EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Chapter 22: Storms on the Horizon
🕑 Added 2024-10-21 20:52:05 +0000 UTCThe late afternoon sun bathed the citadel of Mystras in a golden hue, but inside the stone walls of Despot Theodore's council chamber, a chill pervaded the air. Paintings depicting Orthodox saints adorned the walls, their solemn gazes casting a judgmental eye over the gathered men.
At the head of a long oak table sat Despot Theodore, his fingers steepled under his chin, eyes narrowed in contemplation. Around him stood his closest confidants: Alexios, his shrewd advisor; Father Damianos and Father Grigorios, fervent anti-unionist priests; and Lord Demetrios, a loyal nobleman.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and a weary messenger entered, bowing deeply.
“My honored Despot, the men you sent to Glarentza have returned,” he said, voice subdued. “They insist their tidings cannot wait.”
“Bring them before me,” Theodore commanded, his voice measured but tinged with impatient undercurrents.
Two men stepped forward, their cloaks travel-worn and faces shadowed by fatigue. The first, Andreas, inclined his head respectfully.
“Despot Theodore,” he began, “we come laden with serious tidings.”
“Speak, and waste no time,” Theodore said curtly, his words clipped.
Andreas exchanged a glance with his companion before beginning. “Despot Constantine’s endeavors have outstripped our initial fears. Not only does he continue to print Latin Bibles without restraint, but he also prepares to release a Greek version. And he has established a grand store in Glarentza, openly selling these books. The populace isn’t merely curious—they seem downright eager.”
Father Damianos leaned forward, his tone hovering between indignation and awe. “He brazenly peddles Latin texts in a public shop? Even the audacity of it is a travesty.”
“Yes, Father,” Andreas confirmed. “I’ve never seen such brazenness. The building is large, busy, and arranges these Bibles for display as though they were common trinkets. Latin traders swarm the place, almost as if it’s a shrine to heresy.”
Father Grigorios shook his head. “Such impudence is staggering. He has twisted mere commerce into a weapon against the truth.”
“The populace welcomes this?” Theodore’s voice edged with incredulity, his eyes narrowing as he searched Andreas’s face for any hint of exaggeration.
“They flock to it, my Despot,” Andreas said, tone grave. “For many, the clink of coins drowns out the chime of church bells. Prosperity has a knack for soothing any pangs of conscience.”
Theodore’s jaw tightened. “Gold’s been an orator more compelling than any sermon,” he muttered, more to himself than to those gathered. “Constantine seems to know it well, brandishing coin like a blade.”
Father Damianos frowned deeply. “So the heresy is not only rising—it’s running rampant.”
“There’s more,” Andreas continued, his tone growing graver. “Constantine is amassing a professional army. He’s recruiting disciplined troops, training them relentlessly, and equipping them with long pikes. He’s also commissioning multiple cannons—far more than we first presumed. While we were in Glarentza, we heard their thunderous tests echoing across the harbor.”
A palpable tension gripped the room. Theodore’s eyes darkened. “An army with cannons?” he repeated, voice taut with suspicion. “What does my brother imagine he’ll achieve with such ferocity?”
Andreas exchanged a wary glance with his companion, Marcus. “He professes it’s purely for safeguarding the Hexamilion Wall against the Ottomans. Yet with how swiftly his preparations are growing, some suspect larger goals.”
Alexios leaned forward. “So, he is profiting handsomely from this printing venture, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Andreas confirmed. “Those Latin translations are bringing in significant revenue. He’s leveraging that gold to fund his military expansions.”
Theodore’s jaw hardened. “So he’s coalescing every form of leverage: money, armed strength, and the hearts of the people through these so-called ‘printed bibles.’”
Andreas interjected, “Our sympathizers there are fading fast, my Despot. The promise of thriving trade and wealth has turned more heads than any sermon could. And after the failed sabotage attempt, Constantine has heightened security around his workshops. Our agents find it harder each day to gather news—let alone act.”
Theodore rose from his seat, pacing the length of the chamber. “And the local clergy? Has not a single voice risen to condemn this blasphemy?”
“Some do,” Andreas acknowledged. “A handful of anti-unionist bishops and monasteries have publicly denounced the Latin texts and the forthcoming Greek version. They deliver sermons warning the faithful. But their words vanish beneath the influence of the bishop in Glarentza—clearly under Constantine’s favor—who preaches the merits of unification. He even lauds these new books.”
Marcus added, “Despot, we also have word that Master Plethon is arranging to move permanently to Glarentza, ostensibly to prepare for the Emperor’s visit. His influence will only fortify Constantine’s position.”
Theodore stopped pacing, anger and concern warring in his expression. “Plethon is a dangerous man—his radical doctrines imperil the pillars of our world. Aligned with Constantine, he could beguile Emperor and commoner alike. To think I once counted him among my own advisors…”
A heavy silence enveloped the chamber as Theodore returned to his seat. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, eyes narrowing as his thoughts turned inward. The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound, its flames casting flickering shadows that danced across his brooding expression.
“Despot,” Alexios ventured cautiously, “we must consider the possibility that Constantine’s military buildup isn’t only for the Ottomans.”
Father Grigorios leaned in. “You fear he may eventually turn those pikes and cannons upon us?”
“It is more than a fear,” Theodore admitted. “He has sent a letter suggesting we unite to protect the Hexamilion Wall, but to me, it smells like a ploy. Should we commit too many of our own forces, Mystras might stand unguarded.”
Lord Demetrios, who had been silent until now, inclined his head. “What will you have us do, my Lord? The Ottoman threat is real, yet we cannot leave ourselves bare to a blade in the dark.”
“We tread on treacherous ground,” Theodore mused, his gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. “Bolster our defenses within Mystras. Summon loyal forces from the provinces, but quietly. If Constantine bears ill will, let him meet a fortress, not a helpless target.”
Alexios nodded. “Shall we risk informing the Emperor of these troubling developments? He may not realize how thoroughly Constantine is entrenching himself.”
Theodore gave a heavy sigh. “My elder brother has always favored Constantine. Any cautionary word from me might be dismissed as simple jealousy.”
“Perhaps,” Father Damianos ventured softly, “if we present our worries as devotion to the empire’s welfare, emphasizing the perils of allowing such might to gather under a single banner…”
“You suggest appealing to the Emperor’s sense of duty over brotherly love,” Theodore said, eyes narrowed. “A cunning suggestion. Yet it is a fine line—one misstep, and he’ll see my motives as suspect.”
The chamber grew quiet once more. Theodore’s mind churned with possibilities, each more troubling than the last.
“Despot,” Father Grigorios began hesitantly, his fingers nervously twisting the beads of his komboskini, “permit me to speak plainly?”
Theodore’s gaze settled on the priest, a flicker of annoyance and curiosity playing across his stern features. “Speak,” he allowed.
Grigorios glanced around the dimly lit chamber, the shadows casting long, ominous shapes on the walls. “There is… one more path we might consider, a swift end to Constantine’s threat. A more direct solution.”
All eyes turned to Grigorios. Theodore’s gaze sharpened. “Your meaning is clear—you speak of extinguishing my own brother.”
Father Grigorios bowed his head slightly. “It grieves me, but yes. If Constantine were removed, his ambitious projects would likely stall. And in that vacuum, the people might awaken to their peril.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Father Damianos shifted uncomfortably. “Yet that path is bristling with mortal and eternal dangers. We must weigh the damnation upon our souls.”
Theodore held up a hand to silence him. “I’m no fool to the gravity of murder. But we stand at a fork in the road—inaction may reap even greater ruin.”
Alexios leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Should we follow such a route, it demands an assassin’s hand guided by absolute cunning. Any hint of failure would be… catastrophic.”
He glanced toward the heavy doors, ensuring they remained sealed against prying ears. His words lingered in the stifled air, each syllable dropping like a stone.
Lord Demetrios added, “And with Glarentza bristling with watchful guards, it’s no easy feat.”
Theodore pressed his temples. “I am not entirely convinced we must go that far—yet. But we must be prepared to consider all strategies. Alexios, begin discreet inquiries. Learn where we might slip through the cracks of Constantine’s defenses or find a disaffected ally in his midst.”
Alexios nodded gravely. “It shall be done, my Despot.”
A heavy hush descended once again as Theodore sank back into his chair, weighing the burden of dark possibilities against the threat mounting beyond Mystras’s walls.
Reflections in Glarentza
The soft breeze from the hills of Elis drifted through the open windows of Constantine's private study in Clermont Castle, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and olive groves.
Outside, the rugged landscape of the Morea stretched out beneath the fading sunlight. In the distance, the mountains rose like silent sentinels, guarding the land that Constantine now sought to unify under his vision of a stronger empire.
His eyes shifted toward the lands stretching between Clermont Castle and Glarentza, where the foundations of his plans were slowly but steadily taking shape. Not far from the castle, he could make out the construction of the new barracks, their wooden walls rising to house the professional soldiers he was gathering. Closer still, the arsenal was being expanded, prepared to produce more cannons and weapons that would defend his realm. Further down the road, toward Glarentza, stood the printing press warehouse—like a silent beacon of progress—where hundreds of Latin Bibles had already been produced and where soon, the Greek Bibles would roll off the presses, tools of both knowledge and power.
The sight filled Constantine with a deep sense of satisfaction. His vision for the empire was becoming reality brick by brick. It wasn't just the barracks or the weapons that gave him confidence—it was the slow, steady rise of something far more significant. These were the cornerstones of a new order, one built on knowledge and strength.
Inside the room, maps adorned the walls alongside sketches of innovative machinery and notes on military formations.
Reflecting on Plethon's recent visit, Constantine felt invigorated. The philosopher's ideas about revitalizing society through ancient Hellenic wisdom had ignited a spark within him. It’s like witnessing the dawn of the Renaissance firsthand, he thought with a mix of awe and excitement. Plethon's encouragement validated not only his aspirations to transform the empire but also his secret hope to alter the course of history itself.
Plethon's support for his military innovations further bolstered his confidence.
He pondered Plethon's idea of a centralized government under a strong monarch. While he respected his brother Emperor John VIII, he wondered if John possessed the vision and resolve necessary for such transformative leadership.
Perhaps when he arrives next year, we can align our ambitions, Constantine considered. Together, we could usher in a new era for the empire.
Later that day, Constantine convened a meeting with his closest advisors in the council chamber. The council meetings had become more frequent over the past months, reflecting the growing urgency of Constantine's plans and the changing political landscape. Seated around the large wooden table were George Sphrantzes, his trusted confidant; Theophilus Dragas; and Petros, the steward.
“Thank you all for coming,” Constantine began. “We have much to discuss.”
George leaned forward, his sharp gaze betraying both respect and a quiet scrutiny. “We await your counsel, Despot. Tell us how we can best serve your vision.”
Constantine’s gaze shifted toward Theophilus. “What is the status of the Greek Bible? How soon can we begin distribution?”
Theophilus dipped his head, speaking with the careful composure of a scholar. “The first copies are nearly complete. Within a month, nearly one hundred copies will be complete. The presses have run night and day—each page examined meticulously to ensure precision.”
A note of fulfillment touched Constantine's voice as he continued. “Good. Fifty of those first hundred copies will be given as gifts to local priests and monasteries. We need them to see our commitment to Orthodoxy and begin spreading the message among the people.”
Theophilus allowed himself a modest smile. “A deft move, Despot. By sharing these volumes first with the clergy, we reaffirm our respect for tradition. This will help quiet rumors that we seek to undermine our own faith.”
Constantine nodded, a calculated smile touching his lips. “Indeed. The Greek Bible will silence many doubts.”
This should help quell the naysayers, Constantine thought. Funny how access to the scriptures can shift power dynamics. If only they knew the revolutions that literacy sparked in my time.
“By equipping the clergy with these texts, we reinforce our commitment to our faith,” he continued aloud, masking his modern ambitions behind pious intentions. “The anti-unionist priests will no longer have the excuse of the Latin Bibles—they will see that we are not abandoning the faith, but strengthening it.”
Theophilus rested his hands on the table in a measured gesture. “We might also reach out to these bishops directly, open a respectful discourse, and address their suspicions face to face.”
“An excellent tactic,” George affirmed, his voice low but certain. “Extending an olive branch may prompt some to reconsider their hostility.”
Theophilus’s expression darkened slightly. “Even so, we have troubling reports: certain bishops and monastic houses in the Morea have declared the Latin editions outright heretical. They rally the people against any notion of union.”
Petros frowned. “Despot, all signs point to Despot Theodore orchestrating this. His reputation for opposing unification isn’t idle talk—he’s deliberately fueling the unrest.”
“Indeed,” George said, his gaze flicking to Constantine as though gauging his reaction. “He prods the clergy and monasteries, hoping to thwart your progress. The attempted sabotage at the presses was no rogue act. Theodore’s hand guided it, I’m sure.”
Constantine sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice. “Theodore… He stands behind every whisper of discord. But we’ll not act rashly. The emperor comes next year, and John has little patience for Theodore’s intransigence. We’ll handle this carefully.”
He paused, his expression hardening. “In the meantime, we cannot let internal schemes distract us. The Ottomans remain the gravest threat. Our defenses must come first. Theodore’s meddling is dangerous, but a robust military and a fortified city will leave him little room to undermine us.”
Constantine’s gaze swept the table, voice growing resolute. “And once our army is ready, we’ll have more freedom to resolve matters with Theodore—if it becomes unavoidable.”
He reached for a parchment. “On another note, I’ve received news from my brother Thomas.”
Unfolding the letter, he read aloud: “Thomas has besieged Centurione in Chalandritsa. The Baron surrendered under siege, and Thomas secured a treaty: Centurione’s daughter, Catherine, will marry him, making Thomas the heir to Achaea. Centurione keeps a castle in Arcadia.”
A satisfied murmur rippled around the table.
“This is significant,” Theophilus said, the scholarly edge returning to his tone. “With Achaea under firm imperial control, we remove another obstacle to true unity in the Morea—Venetian possessions aside.”
“Thomas also reports that he can send reinforcements to the Hexamilion early next year,” Constantine added.
George nodded, wearing a slight, approving smile. “That’s a welcome boon. Fresh troops at the Hexamilion will be a strong deterrent.”
“Good,” Constantine said, satisfaction evident. “We must be ready for any foe, especially with the Ottomans prowling.”
He glanced around the room again. “I want to talk about our broader economy. The Bible sales have bolstered our treasury, but relying too heavily on one source is unwise. Glarentza’s population is swelling faster than anticipated. Food demand is outpacing our current capacity.”
Petros, thoughtful as ever, dipped his head. “Despot, expanding our grain mills is prudent. With more mills, we can process enough grain to feed the growing populace and bolster trade.”
“Precisely,” Constantine agreed, leaning forward. “Yet that alone won’t suffice. We should send observers westward to study new techniques—agricultural practices, improved water systems, anything that might give us an edge. If it works, we adopt it. Strengthening our artisans, trade routes, and ensuring food security are all paramount.”
Petros offered a small, respectful grin. “It will resonate with the people, my lord. Hunger is the quickest path to dissent, but prosperity fosters loyalty.”
Constantine met his gaze. “Exactly. Prosperity keeps the realm united in more ways than one. We remain vigilant, not merely in arms but in the well-being of our people.”
That evening, cloaked in the quiet solitude of his study, Constantine sat at the ornate wooden desk, parchment unfurled before him. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated his determined expression. Dipping the quill into the inkwell, he began to write. Dear Brother Thomas, he penned, each letter a deliberate stroke. Strange how writing a simple letter can feel like navigating a minefield without autocorrect, he thought wryly.
Dear Brother Thomas,
I received your message with great joy. Your success in securing Achaea strengthens our position immeasurably. I congratulate you on your upcoming marriage to Catherine and the unification of our territories.
Your offer to send reinforcements to the Hexamilion Wall is most welcome. Together, we can fortify our defenses and present a united front against any who would threaten us.
I look forward to your wedding. There is much we can accomplish together. Our combined efforts can usher in a new era of strength and prosperity for the Morea and the empire.
Your brother,
Constantine
He sealed the letter with his signet ring and summoned a courier to deliver it promptly.
Comments
Gabriel Melnik
No, you are wrong, and what you are forgetting is that capitalism isn't just a economic model, but a revamp of the social environment as well, for example, before clocks were a thing most of the workforce performed an intermittent model where people did 6 hours of actual work on a fast day, and 4 hours in a slow day, and everything changed when workplaces begun to implement both factories and clocks, so instead of the old itinerary, people were forced to do 10-12 hours shift, and anyone who arrived one minute late was fined by the government with a whole moth of pay. Capitalism isn't just about money, but built on increasing the wealth yearly as much as possible while also choosing who gets wealthier than the rest by implementing laws and regulations. Just industrialization without financial and economical institutions geared towards handling the surplus of stuff will net you a failed state like the Soviet union. For an industrialized society to function, you need worker running the rat race, and if you do not target that and implement industrial improvements, then the people will work maybe 2 to 4 hours a day while your pockets doesn't get heavy enough to fund the state.
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter!
Gopard
Socialist states could have done the same thing though... It also wasn't nearly the same capitalism we have today, but much more strictly regulated with nobles and royalty having a large amount of influence and the state as well... Honestly as long as the "ruler" of a centralized state WANTS and KNOWS WHAT to implement where new technologies are concerned it will happen much more efficiently than capitalist society could do it. Constantine knows what to invest in and since byzantine is so far behind basically everyone around them particularly mamluks, Ottomans and Venice, they aren't likely to fall into huge corruption etc with the literal nations existance at stake.
Gabriel Melnik
I feel like forsaking capitalistic ideals and modus operandi as a ruler is folly, given it gave birth to the industrial revolution.
