Mystras, June 1430

The afternoon sun bathed the ancient city of Mystras in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the stone pathways winding through the hillside settlement. Nestled atop the fertile plains of the Peloponnese, Mystras was a hub of intellectual activity—a beacon of learning in a world teetering on the edge of darkness.

In a quiet study lined with scrolls and manuscripts, George Gemistos Plethon sat hunched over his desk, his quill scratching thoughtfully against parchment. His long white beard flowed over his simple robes, and his eyes, though aged, sparkled with the fire of youth. The scent of aged paper and ink filled the room, mingling with the faint aroma of herbs from the garden outside.

A sealed letter bearing the imperial insignia rested on the desk before him. He had just finished reading it when the door creaked open. His protégé, Bessarion, stepped inside, his footsteps hesitant yet eager.

"Master," Bessarion began, his voice respectful yet curious. "I noticed a messenger arrived from Constantinople. Is there news?"

Plethon looked up, a contemplative expression on his face. "Indeed, Bessarion. The Emperor has written to me."

"From the Emperor himself?" Bessarion's eyes widened with interest. "What does he say?"

Plethon tapped the parchment gently. "He requests that I journey to Glarentza to meet with Despot Constantine. We are to continue discussing the unification of the Eastern and Western Churches and devise strategies for approaching the Pope."

Bessarion's brow furrowed slightly. "The talks for union press on, then. Ever since the Emperor's journey to Italy in 1423, much has been debated but little resolved."

"True," Plethon acknowledged, a hint of weariness in his voice. "The path to reconciliation is complex. However, Despot Constantine's recent endeavors, particularly his production of Latin Bibles, have captured the Emperor's attention. He believes this could strengthen our position."

"I've heard whispers of these Bibles," Bessarion mused. "They say he's using some kind of machine to produce them in great numbers."

"A printing press," Plethon confirmed, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "An innovation that could transform the dissemination of knowledge."

Bessarion hesitated before speaking. "Master, do you believe that uniting with the Latins will truly solve our problems? Many among the clergy are vehemently opposed, and the people harbor deep mistrust."

Plethon sighed softly, gazing out the window at the distant mountains. "I understand your doubts, my young friend. The schism has left wounds that are slow to heal. But with the Ottoman threat looming ever larger, unity may be our only hope for survival."

Bessarion looked thoughtful. "Even so, can we trust that the union will bring the support we need? The Latins have their own interests."

"There are no guarantees," Plethon admitted, his gaze distant. "Yet, we must explore every avenue. Despot Constantine's actions suggest he is willing to bridge divides. Perhaps his efforts will pave the way for meaningful change."

He turned back to Bessarion, his eyes earnest. "Prepare yourself. We shall depart for Glarentza soon. Your insights will be invaluable in the discussions ahead."

Bessarion inclined his head. "As you wish, Master. I will make the arrangements."

As his protégé left the room, Plethon felt a pang of concern. He knew the road to unification was fraught with obstacles, and skepticism like Bessarion's was widespread. Yet, the weight of inaction pressed heavily upon him. The fate of their world depended on the choices they made now.

Elsewhere in Mystras

In the dimly lit chamber of the fortress, Despot Theodore sat at the head of a long wooden table, his fingers steepled under his chin. The flickering light of oil lamps cast long shadows across the faces of those gathered—Alexios, his trusted advisor; Father Damianos and Father Gregorios, fervent priests opposed to the union; and Lord Demetrios, a nobleman loyal to Theodore. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of their collective unease palpable.

Theodore's gaze was fixed on a parchment before him, its contents fueling the storm brewing within. His jaw tightened as he contemplated the implications.

"The monk acted too hastily," Theodore said, his voice a measured calm that belied the anger simmering beneath the surface. "His impatience may have jeopardized our meticulously crafted plans."

Father Damianos shifted in his seat, his eyes avoiding Theodore's. "Father Petros was deeply troubled by the production of the Latin Bibles, my lord. His zeal overcame his discretion."

Alexios nodded in agreement. "He believed he was serving the true faith by attempting to sabotage the printing press. But now, Constantine is aware that there are those who oppose him within his own domain."

Theodore's eyes narrowed. "And what of Father Petros now?"

Father Gregorios lowered his gaze. "We have received word that he was captured and... did not survive the interrogation."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Theodore clenched his fists, the knuckles whitening. "His sacrifice, though unintended, may yet serve a purpose. But we must proceed with greater caution. We cannot afford any more mistakes."

Lord Demetrios leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Despot Theodore, perhaps we can turn this setback to our advantage. News has reached us that Master Plethon is journeying to Glarentza at the Emperor's behest, accompanied by his student, Bessarion. They intend to discuss further steps toward the unification of the churches."

Father Damianos frowned deeply. "Plethon's influence is growing. His philosophical ideas sway many, and his support of the union strengthens Constantine's position."

Alexios added, a sly smile playing on his lips, "If we could place our own agents within Plethon's entourage, we might gather valuable intelligence on Constantine's plans. Perhaps we can even find a way to disrupt their efforts from within."

Theodore considered this, his gaze thoughtful yet steely. The flicker of the lamps reflected in his eyes. "Yes, information is our greatest weapon."

Father Gregorios spoke cautiously. "But my lord, Plethon is a keen observer. He may recognize unfamiliar faces among his attendants."

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Alexios leaned back confidently. "We have contacts within Plethon's circle. Some of his servants can be persuaded—or replaced. Our agents will be carefully selected to avoid arousing suspicion."

Theodore nodded slowly. "Very well. Proceed with the utmost discretion. Ensure that these agents are loyal and understand the gravity of their mission. We cannot tolerate another failure born of impatience or incompetence."

Lord Demetrios interjected, "We should also continue to undermine Constantine's influence among the people."

Father Damianos agreed. "The people do not realize the subtle erosion of our traditions."

Theodore's eyes hardened, his voice firm. "Then we must enlighten them. Spread word of the dangers inherent in these new texts. Emphasize the sanctity of our faith as it has been handed down through generations."

Father Gregorios suggested, "Perhaps sermons warning of false prophets and the perils of embracing foreign practices would be effective."

Alexios added, "We can circulate letters among the clergy who are sympathetic to our cause, encouraging them to speak out against Constantine's actions."

Rising from his seat, Theodore commanded the room's attention. "Do what must be done. Our heritage and the true faith are at stake. Constantine may have the Emperor's ear and the allure of innovation, but we have the strength of tradition and the loyalty of those who understand its importance."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over each man. "Also, the Emperor has mentioned a potential visit to the Morea next year. If he intends to come here, we must be prepared. His presence could sway public opinion even further in the unionists favor."

Alexios bowed his head. "As you wish, Despot Theodore. We will make the necessary arrangements."

Theodore looked around the room, his expression resolute. "We stand at a crossroads. The path we choose now will determine the future of our people. We must act with wisdom and conviction."

The assembled men nodded solemnly, the weight of their mission heavy upon them. The unspoken understanding that failure was not an option hung in the air.

As the meeting adjourned, Theodore remained in the chamber, gazing out a narrow window at the darkening sky. The lights of Mystras twinkled below, mirroring the stars beginning to pierce the night. The cool breeze carried the distant sounds of the city settling into evening. He felt a profound loneliness, the burden of leadership pressing upon him.

"Brother," he whispered into the silence, his voice tinged with both sorrow and determination. "You tread a dangerous path, and you leave me no choice but to oppose you."

He turned away from the window, his expression hardening. The preservation of their faith and the protection of their people rested on his shoulders. If that meant standing against his own blood, so be it.

Glarentza, Castle of Clermont

The morning light filtered through the council chamber's windows, casting vibrant hues across the stone floor. Despot Constantine sat at the head of the table, his council assembled before him. Confidence radiated from his posture; the mantle of leadership now rested comfortably on his shoulders.

"Greetings, gentlemen. Before we commence, I wish to share some news," Constantine began, holding up a parchment sealed with the imperial insignia. "I have received a letter from my brother, the Emperor."

He held up the parchment, the imperial seal gleaming. "He informs me that Master Plethon will be visiting us to discuss plans for the unification of the churches and a potential audience with the Pope. He also mentions that he will come to Morea next year to synchronize our efforts for the potential trip."

A murmur rippled through the council. Theophilus Dragas leaned forward, his eyes reflecting intrigue. "This is a significant development, Despot. The Emperor must hold your efforts in high regard."

"Indeed," Constantine agreed, a satisfied smile touching his lips. "He also mentions that he is pleased with our progress in producing the Latin Bibles."

George Sphrantzes, ever pragmatic, spoke up. "We should prepare accordingly. Such discussions could shape the future of the empire."

"Agreed," Constantine said, nodding. "But before we delve deeper, let's proceed with the review of our current status. Petros, could you provide us with the treasury report?"

Petros, the steward, stood and unrolled a scroll. "Despot, I am pleased to report that our treasury is flourishing. The sales of the Bibles have brought thousands of gold ducats. The treasury is in great shape. However, we have noticed a decline in new pre-orders—the initial surge appears to be waning."

Constantine nodded thoughtfully. "Petros, what is our current production cost per Bible?"

Petros replied, "Our costs are less than a ducat per copy, Despot."

"Excellent," Constantine mused, his eyes brightening. "As expected, we've saturated the market among the higher clergy and nobility who can afford the current price."

He stood, a renewed energy in his stance. "I propose we produce a more affordable edition of the Bible—one that can be sold for five gold ducats. With our low production costs, the margins remain favorable."

Theophilus raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful expression on his face. "A smart move. A lower price point could open up a vast new market among the lower clergy and minor nobility."

"Precisely," Constantine affirmed. "We aim for volume now. The more widespread our books, the greater our influence—and profit."

George leaned back in his chair, considering. "With the treasury in such a robust state, perhaps we should consider investing more in our defenses."

"That is my next point," Constantine said. "I propose the formation of a professional core army. We'll start with four hundred men, well-trained and equipped with long pikes. They'll receive proper salaries and will be housed in a new barracks we'll construct near Clermont."

The council exchanged glances. George spoke first, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Long pikes, my Despot?"

"Yes," Constantine affirmed confidently. "A core unit of long pikes will serve as our center—capable of withstanding Ottoman cavalry. Together with a few teams of field artillery, they will form the core of our new army."

"What about cavalry, my lord? We could use some extra," George suggested, his concern evident.

"Good point, George," Constantine replied. "We will strengthen our cavalry too; some light cavalry could do wonders. However, I want us to start with the creation of our new core army and build upon that. I will inspect the project personally."

"Training a professional army is a significant undertaking," George noted, his tone cautious. "But you are right, my Despot. With the Ottomans pressing ever closer, it seems necessary."

"Agreed," Theophilus added, his gaze steady. "Our traditional reliance on levies and mercenaries has its limitations."

Constantine smiled, confidence radiating from him. "I have some ideas on training methodologies that could enhance their effectiveness. We will incorporate disciplined drills and formations—concepts that may be unfamiliar but could give us an edge."

Petros made a note on his parchment. "I'll begin allocating funds for recruitment and construction immediately."

"Excellent, Petros," Constantine said, appreciating the steward's promptness. He then turned to George.

"Now, what's the situation with the handguns and gunpowder production?"

George stepped forward. "My Despot, we've managed to create a couple of decent prototypes. However, proceeding to mass production is tricky. Each weapon requires a lot of work and skilled artisans, making them quite costly compared to the Drakos cannons. At our current capacity, we can produce only a couple of handguns per month."

He continued, "On the positive side, Niketas, our gunpowder expert, has proven himself quite capable. We're now able to produce gunpowder locally, although in rather small quantities. We lack the necessary materials for major production."

Constantine pondered this information, his brows knitting together. "Producing only a couple of handguns per month is insufficient. We'll need to train more artisans and invest more in its production in the long run."

George nodded. "Understood, my Lord. We'll begin seeking out and training additional craftsmen."

"Good," Constantine affirmed. "Ensure that Niketas has all the support he needs. Securing more raw materials for gunpowder must also be a priority."

Theophilus interjected, "Perhaps we could establish trade agreements to acquire the necessary materials."

"An excellent suggestion," Constantine agreed. "Petros, look into potential trade partners who can supply us with what we need."

"I will, Despot," Petros replied, making another note.

Constantine surveyed his council, a sense of determination filling the room. "Now, regarding Master Plethon's visit, we must ensure he is received with the utmost respect. His counsel will be invaluable as we navigate the path toward unification."

Theophilus nodded. "I will see to the arrangements, my Despot."

"Thank you," Constantine said, gratitude evident in his tone. "Gentlemen, our actions in the coming months will shape the future of our realm. Let us proceed with purpose and unity."

As the meeting adjourned, Constantine remained seated for a moment, deep in thought. The challenges ahead were immense, but he felt a surge of optimism.