EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Chapter 21: A Vision Beyond Time
🕑 Added 2024-10-18 17:32:16 +0000 UTC
The sun hung low in the sky, draping the rolling hills and olive groves in a golden glow. On the winding road to Glarentza, two riders—George Gemistos Plethon and his young protégé, Bessarion—traveled at a calm pace. Their small entourage of servants and guards followed close behind, horses snorting softly as hooves clopped against the packed earth.
A gentle breeze swept across the countryside, stirring Plethon’s long white beard. His gaze drifted over the landscape with quiet appreciation, as if searching for something in the play of light and shadow. Bessarion, riding at his mentor’s side, finally broke the silence.
“Master,” the younger scholar began, concern mingling with curiosity in his voice, “the Emperor’s enthusiasm for Despot Constantine’s books… do you think they will truly help unify our Church with Rome? The divide has been centuries in the making.”
Bessarion had heard rumor after rumor about efforts to reconcile the Orthodox and Latin churches. Some said it was mere politics; others hoped it might heal old wounds. He wasn’t sure what to believe, but he couldn’t deny the tension that lingered in every theological debate back home.
Plethon exhaled slowly before answering. “His Imperial Majesty believes that producing Latin Bibles and cooperating with the West could be a bridge—one that might help both sides remember what we share rather than what sets us apart. It is bold, yes, but sometimes boldness is the only remedy for wounds long ignored.”
Bessarion nodded, though doubt flickered in his eyes. “Our people cling tightly to their traditions. Many resent the idea of union, especially when it seems forced by foreign pressures.”
“True,” Plethon replied gravely. “When convictions run this deep, fear often follows any call for change. Yet alliances, especially in these perilous times, can be powerful. Constantine and the Emperor both see potential there.”
They continued in silence, passing groves of gnarled olive trees that had weathered centuries of conflict, their roots steadfast in the rocky soil. Bessarion ventured another question after a time.
“May I ask, Master… how do you view Constantine’s plans? Are you inclined to support them?”
A contemplative smile touched Plethon’s lips. “I stand where reason leads, my young friend. Let us see with our own eyes what Glarentza holds. Only then can we judge fairly.”
By dusk, the silhouette of Glarentza’s walls rose on the horizon, stark against the Ionian Sea. The city’s turrets and domes glimmered in the final rays of daylight. The bustle of commerce and life inside those walls seemed to call out across the plains.
“There it is,” Plethon said, pointing with quiet admiration. “A sight indeed. Constantine must be pouring heart and wealth into his domain.”
“It seems… new,” Bessarion observed. “I wonder how his reforms have been received here.”
Plethon nodded. “Change can birth both excitement and unrest. Let us hope we find more of the former.”
At the city gates, they were met by a welcoming party of courtiers and servants. A tall, affable man stepped forward, bowing with practiced grace.
“Master Plethon, Brother Bessarion,” he said warmly. “I am George Sphrantzes, the Despot’s aide. I bring greetings from Despot Constantine. He insists you rest after your journey—he would have you comfortable before any lengthy discussions.”
The travelers were led into the castle and shown to a suite of rooms overlooking the sea. Bessarion lingered by the window, breathing in the briny air. “It feels so different from Mistra,” he murmured.
Plethon joined him, placing a reassuring hand on his pupil’s shoulder. “New lands, new ideas… The world is vast, my boy. Let us rest now; tomorrow, we see what Constantine has wrought.”
The Bookstore and Presses
Morning found Plethon and Bessarion at the castle ramparts, surveying Glarentza as it awakened. Merchants hauled carts to market, fishermen untangled nets by the harbor. The city bustled with an energy that Mistras sometimes lacked.
Before long, Constantine arrived with George Sphrantzes and Theophilus Dragas in tow. “Master Plethon, Brother Bessarion,” the Despot greeted, a keen excitement in his voice. “Thank you for coming. If you’re willing, I’d like to show you our progress in town.”
They wove through narrow streets to a solid building bearing the emblem of Morea Publishing—a stylized “M.” Inside, the scent of parchment, ink, and fresh bindings immediately surrounded them. Constantine gestured proudly to the neat rows of shelves.
“Behold our bookstore,” he said. “Our printing press has enabled us to produce Bibles, treatises, and—soon—Greek texts in quantity.”
Plethon gently lifted a newly bound Bible from a shelf, running a hand over its cover. “Remarkable workmanship,” he noted. “The clarity of the text, the uniformity of each page… this is far beyond the labor of scribes hunched over desks.”
Bessarion remembered the days when a single manuscript took months—or even years—to complete by hand. Now, shelves brimmed with identical tomes. He wondered if this new age of printing might forge unexpected alliances—or if it would sow more discord by spreading ideas too quickly.
Bessarion flipped through another volume, marveling at the crisp lines. “So many copies, all so consistent. It feels… transformative.”
Constantine’s face lit with pride. “Our presses toil day and night. Soon, we plan to expand—more presses, more books, more knowledge shared.”
They moved to the adjoining workshop, where six large printing presses dominated the room like silent guardians of words. Teams of workers carefully arranged metal type, rolled ink, and pressed pages with practiced efficiency.
“By the grace of these machines,” Constantine said, leaning closer to Plethon, “we can spark a renaissance in learning. The Emperor believes spreading knowledge may unite us in ways old arguments could not.”
Plethon’s eyes glimmered. “Knowledge is a beacon, Despot. Handled well, it enlightens. Handled poorly, it can blind. May your endeavor be guided by wisdom.”
Constantine inclined his head in gratitude. “That is my wish as well.”
Dinner and Discourse
A sumptuous feast awaited them in the castle’s banquet hall that evening. Candlelight danced upon polished plates, the aroma of roasted meats and fresh herbs filling the air. Plethon and Bessarion were seated next to Constantine, with George Sphrantzes and Theophilus Dragas nearby.
For a time, the hall hummed with polite conversation and laughter. Then, once the first courses were cleared, talk inevitably shifted toward deeper matters—philosophy, policy, and the uncertain future of their empire.
“Master Plethon,” Constantine began, his tone both respectful and insistent, “your reputation precedes you. I’ve long admired your writings. Would you share some of your thoughts regarding the Morea’s future? Times grow perilous, and I see a need for innovation.”
Plethon set down his goblet, resting his hands gently on the table. “I have spent a lifetime pondering how nations rise and fall, Despot. From the ancient polis to the empires that followed, each has thrived when it honored the wisdom of its people and decayed when it clung blindly to the past. We stand now at a crossroads, threatened by external powers and hobbled by internal divisions. In my view, we must look back not to replicate antiquity but to glean its lessons: the discipline of Sparta, the intellectual vigor of Athens, the administrative acuity of Rome. Yet we must adapt them all to the challenges of this century—new technologies, new enemies, and a religious schism that weighs on our every alliance.”
Constantine nodded thoughtfully. “We have begun training local forces with new methods. I do not claim we invented disciplined formations anew,” he said with a wry smile. “But we refine them—long pikes, coordinated tactics, and the prudent use of modern artillery. The Ottomans are formidable, and we must not be complacent.”
Plethon offered a subtle nod. “Indeed. The Spartans of old remind us that discipline is the bedrock of a steadfast army. Coupled with new weapons, that discipline can be potent. But discipline without wisdom is a sword without a guide.”
Bessarion, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “Master, you’ve also mentioned economic reforms to me in the past—supporting local trade, limiting needless imports. It all seems… ambitious.”
Plethon’s gaze shifted to his protégé. “Ambitious, yes—but necessary. If we rely solely on external powers for goods, we weaken ourselves. I would see us invest in our own craftsmen, our fields, and our merchants. And if the state took a larger hand in land ownership, distributing it more equitably, productivity might rise for all.”
Constantine, clearly captivated, ventured, “And how would the Church receive such changes? Many within it resist novelty and cling to custom.”
Plethon’s expression grew reflective. “Change must not discard piety or reverence for God. But too often, the faithful conflate ancient tradition with immovable dogma. Properly guided, the Church can remain a spiritual shepherd while allowing worldly institutions to adapt.”
With that, the conversation opened further, guests offering questions, Plethon answering with measured eloquence. They spoke of balancing tradition and reform, of the Emperor’s push toward union with Rome, of the uncertain alliances that might result. The hour grew late as ideas and laughter mingled with the soft glow of candles.
Constantine’s eyes remained bright long after dessert was served. He glanced at Plethon, a respectful admiration in his look, as though he recognized a kindred spirit who walked ahead of the times.
A Private Audience
When the feast at last concluded, Constantine invited Plethon to his private chamber. The room, though not ostentatious, held shelves of books, charts of the Morea, and notes on potential fortifications.
Once they were alone, Constantine poured wine into two goblets.
“Master Plethon,” he began quietly, swirling the wine in his cup, “sometimes I feel the weight of the empire’s future on my shoulders. We are hemmed in by enemies on land and sea, and the very faith that once united us now threatens to be a dividing line. I fear that we teeter on the brink of calamity. Our people look to me for answers—yet I am but one man. That is why I need minds like yours.”
Plethon accepted the goblet, swirling the wine thoughtfully. “The future always seems distant—until it arrives. I speak not merely from hopes and dreams, but from a lifetime studying the lessons of old and the potential of tomorrow.”
Constantine gazed out a nearby window, where moonlight traced silver paths over the sea. “The Emperor plans to visit the Morea next year, and there is talk of us journeying to Rome thereafter. Yet I place little faith in empty promises of aid. We must stand on our own feet.”
Plethon sipped his wine, nodding gently. “You see clearly. Still, demonstrating willingness to seek union can bolster alliances—even if they prove fickle. Political gestures, however hollow they may seem, can delay worse outcomes.”
A silence fell between them, the night beyond the window a quiet mirror to their thoughts. Eventually, Constantine spoke again.
“I would have you by my side, Master,” he said earnestly. “Permanently. Glarentza needs minds like yours—brave enough to break old molds and wise enough to do so with care. Will you consider taking up residence here?”
Plethon set down the goblet, the offer clearly stirring him. “You honor me, Despot. I have found much here that aligns with my own visions. Let me reflect upon it. You shall have my answer soon.”
Constantine inclined his head. “I ask only that you consider it with the same honesty and clarity you bring to all things.”
Departure and Decision
After a few days of discussion and observation, Plethon and Bessarion set out from Glarentza. They rode at a leisurely pace, the morning sun revealing rolling farmland and distant mountains. The city they left behind glimmered by the shore, a place of possibility and restless energy.
Bessarion ventured a glance at his mentor. “Master, you seem unusually quiet. Has this visit changed your mind about anything?”
Plethon looked back at Glarentza, a gentle, almost wistful smile on his lips. “I have long held that we must reshape our society from within. Despot Constantine, I sense, truly hungers for renewal. His domain breathes possibility.”
Bessarion studied his teacher’s face, seeing both hope and resolve in those wizened features. “Then… you’ll accept his invitation?”
“I will,” Plethon replied, his voice firm. “Constantine’s openness is rare among rulers. With him, we might set foundations for a future in which knowledge triumphs over ignorance, and unity over discord. I wish to be part of that.”
Bessarion’s expression brightened. “I’m glad, Master. I shall gladly accompany you, if you’ll have me. There’s much I hope to learn in a place so devoted to books and forward thinking.”
Plethon placed a reassuring hand on Bessarion’s shoulder. “Your insight and diligence will be needed more than ever, my young friend. Let us embrace this challenge. The path ahead will not be easy—change never is—but perhaps it will lead us to a brighter horizon.”
They continued their ride, the road winding toward Mistra under the clear sky. Behind them, Glarentza stood as a beacon of fresh beginnings, and before them, the uncertain span of an empire in flux. Yet as the horses trotted onward, Plethon felt a quiet certainty in his heart. If there was a place and a time to sow the seeds of his vision, it was here in the Morea, where old glories still lingered and a new age might yet be born.
Comments
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter! That sounds similar to either the "true marxist vision of a socialist utopia" or a very centralized society in the style of ancient Azteks and across history China for some centuries as well... Though of course no society ever quiete managed to find the "perfect way to balance inner strength with socialism, culture, innovation, trade and outer strength" otherwise they would still be here XD
Gabriel Melnik
About the concept of centralized and strong governments, it isn't a modern thing, in the era of antiquity, centralized and massive armies dominated the geopolitical sphere, and it all dwindled mostly due to a mix of infighting, disease and the sacking of Rome caused the medieval ages. But large scale conflicts and large governments duking it out like in the world wars aren't a modern thing, the modern concepts came mostly on how they were fought, and for how long they were remembered. Also his ideas about implementing barter is bollocks.
Gabriel Melnik
I feel like mentions to Alexander the great would make more sense.
RENAISSANSE SI
You are indeed correct that the Spartans and most Greek city-states traditionally used shorter spears in their phalanx formations, rather than the long pikes that were later introduced by the Macedonians under Philip II. The reference to Spartans using pikes was intended merely as an illustrative example by Constantine.
Skruffy
As far as I know, the spartans(the greeks in general) were never known to use pikes in their tactics. It was mostly a Macedonian thing. Plus the spartans were never that good.
