The morning sun had just cleared the Ionian horizon when Constantine led the two Portuguese shipwrights through the skeleton of his shipyard. Chisels tapped against wood in the salt-laced air, a steady rhythm beneath the hush of the sea — clean, bracing, the sound of honest work beginning anew.
Two years earlier he had ordered this yard raised on the coast south of Glarentza, imagining slipways crowded with hulls and masts rising like a forest along the shore. Instead, the place had languished: half-built frames silvered by weather, weeds pushing through warped planks. The money had run dry. Now, with fresh coin and skilled men beside him, the silence was breaking at last.
They walked along a timber path laid over the sand. To their right, the harbor of Glarentza curved northward, a few masts and red-tiled roofs beyond the scrub. To their left stretched the open sea, calm, blue, and gold in the morning light.
Constantine breathed in the mix of brine, tar, and resin from stacked pine logs. Overhead, a gull wheeled and cried once across the stillness.
Diogo Gonçalves and Afonso Vaz followed a step behind until Constantine beckoned them forward. They had arrived only yesterday, yet already carried the quiet assurance of men who knew their work.
Constantine smiled as they walked. "I trust the journey left you none the worse. Your quarters suit you?"
Diogo dipped his head. "They do, Majesty. Your welcome has been generous."
Afonso grinned. "After days at sea, a solid bed and decent wine are riches indeed."
"Good," Constantine said. "If you lack anything, speak it. We're glad to have you here."
Diogo met his eyes. "The honor is ours, Majesty."
Constantine led them off a low jetty and into the yard. Ahead, a stretch of packed earth lay marked with stakes and chalk lines where a keel would soon rest.
Near the water's edge, three laborers drove pegs under the eye of a master carpenter. At the sight of Constantine and his guests, they straightened and bowed. He raised a hand in greeting and sent them back to work.
The clack of mallets resumed, steady, deliberate, and sure.
Diogo took in the neatly laid-out lines and the piles of timber under canvas. "I see you've begun preparations already," he observed.
"At first light," Constantine confirmed, walking slowly across the firm ground. "I admit, after hearing a little of your ideas yesterday, I'm impatient to see them take shape."
Afonso's smile held a steady assurance. "Then let us to it, Majesty. Yesterday we spoke in broad strokes, today, in full."
They stopped at a smoothed patch of soil. Diogo knelt, snapped a splinter from a timber scrap, and began to draw.
"In Portugal we call them naus," he said. "Great sea-going ships, born from the old cogs and nefs."
With quick strokes he traced a rounded hull.
"See, wide of belly, deep of draught. That steadies her in rough water and lets her bear heavy cargo. And here—" he marked the bow and stern, "—the castles: towers on the sea, giving height to archers and command to the lookout, keeping the decks high above the breaking sea."
Constantine watched closely, nodding. The sketch resembled ships he half-remembered from movies back in his old life, stout, broad-bellied vessels with high castles fore and aft.
"And in open seas?" he asked. "How do they handle heavy weather?"
Afonso crouched beside him, tracing a curve at the stern.
"The danger with such hulls is wallowing, rolling and pitching if the stern's cut too hard. Our masters cured it. Round her here, broaden the beam, and balance the castles' weight."
He smudged the sharp angle with his thumb.
"So she rides steady in the swell, not lurching like a drunkard with every wave."
Diogo tapped the drawing at the bow. "We build it higher here, with a touch of flare. Out on the Ocean Sea the waves rise like walls, a low bow buries itself and floods the deck. Shaped so, she lifts her nose over the crests and runs drier, like a gull on the wind."
Constantine could almost see it: a great timbered hull lifting through gray-green swell. The image drew a faint smile.
"You've been shaping more than ships," he said. "These are hard-won lessons."
As he spoke, Afonso marked crosses for the masts. "We rig two, sometimes three — square for power, lateen for control. With that mix, we can ride any wind, reaching farther each season down the African coast."
He looked up, pride steady in his voice. "Under Prince Henrique's patronage, our ships push beyond the known seas. Year by year, we take the measure of the Ocean itself."
Prince Henrique. Constantine felt a jolt of recognition at that name. Henry the Navigator, he thought, the echo of a history lecture surfacing in his mind. This was the man who, in another timeline, would spark an Age of Exploration. For a moment Constantine was struck by the surreal realization that he was hearing of those first daring voyages not as history, but as ambition in the present. He took a slow breath of salty air to steady himself. "Your prince is wise," he said carefully. "The world will belong to those who harness the ocean." He let his gaze drift to the blue horizon, then back to the two shipwrights. "And that is why I invited you here. What you're building in Portugal, I want to build here. Only, I intend to take it even further."
Diogo arched an eyebrow, curious. "Further, Majesty?"
Constantine rose to his feet, brushing sand from his fingers. "You've shown me ships that can survive the ocean. Now I want to arm them to rule it." He stepped onto the outline Diogo had drawn, standing where the wide deck of the carrack would be. "Tell me, have you ever considered designing a ship specifically to carry cannon? Not just one or two small guns, but many, a dozen guns, all firing out from both sides."
The two Portuguese looked up at him in astonishment. For a heartbeat neither spoke. A breeze off the sea fluttered Afonso's loose hair around his face, but he seemed frozen in thought.
Diogo was the first to respond, rising slowly. "To put a dozen guns on a single ship… along the sides, as a broadside," he said, as if testing the idea aloud. "No, Majesty. That hasn't been done. We mount a cannon or two at the bow of some ships, and swivel guns on the railings perhaps, but an entire broadside of heavy cannon…"
"…would make a floating fortress," Afonso finished, eyes widening at the vision. "It could smash any galley or pirate afloat, if it didn't tear itself apart first."
"The key," Constantine said, plunging ahead, "is to build the ship for the guns from the start. Mount the cannon low in the ship. Cut dedicated gunports in the hull for them."
"Cut holes in the hull for guns," Diogo repeated under his breath, running a hand through his beard. The very notion went against every instinct of traditional shipwrights; holes in a hull were invitations for the sea to pour in. But then his practical mind kicked in. "We could frame each gunport with strong timbers, like window frames, to keep the hull strong," he reasoned aloud. "And we'd need to thicken the hull planks around them."
"Exactly," said Constantine. "Thicker timbers all along the sides. Additional bracing inside to absorb the recoil when the guns fire. We can double up the ribs of the ship if we must."
Afonso laughed under his breath, not in mockery but in amazement. "By God, she would need a broad belly indeed, to carry that weight and not capsize. Twice the beam, at least."
"Give her a broad beam then," Constantine said, spreading his hands as if measuring out the hull. "Enough to carry a full deck of guns along each side."
Diogo froze, then shook his head slowly. "An entire deck lined with cannon? Majesty, no ship has ever borne such weight. The recoil alone could tear her frame apart, and she'd roll like a cask in heavy seas." He exchanged a troubled glance with Afonso, who grinned despite himself, caught by the audacity of the idea.
Diogo's skepticism wavered as he studied the sketch again. "Still…" he murmured, fingers brushing the lines. "If the hull were deep enough, the timbers thick enough, the bracing doubled—" His eyes narrowed in thought. At last, he inclined his head. "It would be unlike anything afloat in Christendom. Impossible for most… but perhaps not for us, with the right timber, iron, and skilled hands."
Afonso was already nodding eagerly. "We would make sure the keel is sturdy and deep. She'll draw a lot of water with all that weight, perhaps three or four meters of draught"
"If her draught proves too heavy for this shore," Constantine said at once, "we'll choose a deeper berth. There are coves along this coast with water enough to float her. Depth will not be our limit."
Diogo held up a hand, ticking off more points. "We'd require vast timber, oak for the keel and frames, the longest, strongest beams you can find. Tall pines or fir for masts. More iron for fastenings, much more canvas for all the sails she'll need to drive such a heavy hull."
Constantine's chin dipped in a firm nod. "Whatever you need, you shall have. We'll source oak from our forests, and import more if that's not enough. Canvas, rope, pitch, if we lack it, we'll buy it. Cost is no object."
Both shipwrights looked heartened by that declaration. Diogo scratched thoughtfully at a scar on his forearm. "And we will need skilled hands. Ship carpenters, caulkers, sail-makers… as many as you can gather. We brought a couple of our own men, but five pairs of hands alone can't build a giant."
"We have local carpenters who built smaller galleys and merchant hulks," Constantine said. "They will now turn to this project under your direction. If more specialists are required, I'll hire them, from Venice, Genoa, anywhere. I'll even draft blacksmiths and house-builders and train them to cut planks if it comes to it." A hint of wryness crept into his smile.
Diogo and Afonso chuckled, the weight of Constantine's vision giving way to practical talk. Afonso glanced at the marked keel lines and the timber stacks. "Then the question is time. If we laid her keel at once…" He looked to Diogo, inviting his judgment.
Diogo rubbed his beard, eyes narrowing at the ground as though he could already see the months of labor. "No less than a year," he said at last. "Twelve months from keel to launch, if weather, timber, and men all serve us well."
"If fortune favors us, perhaps ten months," Afonso put in, though his tone carried a note of caution. "But that would mean no delays, fair weather throughout, and every supply at hand. More truly, you should reckon on a year."
Constantine's expression stilled. "Ten… twelve months," he echoed, the words heavy on his tongue. A year felt an age. His jaw set, a flicker of frustration breaking through before he mastered it. "That long?" he murmured, scarcely above a breath.
Diogo braced himself, as if to defend the estimate, but Constantine was already nodding, schooling his features to calm. He forced the slight frown from his brow and managed a faint smile. "If that's what it takes, so be it. I asked for the ship to be done right, not rushed foolishly. Take the time you need. We'll aim for sooner, of course, but I won't have quality sacrificed for speed."
Both men eased. "We'll press the work as best we can, Majesty," Diogo said. "The first hull is always slow; every problem must be solved from nothing. But once she's afloat, the second will rise quicker. Perhaps in three-quarters the time."
Constantine found that small consolation, but he acknowledged it with a tilt of his head. Already, his mind was leaping forward to ways he might use that time: gathering resources, drilling crews in cannon use, perhaps even laying down multiple keels at staggered intervals. If he could not speed up the craftsmen beyond their natural limits, he would simply set more of them to work.
"However long it takes, I'll be here with you every step," Constantine said. "Not only with coin or labor, but with my own hand and will. I mean to see this ship rise, and I'll not rest until she does." His voice was soft but unyielding, more oath than command.
Afonso's eyes shone with excitement. "Then we'll not waste what you give us, sire. One ship will prove the idea, and if she sails as you dream, the rest will follow."
Constantine breathed out, realizing only now that his heart had been beating a touch faster throughout their exchange, as if matching the pace of his racing thoughts. He gave the younger man a warm, almost gentle look. "I know you will," he said.
For a moment they stood among the marked ground, each imagining the great hull that would rise there. Morning light struck the tools and timber; hammers thudded, saws rasped, gulls cried over the docks, the sound of work, of purpose returning.
Constantine exhaled, a quiet satisfaction settling in him. Diogo and Afonso were already bent together, arguing over timber and bracing. He watched them a moment, then said softly,
"When these ships take the water, they'll change more than trade or war, the world itself will turn to their course."
He spoke as if half-dreaming, and the Portuguese fell silent, sensing the steel beneath his words. Constantine's gaze held on the sea, sunlight flashing hard across the waves. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back, his face, for an instant, bare of courtly warmth, marked only by cold resolve.
Diogo nodded slowly, breaking the hush. "And we are fortunate to be a part of it, Majesty"
At that, Constantine's focus returned. He cleared his throat, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well then," he said, businesslike again, "no time to lose, is there?"
The shipwrights bowed and moved off at once, calling to their men. Soon parchment was spread across a makeshift table, tools fetched, and clean lines sketched in place of the rough outline in the sand.
With a last, deliberate nod, Constantine turned and strode toward the port. The day was young, and there was no time to waste.
When Constantine's steps had faded toward the port, Diogo remained bent over the sketch. His thumb rubbed at the lines, smudging them into a blur.
"God's blood," he muttered, low enough that only Afonso heard. "A whole deck of cannon? The timber alone would cost him a fortune. And that's before the iron, the powder, the men to crew her. And if we manage to pull this off…" He shook his head, half in doubt, half in wonder.
Afonso chuckled softly, though his eyes stayed on the drawing. "True. But look, Diogo, this Greek emperor has the purse and the will to pay for such madness. If we can raise her, if she floats and fights, we'll have done what no shipwright in Christendom has dared. The masters back home would have to yield their place to us. And then" his voice lowered, almost savoring it, "Prince Henrique himself would seek us out for work."
Diogo grunted, neither denying nor agreeing. His gaze drifted toward the calm blue of the gulf. "Still, such a monster, for these waters? A large galley is already more than enough." Afonso's smile lingered, caught between caution and desire. "Perhaps. But fortune favors the boldest gamble, and this one has just fallen into our hands."