Technology (3): Why I Chose the Market
The reason I chose the market was simple: it was where people from all sorts of places gathered. Technology follows money. And so, the market was also a hub where profitable technologies converged. As I wandered through it, I planned not just to gauge the pulse of everyday life, but to scout the items and innovations currently capturing people's interest.
"Technology is what makes a nation prosper."
In modern eyes, the Middle Ages were often dismissed as a dark age crushed under religious dogma. But nothing could be further from the truth. Far from stagnating, this era surpassed antiquity in economic achievement, fostering leaps in technology and culture. Waterwheel hydropower, for instance, truly matured in the medieval period. Sure, primitive versions existed in antiquity, but advances in science allowed for far more efficient designs that harnessed water drop effectively—paving the way for breakthroughs in metallurgy. Add to that Viking compass navigation, the birth of universities and degree systems, mechanized looms, and innovations across countless fields. Little wonder modern historians have reevaluated the Middle Ages entirely.
Whatever the case, technological and cultural progress was undeniable in this era. The trouble was the long gaps between advancements. That's why I wanted to prowl the markets myself, to spot what new technologies were brewing.
"Your Majesty's words ring true. But... no, please don't forget that Lord Johann's safety comes first."
Halvar pulled an awkward face, clearly ill at ease in his unfamiliar garb. As captain of the Varangian Guard—my personal elite—it was only natural he'd tag along. But out here, even he couldn't dodge the disguise. I was dressed as a wealthy North European merchant, with Halvar playing the rugged mercenary at my side. Gone was his usual kit; instead, he sported flashy finery.
"I know. But we're out now—best to commit fully to the goal."
Halvar shook his head with a rueful shake. I couldn't help but chuckle, then pressed on into the market.
The crowds hit me first: a teeming throng, alive with hawkers' cries.
"Fresh fish, just in—guaranteed!"
"Knives for slicing meat—who needs one?"
"Hot bread, baked this morning!"
True to form, merchants hawked every food under the sun. By their looks, most hailed from abroad rather than local Greek stock. Constantinople: bridge between East and West. Arabs and nomads streamed in from the east; Germans and Slavs from the west. Worlds apart in culture. Yet the lure of wealth had them all speaking Greek.
"Everyone here's fluent in Greek."
"Language chases coin. Want to trade in Constantinople? Greek's the ticket."
To get rich, you learned the tongue. But language was more than a tool for profit—it carried culture. Alongside faith, it bound the multicultural, multiethnic East Roman realm together.
Anyway, haggling filled the air in Greek. Layer upon layer of such exchanges, and alien cultures melted into one here, faster than anywhere else.
"Look there, Lord Johann."
Halvar nodded toward a dim corner. I followed his gaze: technicians huddled under a willow, heads bent over a small model.
"What if we tweak it like this—more power, right?"
"You desert folk might not get it, but this ignores drop entirely. Waste of time."
"One-sided view, friend. Bavaria's ridges are steep—plenty of drop there, but..."
They debated hotly, voices rising. From a distance, I murmured:
"It's that clash that forges better tech."
"Tech's Greek to me. Looks promising, though."
We left the technicians behind and reached the market's heart, crammed with exotic wares.
"Silver-filigree necklace! Ideal gift for the wife!"
"Hispanian statue—prime chance for connoisseurs!"
Worthies from every corner of the world, as you'd expect. But one item snagged my eye: an ornament glowing unearthly green.
"This is..."
Jade, unmistakably. One glance, and I pegged it as Eastern. Only Oriental nephrite gleamed like that—vivid, iridescent green.
Western jade existed, of course. In antiquity, it served rituals, tools, even weapons. Practical stuff, an extension of utility. Never jewels, like in the East. Why? Europe's jade lacked the sparkle for gems.
"What's this green glow?"
"Nephrite. Jade, they call it."
"For real? English or Polish stuff's dull—no green sheen."
Europe mined it, yes. But lacking the East's luster, England's and Poland's yields were milky opaques—like clouded glass. No jewel status; mere inlays for crafts. So jade was, practically, an Eastern exclusive.
"Only Cathay jade shines like this."
"Spot on."
A salesman sidled up, grin professional. Ring's owner, clearly.
"Fancy the ring?"
I nodded, pointed. "Where from?"
"Cathay, as you guessed."
His Greek carried a thick North German lilt. Holy Roman Empire, no doubt.
"You fetch it yourself?"
"Nah. Bought off Silk Road traders plying the Black Sea steppes."
"Steppes? Leather man, then."
"Right. How'd you know?"
Genuine shock in his tone—no sales patter. I laid it out plain.
"Holy Roman type crossing those plains? Leather's the only game."
"Ah... sharp eye. Might seem odd, chatting myself up to a buyer, but name's Adolf."
"Adolf. Johann here."
Ancient Germanic root: Asalaulpa, Ataulf, Aeswulf. "Noble wolf." Fine name—ubiquitous in German lands from olden days to early modern. Later shunned, thanks to one bearer's infamy. But that's future history; irrelevant now.
"Johann... Viking stock?"
"Close enough."
Normans traced to Viking blood, Scandinavia a stone's throw from North Germany. My getup screamed it. But ring mattered more. "Cathay ring, then."
"Last one."
"Looks like there were more."
"Spot on. Traded some for leather en route. East Rome runs on paper, not gold."
He grimaced. Post-reform, gold needed swapping for notes first. Gold held value, sure—could buy hides outright. Nomad sellers, though, dodged the exchange hassle (fees nibbling profits) by taking trade goods direct. Hence, rings for leather.
No Eastern intel from his slim stock, then.
"Ring price?"
"Ten East Roman nomismata. Buy now, case is yours—made it myself."
Case finer than expected: dried zelkova wood. Father's carpenter trails taught me woods; instant ID.
"Zelkova case."
Adolf blinked, then nodded. "Aye. You work wood too, Lord Johann?"
"Merchant now, but Zimmermanns carve generations deep."
Zimmermann: High German for carpenter.
"Gensfleisch clan here. Leather's my trade, but I process timber too."
Noble custom: name the house, hear theirs in turn. Adolf obliged. His surname hit like thunder.
Johannes Gutenberg, 15th-century movable type pioneer. Never dreamed I'd cross his ancestor's path.