For the first time in living memory, winter came to the valley of Rocca Falcone not as a specter of death, but as a season of quiet, confident prosperity. The great harvest, a bounty that still beggared belief, meant the granaries were filled to overflowing. The rhythmic churn of the new water mill was a constant, reassuring heartbeat in the center of the valley, producing a surplus of fine flour. For the first time, the people had more than enough bread.
Alessandro did not let the season of rest be a season of idleness. With the immediate threat of starvation banished, he turned his boundless energy to the slow, deliberate work of state-building. Teams of men, paid in measures of flour, were put to work improving the road between Rocca Falcone and the newly acquired village of Pietra Secca, turning the rough track into a proper road that would facilitate trade and the movement of his soldiers.
He continued to invest in civic improvements. One team was organized to construct a new stone-lined well in the central courtyard, improving daily life by providing easier access to water. Separately, he focused on developing the skills of his populace. With the new resources, Lorenzo's forge was able to increase its production of new farming tools and other useful household items.
The initial twenty men of the Falcon Guard were now fully equipped, and Alessandro recruited another twenty men from both valleys, expanding his standing force to a formidable forty soldiers. The training ground was never silent, as Marco, now a hardened and respected Centurion in command of the entire guard, drilled the new recruits with the same relentless discipline he had learned from Alessandro.
The valley was an island of improbable growth and order. But Alessandro knew that a prosperous peace was merely the time a wise lord used to sharpen his sword.
In the dead of winter, Marco returned. The man who had left as a disguised merchant returned as a soldier, his eyes sharp with intelligence. He reported to Alessandro's war council—now just Alessandro, Enzo, and Lorenzo—in the tower hall.
"The Baron of Monte San Giovanni is as powerful as they say, my lord," Marco began, his voice low and precise. "His lands are rich, his castle is strong, and his knights are many. Rinaldo's stories of your 'sorcery' have made the common folk fearful, but the merchants and minor lords are more interested in the stories of your wealth."
He unrolled a small map he had sketched on a piece of leather. "But his power has its cracks. To the west of his domain is a minor lord, Orso of Castiglione. The Baron recently forced Lord Orso to give up a daughter in marriage to one of his less reputable knights to settle a border dispute. Orso is said to be deeply resentful, but he is too weak to defy the Baron openly."
Marco's finger then traced a river on the map. "And here is his treasury's heart. The San Giorgio bridge. All trade coming north from the Kingdom of Naples must cross it. The Baron's tolls are heavy, and they make him rich."
Alessandro stared at the map, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Marco had not just brought him information; he had brought him a strategy.
"We cannot attack the Baron's army," Alessandro said, thinking aloud. "So we will attack his wallet and his alliances instead."
His plan, when he unveiled it, was a masterpiece of indirect warfare.
First, he would make a secret overture to the disgruntled Lord Orso. He tasked Bastiano with drafting a careful, formal letter. It would not speak of rebellion or alliance. It would be a simple trade proposal from one minor lord to another, offering to sell a limited quantity of Rocca Falcone's high-quality flour at a price far below the market rate, a gesture of goodwill to a "respected neighbor." It was a baited hook, an offer of friendship and profit designed to build a secret relationship.
Second, he pointed to a series of dotted lines Marco had drawn on the map, a path that snaked through the hills, bypassing the Baron's lands entirely. "This old road," Alessandro said, "is overgrown and forgotten. But it avoids the San Giorgio bridge. If we can make it safe and passable, merchants will flock to it to avoid the Baron's tolls."
While these new plans were being set in motion, Bastiano approached Alessandro with a different kind of alliance in mind. He came bearing a list, a carefully researched catalog of the unmarried daughters of various minor but respectable noble houses in the region.
"My lord, you have secured the fiefdom," the old steward said earnestly. "Now you must secure your line. A strategic marriage would bring new allies, new lands…"
Alessandro took the list, his eyes scanning the names and dowries with the same cool, detached analysis he applied to a map. He saw not women, but assets; not romance, but political calculation. A daughter from House Sforza would bring ties to a family of powerful condottieri. A match with the Orsini could give him a foothold closer to Rome. He made a few notes, much to Bastiano's quiet dismay at his lord's cold pragmatism. The matter of a wife, like all other matters, would be decided by what best served his grand ambition.
The chapter of peaceful consolidation was over. As a trusted messenger carrying a secret letter rode west towards the lands of Lord Orso, another team of men, led by Enzo, headed south with axes and shovels. Their task was to begin the long, arduous work of clearing the forgotten road, a project that would, if successful, wage silent, economic war upon the most powerful man in the region.
The great game has begun in earnest.