The return of Alessandro and the ten soldiers to Rocca Falcone was met with a subdued, anxious pride. News of their victory had preceded them, carried by a breathless runner from the watchtower. When Alessandro gathered his people in the bailey, he saw not just farmers and laborers, but the citizens of a burgeoning state, their faces filled with a new and complex mixture of hope and fear.
"The bandits that threatened our borders are no more," he announced, his voice echoing off the stone keep. "The people of the village of Pietra Secca, who were abandoned by their lord, have asked for our protection. I have accepted their oath of fealty. From this day, they are our people, and their valley is our valley. Our house is now stronger, but our responsibilities are greater."
The announcement was met with a cheer, but it was a cheer tinged with the nervous realization of what this meant. Their world had just grown larger, and more dangerous.
Alessandro immediately set to work managing his expanded domain. The logistics were a daunting challenge. He dispatched a cart with a modest but symbolic offering of grain and salted meat to Pietra Secca, a clear signal that to be under the Falcon's protection meant an end to starvation. He sent a formal message naming Giacomo, the peasant who had first sought his aid, as the Reeve of Pietra Secca—his eyes, ears, and voice in the new territory. A system of runners was established between the two valleys, a vital link for communication and intelligence.
The first piece of intelligence the runners brought back was grim. A traveling tinker, grateful for the now-safe roads, reported that a well-dressed steward with a lion crest had been visiting the minor castles to the south. The steward, undoubtedly Rinaldo, was spreading stories. He spoke of a "boy-sorcerer" at Rocca Falcone who used "devil's machines," of a ruthless ambition that led him to steal the lands of a noble neighbor. Rinaldo was painting him as a heretical warmonger, a narrative designed to isolate him and build a coalition among the fearful local lords.
A war of information had begun, and Alessandro knew he could not let his enemy's version be the only one told.
He summoned Bastiano. "I have a mission for you," he said to the old steward. "You are respected and your words carry the weight of honesty. I need you to travel to Ceprano, and then to the Abbey of San Zaccaria. Speak with the merchants who value safe roads. Speak with Abbot Paolo. Tell them our side of the story. We are not conquerors. We are restorers of order. We answered a plea for justice where a lord had failed his sacred duty. Frame it as a matter of stability, not aggression."
Bastiano, his back straighter with the importance of the task, accepted the diplomatic mission without hesitation.
With the fiefdom's needs expanding, Alessandro also moved to formalize its industrial heart. He met with Lorenzo at the forge, which was now constantly busy, producing tools for the new lands and training the next generation of smiths.
"Your role has grown beyond that of a simple smith, my friend," Alessandro said. "You are the foundation of our strength." He presented the smith with a newly forged iron medallion, stamped with the falcon crest. "I am naming you Master of the Forge of Rocca Falcone, with full authority over all production of iron and wood in my domain. You will answer only to me."
Lorenzo took the medallion, his gruff expression softening for a brief moment. For the first time since his disgrace, he had a formal title, a position of immense respect and authority, granted by a lord who valued his genius. His loyalty, already won, was now cemented in iron.
Weeks passed. Summer settled over the two valleys. The wheat and barley in the fields grew tall, their heads heavy with the promise of the coming harvest. The first stage of Alessandro's grand gamble was on the verge of paying off.
It was then that the next challenge arrived. A lone herald, riding a tired horse but bearing the formal crest of Baron Valli, was granted entry. He unrolled a parchment scroll and, in a thin, reedy voice, read a proclamation full of bluster and fury, accusing Alessandro of illegal occupation and demanding the immediate withdrawal of the Falcon Guard from "his" village of Pietra Secca.
Alessandro listened to the empty threats with a placid expression. Baron Valli was a toothless dog, barking from a distance.
But then, the herald delivered the final, venomous payload.
"Furthermore," the man read, his voice trembling slightly, "in response to this unlawful aggression against a sworn nobleman, my master, the honorable Baron Valli, has dispatched a formal petition for judgment and military aid to your own declared overlord, His Grace, the Bishop of Veroli."
The color drained from Bastiano's face. The matter was no longer a local dispute to be settled with rumors and swords. It had been elevated. Alessandro had been formally accused of breaking feudal law, and the case was now on its way to the court of the one man whose power he could not ignore.