EMPIRE REWRITTEN
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Chapter 12: Wheels in Motion
🕑 Added 2024-10-07 15:50:49 +0000 UTCClermont, May 1429
In the newly established arsenal near Clermont Castle, George Sphrantzes gathered a small, handpicked group of trusted artisans and blacksmiths. The air was thick with the scent of burning charcoal, and the soft glow of molten metal flickered off the stone walls. These men had been carefully chosen for their skills, discretion, and, most importantly, their loyalty to the Despot.
Many of the artisans had come from Constantinople, fleeing the constant Ottoman's threat, and had been personally recruited by George for this secretive project. Elias, the renowned bellmaker, had worked on some of the finest church bells in the empire before the siege forced him southward. Others, like Markos, had been recruited from the local workshops in the Glarentza—men with reputations for precision in metalwork and the forging of ceremonial pieces. They all knew what was at stake: the creation of weapons that could decide the fate of the empire.
But with such a critical task came the burden of secrecy. George glanced around the forge, his sharp gaze falling on each man. He was not a man to take chances. Unbeknownst to the artisans, George had placed several loyal servants—spies, in truth—among the workers. These men, though they appeared to be ordinary servants carrying out routine tasks, were tasked with watching the artisans closely, tracking their movements, noting who they met and what they spoke of outside the arsenal.
George had been clear: anyone caught leaking information would face swift and certain death.
“The work we do here,” George began, his voice low and firm, “is vital to our survival. The Despot himself has entrusted us with this responsibility, and with that trust comes a price.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the group. “None of you will speak of what happens here. Not to your families, not to your fellow tradesmen. What we build here must remain hidden until the time is right.”
He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. “Understand this—any man who betrays our work, who dares speak even a word to those outside these walls, will meet his end swiftly. There are eyes on each of you, and there will be no second chances.”
The room fell silent. The artisans exchanged uneasy glances, but none spoke. Each man knew that George’s threat was no idle one. Whispers of betrayal had been silenced before, quietly, and word had spread of how little patience George had for disloyalty.
Nikolaos, standing by the anvil, finally broke the silence. He ran a hand over the rough surface of a bronze barrel, frowning. “This bronze,” he murmured, “it is too brittle. It cannot withstand the pressure required for a hand weapon. It may serve well enough for cannons, but for the smaller hand ones—this will not do.”
---
By the end of June, the arsenal and the "Morea" Publishing Company, along with a new cotton fabric workshop and a couple of watermill-powered paper mills, were bustling with activity. Over four hundred people were employed across these enterprises, all under Michael's diligent oversight. To manage these complex operations, he established a bureaucracy and logistics department staffed by twenty capable individuals, mostly learned monks.
Economic strains, though, were inevitable with such rapid expansion. One afternoon, Michael sat hunched over a ledger, the numbers blurring before his eyes. He contemplated seeking a loan from his brother Thomas or foreign traders. The thought weighed heavily on him.
Just then, a messenger arrived with a letter bearing a familiar seal. Michael's heart tightened as he read the news: his father-in-law, Carlo I Tocco, had passed away, succeeded by his nephew, Carlo II Tocco.
He set the letter down slowly, the implications swirling in his mind. The loss was personal, but it also carried political weight.
"Are you alright, my Despot?” A servant asked softly, noticing the pallor of Michael's face.
Michael forced a nod. "Yes, just... need a moment”
He rose and made his way to the balcony overlooking the village. The streets below seemed distant as he contemplated how to break the news to Theodora and what this change might mean for their alliances.
---
Late July brought a turn of fortune. Michael's efforts began to bear fruit. Cotton fabrics were successfully exported to the Republic of Ragusa, fetching higher prices than anticipated. At the same time, the paper produced by the mills—exceptional for the era—caught the eye of a Venetian trader named Lorenzo, who was visiting Glarentza. He was so impressed by their quality that he even placed an additional order for the following year. The revenue from these deals and a loan from a Genoese trader helped sustain the enterprises in the following months.
---
By September's end, the first copies of the Latin Bible emerged from the presses of "Morea" Publishing. The achievement was met with widespread acclaim—it was a genuinely historic moment.
Michael hosted a grand gathering in the hall of his castle to celebrate and promote this milestone, inviting traders from Venice and Genoa. The room was adorned with tapestries and lit by chandeliers, creating an atmosphere of both warmth and grandeur. Servants moved gracefully among the guests, offering fine wine and delicacies.
As the traders examined the Bibles laid out on display tables, their fingers traced the crisp, uniform pages. The books were bound in quality leather and embossed with intricate designs.
As Alessandro flipped through the pages, Michael noticed his eyes widen in surprise. 'Every page is identical in perfection,' Alessandro remarked.
Michael approached with a welcoming smile. "We have developed a new method—printing," he explained. "It allows us to produce books with unprecedented consistency and efficiency."
Michael noticed Alessandro’s eyes narrow as he flipped through the Bible. Nearby, a Genoese trader, Marco, joined them, cradling a Bible in his hands. 'The size of these volumes is remarkable,' Marco said, running his fingers over the cover."
Michael nodded. “A smaller, more affordable Bible means that more people can own one."
Marco looked up from the Bible, his brow furrowed slightly. 'You are not only a man of vision but of commerce, Despot Constantine. I would be interested in securing several copies for my patrons if the price is right.'
Within a month, all sixty copies were sold at thirty gold ducats each, providing a much-needed influx of funds. The traders departed, marveling at the compact format of the books—so different from the oversized, handcrafted volumes they were accustomed to. Word of the revolutionary printing method began to spread across the Mediterranean, hinting at the profound impact that was yet to come.
---
Meanwhile, the arsenal focused on producing prototypes of muskets and cannons. It quickly became apparent that crafting a functional musket was far more challenging than anticipated. The intricate mechanisms required precision engineering and materials that strained their capabilities.
In the foundry, George Sphrantzes stood with Elias and the blacksmith, Nikolaos, examining a prototype musket laid out on a workbench cluttered with tools and metal shavings.
Elias shook his head as he gestured toward the musket. “The touch hole is misaligned, and the barrel won't withstand the pressure of the powder,” he said, his voice strained. “These weapons could endanger us more than the enemy if we cannot ensure safety.”
Nikolaos added, "Even if we solve these issues, the time and resources required to produce each hand weapon are prohibitive. We would need an army of artisans and blacksmiths.
George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps our efforts are better spent elsewhere. What progress have we made with the cannons?"
Elias face brightened slightly. "The bronze casting techniques we adapted for the cannons yield better results. The latest cannon mold is ready for testing."
George nodded. "Very well. Let us proceed with caution. We cannot afford more losses.
After a couple of failed attempts—tragically resulting in the deaths of two workers during testing—the first bronze cannon, named Drakos, was successfully cast and tested. The memory of the accidents weighed heavily on them, a stark reminder of the dangers inherent in their work.
On the day of the test, Michael joined George and the artillery crew on a field outside Clermont. The cannon stood proudly on its custom two-wheeled cart, its bronze surface gleaming in the sunlight. A crew of three stood ready.
George approached Michael, his expression somber. "We have taken every precaution, my Despot. The cannon has been tested thoroughly."
Michael nodded. "Let us proceed."
The crew loaded the nine-pounder with powder and shot, tamping it down carefully. They ignited the fuse, and everyone stepped back, holding their breath.
A thunderous boom echoed across the field as Drakos roared to life. The cannonball soared through the air, striking the target with a resounding impact.
Cheers erupted from the assembled workers. Michael felt a surge of triumph mixed with solemn respect for the power they had unleashed.
Michael saw George turn to him, a rare smile crossing his usually somber face. It had been hard-won, the result of sleepless nights, failures, and the loss of lives.
''A formidable weapon,'' George said.
"Indeed," Michael agreed. "It may very well tip the scales in battles to come.”
George nodded gravely. "We shall continue to refine the design, ensuring reliability and safety."
Michael placed a hand on George's shoulder. "See to it that our men are well-trained in its use.”
---
The influx of economic activity over the last year did not go unnoticed by the common folk. People slowly began to arrive in Glarentza and Andravida from the surrounding regions, drawn by the promise of steady work and the hope of a better life. The once-quiet streets now saw a constant flow of carts and foot traffic as merchants, laborers, and craftsmen mingled, sharing news and bartering goods.
Even from the prosperous city of Patras, families made their way South, resettling on the outskirts of Glarentza. Over a hundred households now dotted the landscape where fields had once stood empty. Simple homes and modest workshops began to appear, the sounds of construction blending with the distant hum of the town’s growing workshops. Farmers found new buyers for their produce as the demand for grain, wool, and timber increased with each passing week.
The streets, though still modest compared to great cities like Constantinople, buzzed with a quiet energy. New workshops and small markets began to emerge, catering to the needs of the expanding population. Children ran through the narrow alleyways, and the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat wafted from makeshift stalls.
It wasn’t a transformation yet, but the unmistakable feeling of growth existed. The weight of uncertainty that had long hung over Glarentza and the whole of Elis region, seemed to lift just a little. Where once there had been despair, now there was work to be done, and for many, that was enough.
From the balcony of his castle, Michael watched the activity below with a sense of guarded satisfaction. The foundations were laid, but the road ahead remained uncertain. Still, for the first time in a long while, there was a glimmer of something more—a future that might hold promise if only they could keep pushing forward.
