Chapter 29: The Pyre of the South
The air at the border of the Anakan was thick with the scent of distant ash and the metallic tang of salt. From the vantage point of the Imperial ridge, Arch-Marshal Conrad and the two younger commanders watched the horizon. The city of Naples, once the jewel of the Mediterranean, was a silhouette of jagged fire.
"The reports are grim," Conrad muttered, his telescope fixed on the smoking harbor. "The Neapolitan army has been ground down from 6,000 to a mere 3,000. But they've fought like cornered devils. The Spanish have paid in blood—their 10,000 'Crusaders' are down to 6,000. It's a butcher's shop down there."
Albrecht von Luxembourg gripped the hilt of his sun-etched sword, his eyes burning with a reckless light. "Marshal, we have 4,000 elite Imperial and Bohemian troops combined. If we strike now, we catch the Spanish in the flank while they're exhausted. We could end this war today!"
"And start a war with the Heavens tomorrow?" Conrad countered, his voice like cold iron. "The Spanish are hiding behind the word 'Crusade.' They claim the Neapolitans have nomadic, heretical blood. If we fire the first shot without a Papal mandate, the Pope will excommunicate the Emperor before the sun sets. Our heads would be on the chopping block within forty-eight hours."
Julian stayed silent, watching the flames. While Albrecht sought glory and the Marshal sought a political shield, Julian was looking at the logistics of the fallout. He turned to Isabella, who stood close to him, wrapped in a thick wool cloak he had draped over her shoulders to ward off the biting mountain wind.
"The Byzantians still have eyes in those waters, don't they?" Julian asked in a low voice.
"Yes, My Lord," Isabella replied, pulling the cloak tighter. "They watch from the shadows of the old forts. And the Duchy of Gaeta... it has been duceless for years, a vacuum of power. If Naples falls, that entire coastline becomes a graveyard or a pirate's den."
Julian nodded. For the last two days, he had ignored the calls for "frontline glory." While Albrecht polished his armor, Julian's 232-man detachment had been a whirlwind of silent efficiency. They had rerouted merchant fleets, set up organized refugee camps, and hunted down the bandit groups that had begun to prey on the fleeing Neapolitans like vultures.
In the camps, the name Julian von Andechs-Merania wasn't spoken of as a "Great Hero," but as a "Reliable Commander." To a mother with a starving child, reliability was worth more than a thousand golden statues.
The Last Command of a Pillar
Inside the crumbling walls of Naples, the King of Naples—a man who had been groomed to be a Duke, a "Pillar of the State," before his brother's death thrust him onto a shaky throne—stood in the shadow of the Castel Nuovo.
"The ammunition is gone," he said to his Queen, Eleonora. "The merchants have fled. The Spanish fleet has choked the port."
He turned to his nephew, Prince Matteo, a boy of only seven years. The King knelt, placing his heavy, jeweled hands on the boy's shoulders. "My dear nephew, your uncle cannot come with you. You will flee to the Papal States under the protection of the Imperial vanguard. Remember, you carry the blood of a royal lineage. Never let exile break you. One day, you will lead the march to reclaim our home."
"Uncle, don't leave me! Not like Father!" the boy wailed.
The King's eyes grew misty, but his resolve remained granite. He signaled to Duke Rinaldo, the boy's other uncle. "Take them. Go."
The escape plan was a desperate gambit. The King boarded the flagship of a ten-vessel diversionary fleet. He didn't sail toward the north; he sailed toward the African coast, making a loud, flashy display of a "Royal Escape."
The Spanish Admiral, blinded by the prospect of capturing a King, gave chase. The King's ship fought like a wounded lion, taking down six Spanish galleys in a storm of fire and splinters before a final bombardment sent it to the depths. The King died as he lived—a pillar, holding up the roof while his family fled beneath it.
Under the cover of that sacrifice, five civilian transports and three battered battleships slipped out of a hidden cove, carrying Queen Eleonora, Prince Matteo, and 220 elite Royal Guards. They sailed not for Africa, but for the Papal border—toward the Imperial camps.
The Shattered Vanguard
The Spanish eventually realized the trick, but by then, the Neapolitan garrison had launched their final, suicidal charge. Motivated by their King's death, the remnants of the army threw themselves into the Spanish lines.
It was a massacre. Two thousand Neapolitans were slain, but they took another 2,000 Spaniards with them, leaving the "Crusader" army a battered husk of 4,000 men. The city of Naples had finally fallen, but the "crusade" was bleeding out.
Only 1,000 Neapolitan survivors managed to retreat, shattering into the forests and fallen fortresses of the countryside, becoming a ghost army that would haunt the Spanish occupation for years to come.
The Meeting on the Waves
On the third night, Julian stood on a small jetty at the edge of the Papal border. He had chosen this specific landing point—a place Isabella had identified as a "neutral merchant strip"—away from the main Imperial camp where Albrecht's men were stationed.
As the three Neapolitan battleships limped toward the shore, the scent of burnt wood and salt grew overwhelming. Julian stepped forward as the gangplank of the leading transport lowered.
Queen Eleonora di Salerno stepped off first. Her platinum-blonde hair was disheveled, and her pale blue eyes were haunted by the image of her husband's ship sinking into the sea. Behind her, Lady Sofia held the sobbing Prince Matteo.
Julian didn't bow with the hollow flourish of a courtier. He stepped forward, placed his hand over his heart, and looked the Queen in the eye.
"Your Majesty," Julian said, his voice steady and calm. "I am Viscount Julian von Andechs-Merania, Second-Rank Lieutenant of the Imperial Vanguard. My men have secured a safe perimeter, and we have medical supplies and warm tents waiting."
The Queen looked at the silver-blonde young man, then at the orderly, quiet camp behind him. She didn't see a "hero" looking for a medal; she saw a man who had anticipated her arrival and prepared a place for her grief.
"The King... my husband..." she whispered.
"He died a hero's death, Majesty," Julian said gently. "But his sacrifice bought the future. Prince Matteo is safe. The lineage of Naples continues under the protection of the Empire."
[System Notification: Historical Pivot Complete.]
* Queen Eleonora Favorability: 20 (Deep Gratitude/Hope).
* Prince Matteo Status: Protected Heir.
* Strategic Position: You now hold the only legitimate Royal Family of the South.
Julian looked back at the horizon, where the fires of Naples were finally dying down. Albrecht was still in the mountains, waiting for a general to kill. The Arch-Marshal was waiting for a letter from the Pope. But here, on this dark beach, Julian had just secured the most valuable "leverage" in the world.
"Isabella," Julian called out quietly.
"Yes, My Lord?"
"Inform the Arch-Marshal that the Royal Family has arrived. But tell the guards... no one sees the Queen without my personal permission. Especially not the Prince of Bohemia."