1453: Revival of Byzantium - Chapter 484

Another typical day whereby two thousand men are sent out to die in the no man’s land.

The commander of a three thousand men regiment named Adrianos Chronoulis watches these men being dragged into the large parade square, being issues their weapons with no armour protection of course, and then they marched out of the camp under the watchful eyes of the ‘supervisors’ tracing them at the back, cutting down anyone who dares to escape from one’s duty.

It is obvious that the drafting system designed by the viziers of Sultan Murad II that is an improved version on top of the original Roman Themata system is obviously breaking down as Adrianos is starting to see women being mixed among the men being pushed onto battlefield. The weeping noises from this crowd never stopped as they went closer and closer to the walls of doom making him get more irritated and sicker. He knows that his troops shall be called in soon, probably tomorrow or the day after, and seeing the outcomes of the troops that went out of the walls, Adrianos knows that he must do something to save his men.

‘Maybe it is the time to rethink about the words of that spy.’ Such a thought started raising up in his head again almost giving him a fright as he quickly looked around to make sure that no one is watching over him secretly. Though of course he is just being paranoid recently, that Rumelian spy has probably already left the camp, if not he shall be pulled along too into this death march.

Adrianos has the idea of starting a revolt since days ago, the thought is already firm inside his head. But the only thing he need to wait for is a big event in the entire camp, or a messy situation that give him an advantage to take. But so far, the order in the army has not been broken yet, and that means he still got to wait. If he decides to start a revolt right now it would almost be certain that he shall be surrounded and put down pretty quickly. In fact, Adrianos already has a plan in his head and he has already shared it with the officers he deemed reliable; If the Sanjek decides to send his troops into battlefield, he shall command his troops to seize the gate and the walls when they marched there and inform the Rumelians, and hold it there until the Rumelian reinforcements arrive.

Just as Adrianos is standing there thinking about his broad plan to save his troops, a group of riders attracted his attention. They galloped through the central messe of the camp yelling at people asking them to clear off, knocking down several in process. Most importantly, they are carrying flags on their back and Adrianos knows about it, this flag is designed by Sultan Murad II for his Sultanate wide postal service signifying that this mail is of utter emergency.

What kind of emergency can happen now? The commander Adrianos does not get it, to him he feels like all the emergencies of the Sanjek are all around here, within this ten square kilometer of land. Judging by the way these riders came from Adrianos can almost confirm that these riders came from the direction of Ioannina, but what kind of news can possibly come from there?

…

The commanding tent of the Ottomans.

The Sultan’s royal flag of the white horse, and the war banner of the horse blade decorated with blessed Islamic Arabic banners are still flying high in the sky, decorated with two spearheads made of gold indicating the prestige and honour on the owner of this tent. It had the same layout as the royal tent that was once used by the Sultan Mehmed II, and such decorations should be used by the Sultan of the Ottomans only. Though ever since the collapse of the Sultan’s influence outside Thrace it seems like more and more regional warlords are starting to use such luxuries without anyone capable of punishing them. But of course, surely no one in Edirne would question the loyalty of the old Sanjek, as he is one of the few separated factions that are still paying taxes to the central government now.

But inside the tent, the atmosphere has changed to a way that totally does not match with its size and luxury of the tent. It is a mixture of both solemn, with half of the people seating over there with a stern face, and sorrow, with another half of the people shedding tears non stop, and pain, with the one man seating on top feeling the antagonizing pain in his chest making him feel the world is swirling around him, and that is the old Sanjek for sure.

The word of that messenger is still vividly clear in his ears that is like a blowing thunder. “Honourable Sanjek! Honourable Sanjek! Please, please save our city! Save Ioannina!”

“Why? What is the rush? Relax my son, tell me what is going on?”

“The Albanons! The Albanons! That devil Skanderbeg! He… He…”

“Skanderbeg? Skanderbeg! Why? What is he up to! What is he up to? Did he start attacking our borderline? Did he join force with the Rumelian pirates? What is it?”

“He… Skanderbeg!… Skanderbeg!… He captured our border fort Kakavia in a surprise attack, and then he led a six hundred strong cavalry force and went all the way across Mali i Gjerë and by the time the capital guard force received the alert, they are already outside the northern gate of our city! They have built a camp beside the Lake Pamvotida! Large amount of Albanon infantries and workers are already spotted along the way beneath the mountain ranges… Please, please! The regent of Ioannina has sent waves after waves of messengers like me to you to request for immediate aid! And so far, I am the only one that successfully reached here!”

After saying all of these, it seems like the last grip of energy that is allowing the messenger to cling on to his survival has been used up. The messenger slowly collapsed onto the ground like a lifeless doll with his lips turning entirely purple in colour. But no one here bothered to lay down their hands to help this soldier who fulfilled his duty, as they are equally struck with shock, including the Sanjek himself as he suddenly appeared to age by a decade, standing up with his limbs and lips shivering, and his eyes full of disbelief. The tent soon erupted into a marketplace with debates and arguments all over the place regarding the current situation, leaving the Sanjek along by himself.

The Sanjek tried to get his feet up from his seat but failed as he plunged backwards. “How is it possible?” He asked in a trembling voice. “How is it possible for the Albanons and Skanderbeg to go all the way for almost forty Roman miles right into our heartlands along those curly roads, without alarming our border guards? How is it possible that he bypasses those three forts I built specially just for him? How is it possible that he is so fast? How is it possible?”

But there is no one here to answer his question.

“Sanjek! Honourable Sanjek!” An Ottoman commander whose granted land is near Ioannina stepped out and kneeled down with tears in his eyes. “No matter what, we need to rush back to save our capital! If we lose our faithful capital and our citizens of Ioannina, then this war is as good as lost! Please! Honourable Sanjek! Save our families!”

The word ‘families’ at the back of this commander’s weep shook a string inside the Sanjek’s heart as he quickly recalled the face of his deceased mistress carrying his child on the bed before he departed for war a year ago, it seemed to be such a happy occasion at that point of time. And soon when reality came into place the Sanjek started feeling a violent snitching pain inside his chest which turned stronger and stronger, until a point where it has became totally unbearable, and finally after a while of struggling the crippled Sanjek fell back into the couch gasping his own left chest.

This gave all the other Ottoman nobles who are observing their leader’s expression a fright, they wished that the Sanjek die as soon as possible before hand so that they can use the chaos that follows next to gain more power, land and population for themselves. But not now, they still need the Sanjek here at least as an icon to unite everyone together, so that they can rush back to save their properties and lands in full strength from the invasive Albanons.

“Honourable Sanjek! Are you alright! Are you fine!”

“Honourable Sanjek! Please! Please wake up!”

“Oh, All Might Allah, have you abandoned us?”

“Quick! Go get the doctor! Go get that trained doctor!”

“Sanjek! Honourable Sanjek…”