The officers were already in place in the larger hall at Blachernae when Constantine came in from the side passage, with George carrying the list and Andreas a pace behind. The benches along the walls were mostly bare; only a few courtiers had been admitted. Men straightened as he entered, though not all with the same speed. One captain had his arm in a sling. Another had pinned an empty sleeve to his belt. White bandages showed at collars and wrists.
Thomas stood in the front rank, too keyed to keep still. Laskaris looked more at ease than the others, his attention moving around the hall. Aristos kept his chin down and his hands flat at his sides.
Constantine stopped beneath the dais and waited for the room to quiet. George unrolled the list without reading from it.
"Today we honor the men who stood," Constantine said. "We also remember the men who did not return."
No one answered. One man with linen around his head kept his eyes on the floor. From the yard below came the sound of a mason's hammer, then silence.
Constantine kept the rest of the speech short. The city was theirs. The officer rolls would be put in order, and rank and pay would follow. The dead would remain on the rolls until their households had been paid. Then George began to read.
Aristos came first. George read out his service in Epirus, at Zlatitsa, Didymoteicho, Hebdomon, and on the wall at Blachernae. Constantine took the gold chain from George and stepped down from the dais so the room could see as he placed it over Aristos's shoulders.
"I raise Captain Aristos to the rank of strategos."
A murmur passed through the ranks. Aristos bowed, then stepped back into place with the chain stiff over his cloak.
Captain Kallistos followed, then five men from the breach, a marine officer from Petrion, and Lieutenant Markos, who took the steps to the dais with visible effort. Constantine gave each man a medallion and a purse. Markos nearly dropped his on the way back, caught it against his chest, and returned to his place.
That drew the only sharp cry in the hall: "Ieros Skopos!" Two men answered, "Basileus!" and then the room fell quiet again. George rolled the list shut. Constantine looked once over the officers, taking in the slings, the pinned sleeves, and the stick one man had left against the wall rather than carry it into line. Then he stepped down from the dais as servants came through with watered wine.
Most of the officers went first to Aristos with their congratulations. Others drew Thomas aside with questions about his time inside the city. Andreas stayed near the side table with Laskaris and spoke little, picking at the dishes more than joining the talk. After about an hour, the talk died down, and the ceremony ended.
The council room beyond the hall had a lower ceiling and a brazier that smoked when the wind took the chimney wrong. A map board stood on trestles in the middle, with wax tablets, and three marble weights laid across it. Outside came hammer blows from the yard, cart wheels in the mud, and once the crack of a teamster's whip. Servants brought more watered wine, set down cups, and withdrew.
Constantine took his place at the head of the board, with George by the papers and Andreas resting both hands on the map's edge. Thomas refused the bench at first and drank standing. Laskaris stayed a little apart, watchful, while Aristos stood straight with the new chain still stiff at his neck.
Thomas lifted his cup first. "To Constantinople," he said. "Ieros Skopos."
They drank. Then Thomas set down his cup and leaned over the board.
"Give me men for Sozopolis, brother. I can be moving inside the week."
Constantine gave him a thin smile. "I do not question your readiness, Thomas. But we have more than one matter before us." He turned to George.
George laid a hand on the board. "Three matters need deciding now: the northern coast around Sozopolis and Mesembria, Gallipoli, and grain." He touched each place as he named it. "All three depend on the same things: men, stores, and shipping. Andreas, give us the field reports."
Andreas picked up the knife and pointed to the map. "Sozopolis. Stragglers, renegades, bandits, moving in mixed companies. No field army worth the name. Just enough to burn a farm, cut a road, keep the villages frightened. The governor backed Demetrios. He ran when the city changed hands and no one has stood up in his place."
He moved the knife south to the straits. "The commander at Gallipoli took the ten thousand and pulled out with his men. Good of him. But the fort sits empty now, and someone will walk into it if we don't."
He shifted the knife north again. "Philippopolis. Leon's holding. The road to Sofia and Skopje is open, his stores will see him through. He wants more men, of course." Andreas set the knife down. "One force north. One south. A draft back to Leon. What we don't have is enough of any of it."
Constantine turned to Aristos. "How goes the levy?"
Aristos glanced anxiously at his wax tablet before answering. "Eight hundred and fifty recruits have come in from the city and the villages around it. Three hundred are veterans. Most of those served under Demetrios and stood in the city garrison before the gates changed hands. The rest are raw. Some can take wall duty soon. Fewer are fit for the field soon. They need officers, grouping, and their kit brought into order."
No one spoke for a moment. Aristos took one of George's wax tablets and turned it so the others could see it. The numbers were divided into tens and fifties, with notes beside each group for arms, boots, and which men were steady enough for watch duty.
"We need permanent barracks in the city," he said. "And a drill ground under our control. Scattered through borrowed yards, they will not drill properly."
At the word veterans, Thomas stopped with his cup halfway to the table. For a moment Galata came back to him: Demetrios in his grip, the knife under the ribs. He set the cup down too hard, and wine ran over his knuckles.
"Veterans?" he said. "They served Demetrios until the city changed hands."
No one answered at once. Thomas wiped his hand on his cloak. "I will not put those men over the gates just because they know them."
Aristos answered without heat. "Then we break them up. Make them swear again one by one. Mix them by tens and twenties under trusted men. Keep them off gate duty until they have been watched long enough. They can still be used, if they are handled properly."
George nodded. "Agreed. No unit comes over intact. We pull them apart and see who's worth keeping."
Constantine looked first at Thomas. Then he turned back to Aristos. "We need the men. They swear again, and they go where we put them. Keep them off the gates and out of the palace. No commands of their own for now."
Then Constantine turned to Laskaris. "What of the fleet?"
Laskaris set two knuckles on the table and leaned in. "Fleet's sound enough to sail. Lost one small galley. The rest want planks and cordage and a few days in hand — nothing a yard can't fix in a week. Galata can still run to Caffa, though with fewer hulls than before the assault. One of the tower-hulls is stove in, and another is stranded ashore with her side split open. The Podestà wants an escort for the grain run, and he's not wrong to want it."
He looked from Constantine to George. "We've cargo space of our own to add to it, though not enough to feed the city by ourselves. Then there's Gallipoli. The fort'll want ships there too, to carry stores and to show whose strait it is. I can escort the grain or I can hold the strait. Not both at once with the same squadron."
George reached for a paper. "Grain first. The stores will not hold long. Everything else waits."
He flattened the sheet and read from the market notes. Prices in the lower markets had risen since the gates opened. Refugees were coming back by the western roads as word spread that the city was Roman again. They were useful for hauling and clearing rubble, but they also put more pressure on the markets.
"As for barracks, the best ground lies behind the burned houses near the old cistern," he said. "Families have already begun sleeping there under carts and broken roofs. But the land walls need the work more urgently than new barracks do. The recruits can be put to work there first."
Constantine rose to give his orders. The chair legs scraped on the stone. He lifted the lead weight from Sozopolis and set it down over the north coast.
"Aristos takes the northern command," Constantine said. "Three tagmata. Sozopolis first, then Mesembria. Break the raiders, put the roads back under guard, and restore order. When the region is settled enough, send me a report on its stores, roads, and fighting strength."
Thomas moved at once. "Send me."
Constantine shook his head. "The north needs a commander who can stay there. You stay here. The city is not settled, and I will not leave Constantinople without a Palaiologos in it."
Thomas said nothing. He looked toward the shutters, drew a slow breath through his nose, and gave a short nod.
Constantine moved the second weight south to Gallipoli. "Andreas takes two tagmata and occupies the fort. I want the harbor measured and the piers secured before the month is out."
Andreas answered with a single "Yes, Majesty" and reached for the nearest wax tablet.
"The drill ground is to be marked before sunset tomorrow," Constantine went on. "The raw recruits will work first on the land walls, then on the barracks. The three hundred from Demetrios are to swear again one by one, then be broken up and mixed into the other units. Keep them off gate duty. The best of the tested veterans can be sent out with Andreas and Aristos. One tagma also goes back to Leon at Philippopolis."
George began writing at once.
"Laskaris escorts the Caffa convoy," Constantine said next. "Grain first. Use our hulls for cargo where you can. When the convoy is in, you return here, and then we move on to Gallipoli."
Laskaris tipped his head. "How long do I stay at Caffa if loading runs slow?"
"No more than a week," Constantine said.
One corner of Laskaris's mouth shifted faintly. He gave a short nod.
Only after the other rulings were laid down did Constantine speak of himself. "When the fleet returns and the markets are steadier, I will go west. Gallipoli first, then Thessaloniki, then Glarentza."
No one answered. Thomas lowered his eyes to the board and kept them there. George was already thinking through silver and labor. Andreas had one finger on Gallipoli and was counting march days under his breath. Aristos stood with the north coast before him, already counting men in his head. Laskaris drank what was left in his cup and set it down beside the map with a small wooden click.
By the time the papers had been folded and carried out, only George remained with Constantine. The brazier was down to red coals, and the chamber smelled of smoke, watered wine, and hot wax.
George gathered the last of the tablets, then paused with one still in his hand. "Have you thought about the new themata yet?" he asked. "Governors. Garrison lines."
Constantine did not answer at once. The map still lay open between them, marked north and south, with a damp ring where Thomas's cup had stood. "After Sozopolis and Gallipoli," he said. "Then we count villages, seed, roads, and households. Until then, officers will do the work of governors."
George looked at the map a moment longer, then nodded and went to find the clerks.