EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 21: A Vision Beyond Time

On the Road to Glarentza

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the rolling hills and olive groves that lined the road to Glarentza. George Gemistos Plethon and his young protégé, Bessarion, rode side by side on sturdy horses, accompanied by a small entourage of servants and guards. The rhythmic clopping of hooves and the gentle murmur of their companions provided a steady accompaniment to their conversation.

"Master," Bessarion began, his eyes reflecting both curiosity and concern, "the Emperor's enthusiasm for Despot Constantine's books intrigues me. Do you think they will truly aid in unifying the Orthodox and Catholic Churches?"

Plethon stroked his long white beard thoughtfully. "The Emperor believes this innovation could be instrumental in our efforts toward unification with the Catholics; we might bridge the chasm that has divided us for so long. Constantine's production of Latin Bibles is a bold step in that direction."

Bessarion nodded slowly. "Yet, I wonder how our people will receive such changes. The wounds of the schism are deep."

"Indeed," Plethon replied. "But sometimes, one must endure further pain to heal a wound. The Emperor and Constantine see the union as a means to bolster our defenses against the Ottomans. Despot Theodore, and the majority of the Church, remains staunchly opposed though."

Bessarion glanced at his mentor. "And where do you stand, Master?"

Plethon's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "I stand where wisdom guides me, my young friend. Let us see what Glarentza holds before we cast our judgments."

As the sun began to set, the silhouette of Glarentza's walls appeared on the horizon. The city, perched by the Ionian Sea, was a hub of commerce and culture.

"Look, Bessarion," Plethon said, pointing ahead. "There lies Glarentza. Let us hope our journey yields fruitful discussions."

"An impressive sight," Bessarion remarked.

"Indeed," Plethon agreed. "It seems Despot Constantine has been busy."

Upon their arrival at the castle gates, they were met by a delegation of courtiers and servants. A tall man with a warm smile stepped forward.

"Master Plethon, welcome to Glarentza," he said with a respectful bow. "I am George Sphrantzes, the Despot's right hand. Despot Constantine awaits you, but he has instructed me to first see to your comfort after your long journey."

"Thank you, George," Plethon replied graciously. "We are most grateful for the hospitality."

Servants led them to their quarters within the castle—a suite of rooms overlooking the sea. As they settled in, Bessarion gazed out the window, the salty breeze ruffling his hair.

"Glarentza seems a world apart from Mistra," he mused.

"Yes," Plethon agreed, joining him at the window. "Change is in the air here. Let us rest now; tomorrow promises to be enlightening."

The following day, Plethon and Bessarion stood atop the castle's ramparts, gazing out over Glarentza as the city stirred to life. Constantine, accompanied by George Sphrantzes and Theophilus Dragas, approached them with a welcoming smile.

"Master Plethon, Brother Bessarion," he greeted them. "I trust you rested well?"

"Indeed, Despot Constantine," Plethon replied. "Your hospitality is most gracious."