EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 20: Brothers at Odds

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.