Fear gripped their hearts, not for what lay behind but for the uncertain future. Guilt haunted them for not being able to save their previous liege. Countless questions lingered, and the prospect of tomorrow was more terrifying than any present danger.

Once inside, the attendants guided each man to their respective chambers. They threw themselves onto the beds without care for decorum, their exhaustion and excitement overriding any need for proper manners. The simple luxury of having a bed after their arduous journey left no room for clear thoughts on etiquette.

Galvano Lancia slept soundly for hours until the first rays of dawn painted his face with their gentle light. His expression held no trace of joy, only a heavy burden of regret weighed upon him.

In the quiet solitude of his chamber, Galvano Lancia's thoughts drifted back to his days as a duke. He recalled the sense of authority and prestige he had once wielded, a stark contrast to the everyday reality of the curse he now harbored for Charles of Anjou, the man who had stripped him of everything.

Leaving behind the contemplative solitude of his room, Galvano made his way to the grand hall where, only hours earlier, he had knelt before Conradin, his new liege. As he entered, he noticed that he was the last of the three new retainers to arrive. With the grace of someone accustomed to waiting, he took his place at the table, silently acknowledging the servants who hurriedly brought forth food and wine, preparing to commence the day's meal without uttering a single word.

Minutes passed in quiet consumption, the clinking of cutlery on plates being the only sound in the hall. Then the atmosphere shifted as a new figure entered the room. It was the young king without a kingdom, Conradin himself. With a courteous nod to his assembled retainers, he took his seat and began to eat.

The air was heavy with unspoken expectations and the weight of history as they shared this meal. Conradin's presence marked a new beginning, a journey into the unknown for both the king and his loyal retainers. Each bite of food carried the taste of uncertainty, mingling with the determination that bound them together.

"As my vassals, it is your duty to advise me on the best course of action," Conradin spoke, a piece of meat held in his hand, his tone filled with a discernible disdain. How could he not feel this way? These three men had served the very person who had stripped him of his throne years ago .

Corrado Capace, the first to respond, wore a thoughtful expression as he spoke. "Your Highness, I must confess that the current situation appears rather bleak. Your kingdom is occupied by foreign forces, aristocratic titles, and lands have been bestowed upon the French through usurpation, your treasury lies barren, and your military strength is limited to your loyal knights. Moreover, there appears to be no obvious ally at our disposal."

Manfredi Maletta, who had remained silent until now, interjected, "We may seek allies among the Comuni, the small states scattered across northern Italy, still loyal to your cause. Cities like Florence or Pisa may be eager to extend their support to disrupt the Pope's schemes. Even the Genoese, denied trade posts by Charles the Usurper, might be inclined to assist us."

Conradin's gaze remained fixed on his retainers as he continued to challenge their assessments. "You both may have valid points, but have you considered the factions within my kingdom who may resent the French rule? What of the Muslim community my grandfather welcomed into Calabria and Apulia? Do they believe Charles will allow them peaceful coexistence? Surely they must realize that the French are unlikely to be tolerant. And what about Naples, a city renowned for its loyalty to my house? Will it not rise in rebellion to restore order amid the chaos wrought by the Pope?"

"Your Majesty," Galvano interjected, his voice measured, "while debating potential allies has its merits, we should first address our immediate concerns, particularly our financial woes. Securing a source of funding should be our priority."

Maletta, his tone louder, countered, "But who would be willing to loan us money in our precarious situation? It hardly seems like an attractive investment." The two continued to bicker till the king had no more and put an end to it

"Enough!" Conradin's voice commanded attention. "It falls upon me to persuade the lender to extend us a substantial sum of money. No one will provide such a loan without assurance of repayment."

"Gerwin," Conradin turned to his butler, "summon the servants and instruct them to prepare provisions for 300 knights, enough to sustain them for two weeks. Let us pray that the individual I am meeting will be willing to lend us the substantial sum we require."

As Gerwin went about his task, he couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious benefactor his young king was preparing to meet. The castle buzzed with anticipation, and Conradin's resolve to reclaim his kingdom was palpable in the air.

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