The Empire might have held together longer if it had had better means of communication. But the Empire, at least in the west, was hopelessly smashed, with Italy, Gaul, and Spain under the muscular thumbs of their barbarian "garrisons."
The answer was Rapid communication and the multiple record— that is, printing. Not even the most diligently destructive barbarian can extirpate the written word from a culture wherein the minimum edition of most books is fifteen hundred copies. There are just too many books.
So he would be a printer. The web might be tough, but maybe it had never been attacked by a Martin Padway.
"Good morning, my dear Martinus," said Thomasus. "How is the copper-rolling business?"
"So-so. The local smiths are pretty well stocked with strip, and not many of the shippers are interested in paying my prices for such a heavy commodity. But I think I'll clean up that last note in a few weeks."
"I'm glad to hear that. What will you do then?"
"That's what I came to see you about. Who's publishing books in Rome now?"
"Books? Books? Nobody, unless you count the copyists who replace wornout copies for the libraries. There are a couple of bookstores down in the Agiletum, but their stock is all imported. The last man who tried to run a publishing business in Rome went broke years ago. Not enough demand, and not enough good authors. You're not thinking of going into it, I hope?"
"Yes, I am. I'll make money at it, too."
"What? You're crazy, Martinus. Don't consider it. I don't want to see you go broke after making such a fine start."