Glarentza, May 1429
By the warm glow of the forge, Michael watched as molten metal filled the intricate molds. The scent of hot metal and charcoal hung thick in the air. Beside him, Demetrios, a master goldsmith from Constantinople, wiped the sweat from his brow. He turned a tiny metal letter over in his fingers, his eyes filled with wonder.
"I've never crafted such precise and delicate pieces before," Demetrios said, shaking his head.
Michael smiled faintly. "Each letter is a building block of knowledge. Together, they can move nations."
Demetrios examined the letter again. "Such simplicity holds profound potential. Your vision is remarkable, my lord."
"It's not my vision alone, Master Demetrios," Michael replied modestly. "Without your skill and dedication, none of this would be possible."
Demetrios bowed his head slightly. "It's an honor to be part of this endeavor."
---
A few weeks later, in the bustling workshop of the newly established printing press, rows of freshly cast type glinted under the soft glow of candlelight. The air buzzed with anticipation as the team assembled the first page. Monks in simple robes moved carefully among the equipment, their practiced hands arranging the type with reverence.
Michael noticed Theophilus Dragas watching the monks, his gaze settling on a young monk fumbling with a piece of type.
"Mind your placement, Brother Manuel," Theophilus advised gently. "If the letters aren't aligned, the words won't read true."
The monk flushed slightly. "Apologies, Master Dragas. I'll be more careful."
Michael observed the exchange across the room, appreciating Theophilus's patience and attention to detail. Stepping forward, he addressed the gathered team. "We stand on the brink of a new era," he said, his voice carrying quiet fervor. "Each of you plays a vital role in bringing knowledge to those who seek it. Let's proceed with care and dedication."
He carefully applied ink to the type and positioned the paper. Taking a deep breath, he operated the press. The wooden frame groaned softly as the screw turned, pressing the paper onto the inked type. A hush fell over the room. As he lifted the platen and gently peeled back the paper, a flawless page of text revealed itself, the ink glistening as it caught the light.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, a wave of exhilaration swept through the room.
"By God's grace, we've done it!" one of the monks exclaimed, breaking the silence.
Cheers erupted around him. Michael felt his heart race as the printing press produced its first flawless page. The monks gathered closely, staring in awe at the inked text, the letters crisp and perfect.
He gently picked up the page, his fingers trembling slightly as he held the smooth, crisp parchment. His eyes reflected the flickering candlelight, but his thoughts drifted far from the workshop in Morea. This is just the beginning, he thought, feeling the weight of history in his hands.
For a brief moment, the noise of the bustling workshop faded. He was no longer Despot Constantine Palaiologos in 1429, but Michael Jameston, a university student once again. He could almost see the cluttered table in the basement of his dormitory—the scattered notes, blueprints, and half-finished circuits for his DIY project with his engineering classmates.
He remembered it was supposed to be a simple challenge—a homemade printing press for a student fair. It was just something to showcase the mechanics of movable type—nothing groundbreaking, but they wanted to see how it worked, how ink met paper in precise alignment to spread knowledge like wildfire.
He could still picture the grease-stained hands of his friend Greg, always wearing an old band T-shirt and tinkering with anything mechanical. "You handle the design, Mike. I'll handle the build," Greg had said, hunched over, adjusting the screws and levers of the prototype they'd cobbled together from scrap metal and a few scavenged parts from the university workshop.
In those days, the project had been a fun experiment, a challenge meant to impress professors at the student fair. It was nothing compared to creating the first functional printing press in Morea, a world that didn't even know the name Gutenberg yet.
Gutenberg... Michael let the name echo in his mind. He had studied the man who would soon be credited with revolutionizing Europe by perfecting the printing press. He had admired Gutenberg's role in bringing mass communication to the world and the enormous cultural shift that followed. Michael had read so many books about how Gutenberg's press had sparked the Reformation, how it had made knowledge accessible, and how it had changed Europe forever.
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And here he was now, standing at the edge of that exact moment in history—not as a student, not as a casual hobbyist—but as a despot of the Byzantine Empire, bringing this monumental invention to life before it was meant to exist.
What would Greg say if he saw me now? Michael wondered. Not just fooling around in a basement for fun, but actually crafting the first press. I'm not in the shadow of history—I'm rewriting it. Gutenberg isn't even on the horizon yet, and here I am, making this happen, not in Mainz, but in Morea.
He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his role in this historical turning point. Every letter, every word, was about to change the world, just as it did when the first printed texts flooded Europe. But now, it was happening here—earlier than it should, in this small corner of Byzantium, where a man who shouldn't even be here was trying to change the course of history.
Michael stared down at the flawlessly printed page in his hands. The ink was drying evenly, the letters sharp against the parchment. A year ago, he was just a middle-aged guy in New York, playing with silkscreen printing for fun. And now, he'd just held the first page from the first printing press in the world. If only Yaya could see me now. She always told me Byzantium's destiny wasn't over.
He took a deep breath, his chest tightening with a mix of excitement and anxiety. This is no longer a student project. This is real. This is power. Every word printed will travel far beyond these walls, into the hands of monks, scholars, and traders. And who knows what will come next? Will it bring peace between the churches? Or will it cause chaos?
He glanced up at the gathered monks and artisans, who were still staring at the press in reverent silence, their eyes wide with wonder.
"This is just the beginning," Michael said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just about the press or the words on the page. This was about what came next—the shift in power, the transformation of a society, the choices that could lead Byzantium into a future it had never known.
With that thought, Michael allowed himself one more glance at the flawless page, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He wasn't just living history anymore. He was creating it.
---
The establishment of the first printing press in Morea in 1429 was a monumental achievement. The "Morea Publishing Company" became the world's first publishing house. Under Michael's patronage, a diverse team had come together: nine skilled metalworkers from Constantinople—including two goldsmiths and three silversmiths—four scholarly monks, and a master carpenter. Theophilus Dragas, known for his meticulous attention to detail, was the perfect choice to oversee the operation. His familial ties had earned him Michael's trust, but it was his unwavering dedication that solidified his place in the endeavor.
Before the presses were even built, Theophilus traveled through the monasteries of the Morea, seeking monks who were not only skilled in scripture but also aligned with a vision of change. His mission led him to the Monastery of St. Nicholas, a place known for its quiet endorsement of the controversial idea of church unification—a potential bridge between the Orthodox and Catholic faiths.
As he entered the stone courtyard, the faint echoes of chanting reverberated through the hallways. The abbot, a lean figure with thoughtful eyes, greeted him with a slight bow.
"Brother Dragas," the abbot said warmly. "It's an honor to receive you. I assume this visit is related to the emperor's ongoing efforts?"
Theophilus returned the bow. "It is, Father. I'm overseeing a project under the patronage of Despot Constantine, one that could further the cause of unity between the Eastern and Western churches. We aim to produce a Latin Bible—in multiple copies—so it can aid in the ongoing talks. However, I need men who not only possess the skill to handle the written word but also share the vision of bringing the Orthodox and Catholic churches closer together."
The abbot's brow furrowed in thought. "A Latin Bible, you say? A bold move, Brother Dragas. Our monastery has long supported the emperor's efforts to unite the faiths, but not all agree. However, this could be a powerful symbol, especially for those in the West who question our willingness to meet them halfway."
Leaning in slightly, Theophilus lowered his voice. "We're constructing a printing press—a device that will allow us to replicate texts faster than ever imagined. Imagine producing dozens of copies of the Holy Scriptures—perfect in every detail—in just a few weeks. But we must act quietly for now, as there are those who would see this innovation as a threat."
The abbot crossed himself thoughtfully. "It is a dangerous path you tread, but a necessary one. You're right—there are many who would resist such changes. But if this project supports the emperor's efforts to unify the faiths, we will assist. You seek men who can work discreetly yet with great skill?"
Theophilus smiled faintly. "Exactly, Father. I need craftsmen of the written word but also believers in a greater cause. Men who understand that we will help bridge the gap between East and West by producing this Latin Bible. Such an endeavor could strengthen the emperor's position in negotiations with the papacy."
The abbot beckoned Theophilus to follow him into the dimly lit scriptorium, where monks sat hunched over their desks, meticulously copying sacred texts by hand. "I'll introduce you to the ones I trust. Brother Manuel has transcribed the Gospels countless times, and his work has been praised even by those in the higher clergy. His precision is unmatched."
Theophilus observed as Brother Manuel carefully inked the pages in front of him, his movements steady and deliberate. "He will be an asset," Theophilus said, nodding. "And the others?"
The abbot led him to two younger monks, their focus unwavering as they worked. "Brothers Andronikos and Dionysios. They are loyal to the cause of unification and understand the importance of this task. Their devotion to the faith is absolute, and their work with scripture is exemplary."
Theophilus took a moment to observe them, then turned to the abbot. "They will serve this mission well."
The abbot paused, considering the weight of the task. "You understand that taking them from here is no small request, Brother Dragas. But I believe in the work you're doing. This Latin Bible could be a gesture that unites more than just the church."
Theophilus nodded solemnly. "I assure you, Father, that their work will not only serve the faith but may also help bring us closer to the long-desired union."