Silver Coin Economy (1)
After the private audience with the Archbishop of the Eastern Orthodox Church, Asporos exchanged greetings with Zoi before returning to the patriarchate.
“Fortunately, it wasn’t a bigger issue than expected.”
Zoi’s simple remark drew a nod from me. Asporos had departed more quietly than anticipated. I learned belatedly that the newly elected patriarch was Michael I. A patriarch from the Keroularios family. Considering that Ioannikios Keroularios, the leader of the aristocratic faction, was his father, it wouldn’t have been strange if something had erupted. In the worst case, we could have faced excommunication.
To secure recognition of our rule over Reggio Calabria, we had converted at the Pope’s suggestion—but many Varangians still clung to Norse mythology. As their chieftain, if they had seized on that point, excommunication wasn’t impossible. It could happen on the slightest suspicion. Of course, if my power had been overwhelming, such a decree would have meant nothing. Heinrich III had cycled through three popes in his dominance. Only after his death could the current Pope, Nicholas II, scheme to seize control over papal elections. Thus, as history recorded, excommunication didn’t always wield absolute power. From the Church’s perspective, it carried the risk of military backlash, so they couldn’t wield it lightly.
Yet we were a fledgling force, fresh from our coronation. Excommunication could have struck with devastating force, drawing the concentrated assaults of every warlord. Fortunately, we had dodged that horrific outcome.
“But we can’t lower our guard.”
Asporos had come, delivered a congratulatory letter, and left. It was hard to see that as the Church officially declaring neutrality.
“If we weaken, they’ll side with the aristocratic faction.”
Zoi’s cool analysis rang true. The Church was simply weighing us against the nobles on its scales, watching which way the profit tilted. If we faltered, they would bolster the aristocrats without hesitation.
“We’ll ensure that doesn’t happen. And…”
Even if cornered, I had no intention of yielding meekly.
“We still hold the Shroud.”
Among Christian relics, none were more revered than those tied to God Himself. Even in modern times, rumors swirled around the Holy Grail, spawning countless films to feed that fascination. The Shroud rivaled it in potency. With it in my grasp, the Eastern Orthodox Church couldn’t pressure us religiously.
“Thank goodness we have countermeasures ready. Still, the best defense is building strength so no one dares touch us.”
Wise Zoi. She was right—raw power was paramount.
“The Trapezunt war left heavy damage. Expanding the military before repairs is impossible.”
I handed her the chart I’d prepared in advance. I oversaw military affairs, so I’d ordered my aides to tabulate the war’s losses and restoration costs. Pinpointing the hardest-hit sectors post-battle offered clear advantages, letting us channel resources effectively to priority repairs.
“Impressive. You never fail to surprise me, glykí mou.”
Her words here meant “my sweet one”—something like “honey” in modern terms. Her shy praise brought an awkward smile to my face.
“Blushing already, glykí mou?”
“N-no, it’s not…”
Zoi smiled slyly, murmuring low: “Erótas mou.”
The pet name carried erotic undertones—“my sexy lover,” or husband or wife in that vein. She often whispered it in bed, so memories flooded back, flushing my cheeks.
“Heehee. Sorry for teasing. You’re just too adorable, glykí mou.”
Her playful mischief. I cleared my throat to shift topics.
“Ahem. Anyway, military buildup is off the table.”
Zoi nodded.
“The Imperial Council, modeled on the Senate, needs more territory to function properly.”
Councilors served not just for legislation but local autonomy. The vast East Roman lands—Anatolia alone spanned thrice Korea’s south. As a centralized state, East Rome tried direct rule, but history proved it a failure. Administrative and military might fell short for such iron control, especially amid civil wars that carved out vacuums. Even accounting for that, clinging to brittle centralization against Islam and nomads was folly. Zoi and I aimed to blend central strengths with local delegation. The Imperial Council was our first step.
That required vast holdings, so as she said, political focus was premature.
“What about administration?”
“Reforms will be tough. Alberto begs for more staff daily.”
Alberto’s name stirred guilt. Trapezunt’s absorption had ballooned his workload. As de facto head of the bureaucracy, he was exhausted. Streamlining demanded reorganization for efficiency. Modern tech could ease it, but in this medieval age, limits abounded. No tech meant manpower—and that wasn’t simple. Empire-building administration required trained elites, not just anyone.
“For now, as we reclaim lands, we’ll co-opt local nobles there and slot them in.”
Nobles were typically well-educated—prime human capital for bureaucracy.
“But overuse risks rebellion, like the aristocratic uprising. We need a counterforce ready now.”
If nobles seized administration, trouble brewed—as Basil II’s assassination proved. We needed checks on them.
“The plan you mentioned: educate commoners into lower bureaucrats?”
Zoi nodded. Though Alberto ran day-to-day, she held final say. She’d long pondered curbing nobles via education: train middle- and upper-commoner youth as manpower. Numerically, they’d dominate lower ranks, pressuring outnumbered nobles. A tactic proven from ancient Rome to modern civil service. I’d agreed instantly when she proposed it.
“Exactly. But education demands funds.”
Schools, teachers, materials—all cost money.
“So what we must focus on now is…”
“The economy.”
Zoi’s crisp reply. With politics, administration, and military stalled, economics was the path.
“Economy… How should we approach reform?”
She answered as if she’d rehearsed.
“Normally, I’d propose expansion to boost tax revenue and fund education.”
The orthodox plan: grow the pie for bigger slices. But Zoi eyed an alternative.
“But something matters more now.”
“What?”
“Currency reform.”
Currency reform. East Rome’s gold coin then served as de facto reserve currency. Yet decades hence, it would lose that status—due to debased gold content. Rome prized gold for rarity and steady supply from Egypt, precisely Nubia’s vast yields. Post-Egypt, supplies dwindled. Anatolian and Transylvanian mines plugged gaps, but high-difficulty veins forced inferior coinage.
“Reform will spark chaos.”
“That’s why we do it small-scale.”
Reform’s shock scales with economy size. A stable realm risked hyperinflation collapse. With war repairs already fueling it, now was ideal.
“True. How do we proceed?”
Her treasury experience shone. With my nod, she unveiled her scheme.
“Essentially, phase out gold and make silver the core currency.”
Her bombshell. The empire boasted rich, high-yield silver mines—many in our Lazica and Trapezunt domains. Ample supply meant lower value. Elevating silver meant flooding markets, deliberately slashing gold’s face value via redenomination.
I couldn’t hide my shock.