Chapter 197: ER26
Chapter 26: Prosperity or Peril
Glarentza, early 1431
The soft light of dawn filtered through the tall windows of the newly constructed Morea Publishing headquarters in Glarentza. The building, an expansion of the original bookstore, stood as a testament to the town's transformation over the past two years. Once a quiet coastal settlement, Glarentza had blossomed into a burgeoning center of trade and learning. Its streets buzzed with the footsteps of merchants, the chatter of scholars, and the rhythmic hammering of artisans—all drawn by the promise of innovation and prosperity that radiated from the heart of Constantine's endeavors.
In a spacious chamber lined with shelves of freshly bound books, Constantine sat at the head of a long oak table. The room, designated as the council chamber, exuded an air of purpose and ambition. Around him sat his newly formed Morea Publishing Council: the venerable philosopher Plethon, the insightful monk and Plethon assistant Bessarion, Theophilus Dragas—the overseer of the Morea Company—and Petros, who had effectively become his finance minister.
Plethon, who had settled permanently in Glarentza just weeks prior, adjusted his robes. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he gazed around the room. "Despot Constantine," he began, his voice resonant with a blend of wisdom and passion, "your vision here is not merely remarkable; it is transformative. To witness the convergence of ancient wisdom and modern innovation warms this old philosopher's heart."
Bessarion nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, Master Plethon. The harmony between the scribes, printers, and artisans reflects a unity of purpose that is both rare and inspiring. Despot, you've cultivated an environment where knowledge flourishes."
Constantine offered a modest smile. "I am grateful for your kind words. Yet, we've achieved such progress through the collective effort and shared dedication of all present. When merit is recognized over lineage, when ideas are valued over titles, great things become possible."
Theophilus leaned forward, unrolling a paper filled with meticulous figures. "Our production capacity has more than doubled with the addition of the new presses," he reported pragmatically. "We've produced substantial quantities of the Latin and Greek Bibles and the new Latin and Greek Psalters. And soon, we will commence printing Plato's Dialogues."
Constantine tapped the table thoughtfully. "The inclusion of a luxurious Latin edition of Plato's Dialogues is a masterstroke. Master Plethon, your contributions have been invaluable. Western Europe longs for direct access to the wisdom of our ancestors; this could ignite a renaissance of classical thought."
Plethon's eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and humility. "Despot, seeing Plato's teachings find new life brings me profound joy. By disseminating these texts, we do more than meet a demand—we rekindle the very spirit of Hellenic philosophy. Perhaps we might guide others toward a greater understanding of truth and virtue through this."
"Moreover," Bessarion added gently, his voice measured, "this endeavor may serve as a bridge between East and West. By sharing our philosophical heritage, we foster dialogue and mutual respect, which could, in time, lead to a deeper unity—not just of intellect, but of spirit."
Petros pointed to the sales projections, his expression a blend of caution and optimism. "If the spring trading season unfolds as anticipated, we could see profits exceeding thirty thousand gold ducats in the initial months alone."
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the room.
"Such resources would significantly bolster our capacity for future projects," Theophilus observed, ever the pragmatist. "However, we must address a pressing concern—the sustainability of our cotton supply for paper production. Once again, our current sources may not suffice as demand grows."
Constantine steepled his fingers, contemplating. "An astute point, Theophilus. To ensure continuity, we need a more reliable supply chain. Establishing trade agreements with cotton producers in new markets is crucial. Diversifying our sources will mitigate the risk of shortages."
"An insightful approach," Plethon agreed, his tone reflective. "Additionally, we might explore expanding the cultivation of alternative yarns locally. Flax or hemp could serve as viable substitutes, lessening our dependence on imported cotton and fostering self-sufficiency."
"Your wisdom is, as always, invaluable, Master Plethon," Constantine replied. "While the Morea may not favor large-scale cotton cultivation, improving agricultural techniques could enhance yields of other suitable crops. Innovation in one area begets progress in others."
At that moment, a messenger entered quietly, bowing before handing a sealed letter to Theophilus. Breaking the wax seal, he scanned the contents, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"Despot, esteemed council members," Theophilus announced. "Our negotiations with Ragusa have borne fruit. They've granted us a ten-year monopoly to establish a permanent bookstore in their city."
"Excellent news," Constantine said, his eyes lighting up with strategic interest. "Ragusa's position is pivotal. It opens avenues not just into the Adriatic but into the heart of Europe itself."
"Indeed," Bessarion interjected, his gaze contemplative. "This could serve as a gateway for our works to reach even further shores. We might consider establishing footholds in other key cities—Venice, Florence, Rome. Each is a beacon of culture and learning."
Plethon stroked his beard thoughtfully. "While the prospect is enticing, we must tread with caution. The Italian states are fiercely protective of their markets. Venice, in particular, may view our expansion as encroachment. They currently procure our books in bulk; we wouldn't want to disrupt that valuable relationship."
Constantine leaned forward, his gaze steady and resolute. "Your caution is warranted, Master Plethon. Yet, we must balance prudence with ambition. There's another avenue to consider—the Papacy has expressed interest in acquiring large quantities of our works. Securing a special arrangement could amplify our reach exponentially."
A thoughtful silence settled over the room.
"The Papacy?" Theophilus mused, weighing the implications. "Such a deal could yield immense benefits, both financially and in terms of influence. However, it also places us amidst the complex interplay of ecclesiastical politics."
"Precisely," Constantine acknowledged. "But consider the impact—tens of thousands of books disseminated throughout Christendom, shaping minds and fostering knowledge, not to mention the enormous financial gains."
Bessarion raised a measured hand. "Despot, might I suggest we consider the broader implications? The Emperor's efforts toward church unification are delicate. Our actions could either support or inadvertently hinder his endeavors. Perhaps coordination is advisable."
Constantine considered his words carefully. "A valid point, Bessarion. Yet, time is a commodity we may not have in abundance. While we remain mindful of my brother's plans, we must also act decisively to secure our position."
"Your vision is both bold and necessary," Petros interjected, his tone firm. "But we must ensure that any agreements we forge protect our interests. Securing exclusivity where possible will fortify our standing before others emulate our methods."
"Indeed," Theophilus concurred. "The uniqueness of our printing technology is a diminishing advantage. Establishing monopolies now is critical to maintaining our edge."
Plethon offered a slight nod, his eyes conveying deep conviction. "By seizing this moment, we not only secure economic prosperity but also pave the way for a cultural renaissance. It's an opportunity to redefine our legacy."
"Furthermore," Bessarion added with quiet fervor, "in disseminating knowledge, we uphold a higher purpose. Education is the cornerstone of a just and enlightened society. Through these works, we combat ignorance and promote virtue."
Constantine surveyed the faces around him, feeling a profound sense of alignment with his council. "Your insights resonate deeply. Our mission transcends commerce; it's about shaping the very fabric of our world."
He rose from his seat, a gesture mirrored by the others. "I thank you all for your unwavering dedication. Together, we're not merely advancing Glarentza—we're kindling a beacon of progress that may illuminate all of Europe."
Plethon placed a hand over his heart, his voice solemn. "It is an honor to stand with you in this noble pursuit."
Bessarion and Theophilus echoed the sentiment with respectful bows.
"Now," Constantine said with renewed determination, "let us set these plans into motion."
Clermont castle
The council chamber of Clermont Castle was bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting intricate patterns through the stained glass windows onto the stone floor. The scent of burning candles mingled with the crisp air seeping through the narrow slits of the fortress walls. Constantine stood by the large oak table at the center, his gaze fixed on a detailed map of the Morea spread before him, his brow furrowed in thought as he listened to George speak on various state matters. The weight of leadership pressed heavily upon his shoulders.
Constantine's expression was as serious as ever, his fingers tracing the route from Mystras. He then interrupted George. "It's time to address Theodore's issue once and for all. He remains a constant thorn in our side, and now rumors suggest he's entertaining ideas of rallying against us. If we wait any more, we risk losing the initiative. A campaign towards Mystras seems necessary to put an end to his ambitions."
George nodded, his gaze focused on the map, but his mind was racing through possibilities. "An open campaign against him may indeed become inevitable. But Mystras is no easy target. Its walls are formidable, and our current cannons may prove insufficient."
Constantine sighed, his mind racing through possibilities. "True, larger cannons would be required to breach those defenses—cannons we do not yet possess. Time and resources are against us."
George's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "There are... other means. We could consider undermining his support from within. Perhaps key figures in Mystras might be persuaded to our cause."
Constantine leaned back, his gaze sharpening as he weighed the situation. "Perhaps there are alternative methods to deal with him—assassination, sabotage. But any action against Theodore without warning risks angering my brother John." He sighed, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. "We share a strong bond—our mother's favorite sons—and I am, perhaps, his closest brother. But if he senses any sign of disrespect or rebellion, the outcome could be severe. "We cannot afford to endanger our relationship with him, especially given his delicate negotiations with the West."
His lips pressed into a thin line, and his thoughts turned to his brother Thomas and John's potential stance. "Thomas may back us if a conflict arises with Theodore—he has more to gain than to lose. But John? That's different. If he believes we're undercutting his authority, it could turn very badly for us. We must tread carefully, or we may find ourselves fighting a battle on multiple fronts."
Constantine gazed out the window, watching as the sun began its descent behind the distant mountains. Memories of his past life flickered in his mind—boardrooms and negotiations, conflicts resolved with words rather than swords. But this was a different world, one where the stakes were life and death, and the rules were unforgiving.
George nodded, his expression shadowed with concern. "Indeed, Despot. But there's another urgent matter that cannot wait—the Hexamilion Wall. It must be reinforced, and soon."
Constantine replied, "Yes, with next month's revenues, we should be able to rebuild it properly and even hire more troops to bolster our standing forces. Speaking of which, have we managed to reach one hundred Pyrvelos yet?"
George rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward a chest in the corner where reports were piled high. "You ask me that almost every day, my Despot," he remarked with a wry smile. "We've made progress on the Pyrvelos—ninety-six so far. Production remains slow, but with the new craftsmen we've trained, it's finally starting to pick up pace."
Constantine's eyes narrowed. "They could be our trump card against the Ottomans and every enemy, but their true value comes with numbers. If we must move against Theodore, the threat of those weapons may force him to reconsider any resistance."
George was about to respond when there was a hurried knock at the door. Without waiting for an invitation, Theophilus burst into the room, his face pale with urgency.
"Despot Constantine, Lord Sphrantzes," he gasped, clutching a sealed scroll. "Dire news from Thomas!"
Constantine's heart sank. "Speak, Theophilus."
"Turahan Bey has breached the Hexamilion Wall," Theophilus announced, his voice trembling slightly. "Our garrison was overrun—they were too few to hold. Turahan leads a force of several thousand cavalry, advancing toward Kalavryta. Thomas pleads for aid to defend his city."
A heavy silence filled the chamber. Constantine felt a surge of conflicting emotions—anger at the audacity of the Ottomans, concern for his brother, and the ever-present weight of responsibility.
George broke the silence. "Turahan Bey is a cunning commander. His swift movements aim to catch us unprepared."
Constantine's jaw tightened. "We cannot let Kalavryta fall. If Turahan gains a foothold there, the entire Morea could be at risk."
"What are your orders, Despot?" George asked quietly.
Constantine straightened, resolve hardening his features. "We must meet Turahan head-on. He won't expect us to engage him so swiftly, nor will he anticipate our new weaponry."
George regarded him cautiously. "A bold move. Our forces are ready, but engaging the Ottomans in open battle is a significant risk."
"Risk is unavoidable," Constantine replied firmly. "But with the element of surprise and the Pyrvelos and Drakos, we have a chance to turn the tide."
George nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll see to the logistics. Supplies, scouts, and messengers will be prepared."
"Excellent," Constantine affirmed. He turned to Theophilus. "Send word to Thomas immediately. Tell him to hold as best he can—we are coming."
Theophilus bowed deeply. "At once, Despot."
As Theophilus exited, Constantine looked back at George. "We need Captain Andreas. I want a full report on our troop readiness."
"I'll summon him," George offered, heading toward the door.
"Thank you, my friend," Constantine said, a hint of gratitude softening his tone.
Minutes later, Captain Andreas strode into the chamber, his armor clinking softly with each step. He bowed respectfully. "Despot, Lord Sphrantzes, you requested my presence."
"We did," Constantine replied, gesturing for him to take a seat. "There's news you should hear. Turahan Bey's forces have crossed our borders. His invasion is underway."
Andreas's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the news. "So it has come to this, then," he muttered. "Turahan will not rest until he raids the whole of Morea."
Constantine gave a grim nod. "Exactly. Which means we'll need every man ready for a swift march. Give us your assessment, Captain. What is the state of our troops?"
Andreas's eyes flickered with determination. "Our men are prepared, Despot. The combined drills have honed their skills. The pikemen stand firm, the Pyrvelos marksmen are precise, and the light cavalry is swift. The field cannon crews have improved their coordination and speed significantly."
"Morale?" Constantine inquired.
"High," Andreas replied confidently. "The men believe in you, in what we're building here. They're eager to defend our land."
A brief smile touched Constantine's lips. "Good. We'll need that spirit in the days to come."
George stepped forward. "We must also bolster our numbers. Can we muster additional forces on short notice?"
Andreas nodded. "I'll send riders to the nearby villages. There are many who will answer the call. We have enough pikes and equipment to arm them."
"Make it so," Constantine ordered. "We march as soon as possible."
"Consider it done," Andreas affirmed, saluting sharply before exiting to carry out his orders.
Left alone with George once more, Constantine allowed himself a moment of reflection. "Do you think me reckless, George?"
George met his gaze steadily. "I think you are a leader who understands the gravity of the situation. Sometimes, bold action is required."
A faint echo of his yaya's voice whispered in Constantine's mind—the tales of courage and sacrifice, of standing firm against insurmountable odds. "The men look to us for guidance," he said softly. "We cannot falter."
"You carry a great burden," George observed gently. "But you do not carry it alone."
Constantine felt a surge of determination. The legends of the Marmaromenos Vasilias whispered in his mind again—the Marble Emperor who would rise to save Byzantium
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