At the same time that Władysław III received the message from Hungary inviting him to the kingdom, Manuel had already arrived at the Peloponnese Peninsula, heading straight for Mistras, the capital of the Despotate of Morea.
This time, besides showcasing his stance and attitude to raise his profile among the Romans of the Aemos Peninsula, he also planned to formally visit his Palaiologos relatives in Morea and Constantinople again, to persuade them to accept his proposal and make the necessary preparations in advance.
He just didn't know if his secret instructions to his two archbishops in Florence would leave a rift in the hearts of his brothers-in-law.
Thinking this, he sighed helplessly: I should mentally prepare myself for rejection.
With this thought, he arrived in Mistras, sending a message to the palace expressing his desire to wait there for some time to personally meet his Brother-in-law, Despot Constantine, again.
Because there were still some minor matters for the Eastern and Western Churches to discuss after the Council of Florence, Constantine remained on the Apennine Peninsula temporarily as the Basileus's envoy to continue discussions with the Roman Curia for a few more days.
Moreover, the Despot did not have enough money to take a Latin fast ship, so he would return to the country later.
Taking advantage of this time, Manuel, who had arrived first in Mistras, also used the opportunity of sending his greetings to the Morea court to gauge his current reputation among the upper and middle-class Romans there.
From the situation that unfolded, it was not bad; at least Constantine's team remaining in Morea and his wife, Caterina Gattilusio, received him as enthusiastically as before, or even more so, and hosted a banquet for him.
Manuel naturally accepted with pleasure.
So, in early December of that year, he and they held a Roman banquet in this city, which was much warmer than other parts of the European continent.
And at this time, he also came into closer contact with Constantine's subordinates and family.
George Sphrantzes, Constantine's childhood friend and loyal subject, was robust and healthy in physique.
Although his temperament and overall appearance were not as heroic and impressive as his monarch, Constantine, his dark hair and chestnut eyes reflected a determination and composure far exceeding others.
The only thing that made one sigh was that he was a bit older, already a middle-aged man over thirty.
Another person he paid close attention to was the priest-scholar, Gemistos Plethon.
As a renowned Platonic scholar of the Peloponnese, this old man still had a thick white beard, wore a domed priest's silk hat, and was dressed somewhat untidily but cleanly.
But unlike before, Plethon today looked significantly more frail.
Although his discussions on theology and philosophy were still insightful and passionate, his dark brown pupils showed some turbidity, giving the impression that he was about to burn out.
Manuel couldn't help but go forward and ask about Plethon's health with concern.
The other party, unexpectedly, did not avoid the question but forced a humorous chuckle, then stated that he had something to say to the young Caesar.
"Speak, Your Excellency."
For this old man, who was clearly not long for this world and had a significant impact, Manuel showed more respect and sincerity.
"Actually, there's not much to say," Plethon smiled wearily, "It's just that when this body is about to be called by the Holy Father, I learned of the deeds of a certain young man I had met once, and I felt a bit moved by it.
"Hahaha," at this, the old man surprisingly burst into laughter, "Church union? And at a Council that doesn't conform to doctrine? Have we, the Romans, descendants of the ancient Greeks, really fallen to such a state?"
"But this is a necessary sacrifice," Dionysios, the Metropolitan of Peloponnese, sitting nearby, argued somewhat somberly.
"I know," at this, Plethon's gaze turned cold, and then he looked at the young Caesar, "So, Manuel, thank you for preserving some dignity for the Romans in front of the Latins."
And the Caesar in front of him, after hearing these words, fell into a long silence…
And besides the Romans, there was another group of people carrying out their affairs—
On the morning of February 22, 1440, the harsh winter in Kraków had just passed, and the spring chill was biting.
The heavy iron gate of Wawel Castle was opened, and Queen Mother Sophia, accompanying the King's procession, slowly passed over the moat.
The 16-year-old young King Władysław III, with a rosy complexion, gesticulated as he enthusiastically discussed with his mother the measures he would implement after his coronation in Hungary.
Just as he was speaking excitedly, the fur cloak on the young King's body accidentally slipped off.
The cold wind of the morning struck, making him sneeze repeatedly.
Sophia quickly and gently wiped the King's nose with a handkerchief, then took out a thicker cloak from the accompanying baggage and tied it tightly around her son.
And after the King's body had warmed up a bit, he immediately excitedly drew his sword and brandished it in the air, loudly declaring to the surrounding nobles and servants that this time he would thoroughly deal with those hateful infidels to the southeast!
At the young King's words, the generals and nobles couldn't help but smile, and the servants also covered their faces and chuckled.
But this was not mockery, but tolerance and admiration for the young King's calf-like courage.
As for the Queen Mother, she put on a stern face, stating that His Majesty the King must not rashly enter a dangerous battlefield.
Władysław initially protested but was soon subdued by his mother's authority, reluctantly expressing obedience.
It wasn't until they parted that his mother, with reluctance, called out to her son.
She quickly walked forward, carefully tidied his clothes, and repeatedly admonished him, "When you go to Hungary next, you will be on your own.
In a strange land, do not overly trust the nobles and servants you bring, do not overly rely on the Magyars, and do not just charge recklessly at the enemy with brute force…"
After speaking, his mother lovingly kissed her son on the forehead and cheeks.
And Władysław, with his standard dark brown curly hair, still boyish but handsome and heroic, just pouted, "Don't worry, Mother.
The Lord will protect all warriors who fight for him."
At these words, Sophia couldn't help but frown slightly.
As she was about to say something more, a noble beside her quietly reminded her that the King should depart, interrupting her.
And so, Sophia watched her son skillfully mount a tall brown warhorse, lightly kick its belly, and lead his retinue away in a cloud of dust.
Suddenly, the biting cold wind struck again, actually blowing down the red-backed white eagle banner nearby, and a servant rushed to pick it up.
Sophia seemed to realize something; she suddenly shouted the King's childhood name, and the distant youth immediately stopped his horse and looked back.
Sophia was suddenly speechless; she said nothing, only waved her handkerchief high to bid him farewell.
Seeing this, the youth merely smiled and waved to his mother, then, without looking back, led the King's guard forward, riding into the early spring sunrise.
And Sophia watched, dazed, as the King's procession rode into the distance, until they disappeared over the horizon, merging with the rising sun.