Once, the emperor had voiced his agreement with the ideas proposed by Gemistos Plethon.
A new ideology to replace the Church, the redistribution of land that had become excessively concentrated, and a wave of innovation that had to be achieved no matter the cost—Plethon’s proposals aligned closely with the thoughts of Emperor Dragasēs, who understood better than anyone the wretched state of the empire at the time.
That was why the emperor had taken the risk of provoking the Church’s backlash by appointing Plethon as the head of the Academy.
However, in truth, the emperor’s path appeared to diverge somewhat from the one Plethon had envisioned.
This was evident in the reaction of a scholar who introduced himself as Thomas Magistros.
Using a recent commotion at the Academy as a pretext, the emperor had summoned him for a conversation, and before he realized it, Dragasēs found himself intently listening to what Magistros had to say.
“I believe Your Majesty has already realized that the authority of this country can no longer sustain everything. The capital’s isolation aside, repeated failures have completely eroded the people’s trust in the government. It is only natural.”
In fact, it wasn’t that the ruling class had failed to see this. One of the former emperors, John VI, had sensed the danger of the accelerating separatist movements in the Morea and appointed his own relative as prince.
This marked the beginning of the Despotate of the Morea. And the reason emperors throughout history continued appointing blood relatives as princes had nothing to do with symbolism—it was simply that the empire had collapsed to the point that it could no longer govern the Morea directly.
The intentions of the previous emperor, Manuel, had followed a similar line of thought.
Outside the capital, the Morea was the empire’s last remaining territory.
Therefore, granting one person full authority over it would effectively turn the Morea into a formidable internal rival, in addition to the external threat of the Ottomans.
And yet, Dragases had been able to rule the Morea completely, solely because of Manuel’s trust in him.
On this topic, both Magistros and the emperor said no more. The emperor chose to keep listening, while Magistros seized the rare opportunity to speak with all he had.
“But Your Majesty, you understood this reality well.
You recognized that the more a nation tries to suppress everything, the more it merely exhausts itself. That’s why you granted freedom to the cities. Your reform of the tax system was surprisingly streamlined as well. While the taxes are still high for many, but cutting unnecessary jobs used for unnecessary taxes is a positive change overall..”
“Magistros, do you truly believe I will reshape this country just as you wish?”
“I do, Your Majesty.
It is precisely because I believe I can aid Your Majesty in this journey that I have come to Mistra. Do not hesitate to adopt the West’s advanced military science and equipment—train professional soldiers. With mediocre troops, we cannot overcome the Ottomans military might.
If there is a devastating gap in national power and the number of troops we can gather, then the only path forward is to improve quality. A corps of professional soldiers, ready for deployment at any moment, could determine the survival or extinction of this nation in a war fought against time.”
“Hmmmm…”
The emperor found himself unconsciously letting out a groan.
Should he follow Plethon’s idealistic themes, or Magistros call for cultivating professional troops?
In hindsight, the path he had taken so far was closer to Magistros vision than Plethon’s.
If he had met Magistros earlier, he might have elevated him long ago. Not that it was too late now.
The long-standing issue of finding capable personnel had finally come to a head, and this was a time when someone with both determination and ability was desperately needed.
Magistros competence hadn’t yet been proven, but his arguments were grounded and brimming with conviction.
After a brief period of contemplation, the emperor made his decision.
“…My thoughts are not so different from yours. Magistros, your vision and the path I pursue will likely continue to align in many ways.”
“As I thought! I knew the wise Emperor Dragases would not be unaware of the true state of things!”
“Therefore, I wish to appoint you as the successor overseeing the reforms currently underway in Thessaly and Athens.”
At this point, Magistros appointment was all but confirmed.
There was no way an emperor desperate for a competent administrator would let someone like him walk away.
The only matter left was what role to assign him.
The emperor was torn between sending him to assist Thomas upon his soon return to Epirus, or appointing him as the successor to Demicleos.
Ultimately, the emperor leaned toward the latter.
“There is already a foundation laid by Demicleos, who was leading the reforms. I want you to identify what needs improving and work to stabilize the system. And if there is ever anything you wish to suggest or consult on, do not hesitate to reach out to Mistra.
I will always be waiting to hear your thoughts.”
“…To be entrusted with such a weighty task so suddenly… I am overwhelmed with gratitude for Your Majesty’s trust. I shall do everything in my power to prove worthy of the faith you’ve placed in me!”
It was only natural for Magistros to be flustered—he’d been handed an important role after just one conversation.
His face was full of astonishment. But that quickly gave way to joy. Overcome with emotion at having been given a better outcome than he could’ve hoped for, the passionate scholar bowed his head.
It was at that very moment—right as the two were deep in a serious conversation—that a familiar face suddenly burst in.
“Hey, cousin! I found it! I found it!”
A young man with a cheerful demeanor came rushing in, unable to contain his excitement, still dressed in his surcoat.
He had traveled all the way from Iberia, where the Reconquista was underway, to distant Greece—a knight of the crusade, and the man in question was Don Francisco.
His usual flippant aura was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by sheer joy. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he failed to notice that someone else was already there beside the emperor.
“I found it! I really found it!”
“Francisco, I don’t mind if we’re close in private… but if someone else is present, can you at least show some manners?”
“Huh? Oh—uh?”
Only after the emperor’s remark did Francisco finally turn his gaze to the Magistros.
He could have been furious at the disrespect shown toward the Dragases Emperor, but the quick-witted Magistros had already realized how close the two men were and held his tongue.
Even so, the tension in the air was inevitable. Concerned by the awkward silence, the emperor spoke again.
“Then, Magistros. I will arrange lodging for you—take some time to rest. Before long, you will be assigned a post and a guard detail to carry out your duties.”
“I am simply grateful for Your Majesty’s consideration. Then, I shall take my leave and await your summons.”
The Magistros quietly left the office, following the emperor’s command.
For a brief moment, the only sound in the room was Francisco’s embarrassed muttering. Once the Magistros’s footsteps had faded into the distance, Francisco let out a deep sigh.
“Looks like I ended up chasing him out without meaning to.”
“So, what was it that you were so worked up about? What exactly did you find?”
“That’s right! That’s it! I found them—Murattati!”
Only then did the emperor recall who had been given authority over the Murattati.
Francisco, responsible for the Latins and the cavalry, had also ended up in charge of the Murattati due to a lack of suitable commanders.
Because of that, he had been busy with work he never expected to take on, barely able to manage a smile as he scrambled from one task to the next.
But even as time passed, no suitable replacement was found, and it had already been several years since he’d taken command of them.
Everyone had quietly come to accept that Francisco’s command over the Murattati would continue indefinitely.
And now, suddenly, he claimed to have found someone? The emperor’s suspicion was understandable. He gave Francisco a half-lidded glance and spoke in a stern voice meant to intimidate.
“I’ll say this now: they must have a certain level of competence.”
“Seems they served under someone fairly well-known. Didn’t seem like a devout Muslim so much as someone chasing fame. But when it comes to commanding the Murattati, I can’t think of a better choice.”
“And someone like that would be without complications?”
“Well… yeah, their background might rub you or others the wrong way. I don’t know the details myself, but when I asked one of their soldiers, they practically had a fit. Might be best to keep their origins under wraps, cousin.”
“So they’re from a fairly notorious background?”
“Come on, isn’t ability what matters most? We don’t have the luxury of nitpicking backgrounds if they can lead the Murattati.”
“That’s… true. I suppose you have a point.”
Francisco’s steady reply left Emperor Dragases with no room to argue.
It was true that Francisco, as the cavalry commander, was shouldering more than his share of burdens.
A proper commander for the Murattati was sorely needed.
Especially in Morea, where competent officers were virtually nonexistent, anyone with sufficient ability would be invaluable. Which naturally raised the question—who exactly was this supposedly “well-known figure”?
“I still haven’t the faintest idea who this famous person might be.”
Even with his future knowledge, Dragases couldn’t know everything—not perfectly. Especially when it came to lesser-known figures of this era.
Sure, names like Skanderbeg, John Hunyadi, Joan of Arc, Vlad III, and Jan Žižka were well-known, but they wouldn’t have studied under any of them—not when they came from territory under Ottoman control.
So it was only natural that the emperor found himself pondering deeply.
But for Francisco—who had finally glimpsed hope of escape—staying silent was simply impossible.
“This isn’t the time to be guessing! I’m talking about someone who can lead the Murattati! I’m already dying trying to manage the knights, and if I have to keep dealing with the ever-growing Murattati on top of that, I really will die! Please, cousin—have mercy!”
“If you’re that confident, then bring them here. I’ll have to see what kind of person they are for myself.”
“Yes! Finallyyyy!”
Francisco could no longer contain his joy and looked up to the heavens with a triumphant cry.
Had the Magistros been there to witness the scene, he surely would have wondered what on earth had caused it.
The emperor turned his gaze away from the knight, who was now crying out with a mix of joy, anguish, and relief, and looked out the office window.
The sun was still shining warmly, and the work ahead remained ever plentiful.
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