1453: Revival of Byzantium - Chapter 500

The death of Hussein marked the end of the entire battle, hundreds of Ottoman soldiers began getting on their feet and start running towards the North or throwing their arms down in an attempt to surrender. Without a functioning command structure, the entire army collapsed just a bit after noon.

This marked the end on the second phase of the battle of Ptolemaida.

Most works have already finished by now, the Ottomans have already been successfully separated into smaller units in hundreds of people being spread over on a vast area around the battle field, or regiments of around a few hundred to a thousand men still trying to engage in combat, adding up to a total of around ten thousand of men. It can be said that the battle here has finished, but if these remnants of the Ottoman troops are left unhandled it shall become a severe threat for the local community’s security and stability for years.

There is no need to keep the pocket open now, Julian ordered his troops to go on all out closing in to the Ottomans from every single order including from the North. Many Ottomans who are still running suddenly found themselves to be facing the Romans again, leaving many with no choice but to surrender, while there are those who chose to resist, and they got what they want with a jeer from their Roman counterpart.

“Suddenly decided to be hero and put up a good fight now? What was you doing half a day ago? What was you doing yesterday? Too late!”

The Mamluk trained Roman cavalries now went all out too in groups of a dozen going around in the plains and hills hunting down the escaped Ottoman troopers one by one, under the assistance of a special force that did not show up in the battlefield on the while until now, that is the Roman voluntary force or in another words, the Roman’s drafted force. They came from almost every single family in the region, came from the sixteen thousand house holds, supported by a population of around forty thousand people.

Most of these people came here wholeheartedly, as most of them have once lived under the terror of Ottoman rule in the region ripping them of their land, women and property. Honestly speaking this makes no difference from the landlords and Latin nobles that used to run this land last time, but the problem is the Ottomans promised the local population that they would bring change if the local population support them, they shall not be required to do harsh labour and hefty taxation, and the Jizya tax shall be as light as possible. Things became relatively better at first but quickly deteriorated to the way before as the Ottoman nobles quickly became corrupted too after suddenly moving in from the poor of Anatolia to the riches of Greece, leading to many locals believing that they have been thoroughly fooled and betrayed.

Besides, the locals, especially the ones who are old enough to experience the events over the past three decades, know the harm of letting a bunch of mentally collapsed and defeated soldiers roaming around in their countryside: They can turn from soldiers to menacing bandits when their prestige, honour and discipline are washed away by the harsh facts and lust of reality making them start robbing and killing people for gold, animals and food.

Thanks to the policy made in place by Abdullah a few years back which requires the local males to be recorded, documented and called up for reservist training every single winter when the males are not required for agriculture works, Antonius is now able to call up for five thousand volunteers and gather around this region in just less than a fortnight’s time. And these people are not like their counterparts in the west, dragged here by their Ottoman masters to suffer, they are here to fight and defend their hometowns, their families, their future, which made them be filled with the zest to fight, vowing to chase the Ottomans out of their land forever.

“Look! Candarli Halil! Hüseyin Çelik! This is the way on how to use drafted footmen properly, you two people are totally ignorant of this despite of your age. But it is fine, I shall show it to you, just stay beneath the ground and watch my art of war.” Antonius murmured to himself as he watched these five thousand people going into the woods and hills day by day, using their familiarity I the local region, superiority in intelligence and better corporation with one another from the same village to hunt down one after another deserted soldier in the winter woods, just like how they used to hunt down boars last time.

Though despite of all these advantages in drafting the local population, Antonius refrained from using them for direct combat replacing the roles of the regular troops unlike what the Ottomans have done.

While the massive operation of pricking out the harms in the local woods is still ongoing, the commander of the two defected Ottoman regiments Adrianos Chronoulis finally had his chance to meet the sovereign of Thessaloniki after waiting outside the camp for an entire day filled with anxiety over the uncertainty of what is going to happen to him in the future. He has already heard about the tales of the Caesar supposedly executing people who have served him or surrendered to him in the past from a guard outside the camp which almost made his hair jump up like he is electrocuted. Though what he does not know is that the guard told him about this only because he got prior instructions from Antonius himself to give tis man a scare.

“Honourable Adrianos, you are summoned by his majesty.” Just as he is still there waiting anxiously, aa man dressed like an advisor came out of the tent and welcomed him in. Adrianos hastily went up mummering words of thanks to this advisor repeatedly with his head low facing the ground and stashed an ingot of gold into the advisor’s hands with a force that the later cannot resist, and then entered the tent. The advisor, who is actually Alexios, looked at the man’s back with a smile as he tossed the ingot of gold up high into the air and placed it back into his pocket.

Upon entering the tent, Adrianos instantly kneeled down on all four of his limbs burying his head deep into his arms and shouted out. “Thank you! Your majesty! For giving me, Adrianos, a guilty and sinful criminal a chance to see you! Please! Pardon me for my guilt! And wash me off of my disgrace!”

There came no response from the other side, only a sense of dead silence.

This few seconds felt like the longest period of time in Adrianos’ life span, his brawny arms seem to have suddenly turned weak and fragile as it is now unable to hold his body upright with a constant tremble. He wanted to lift up his head and look at the person seated up there so bad, but still tried his best to resist his temptations knowing that he is nothing but merely a slice of meat waiting to be either chopped or cooked.

After a while an old man’s voice came from above. “Master Adrianos, I am deeply sorry, but the Caesar is still yet to arrive due to state affairs. I am Apostolos, his servant and cup bearer, and I am appointed to be your host today and officially welcome you here. Why don’t you have a seat first? You seem to be exhausted, I shall get you a cup of Tsipouro and s plate of Moustokouloura, if you do not mind.”

Adrianos is already feeling like he is sitting on a pile of needles when he is ushered inside, upon hearing the words of the old man he hastily stood up again replying in a humble, almost pitiful manner. “It is fine, respected senior, I shall not trouble you, for I have brought my own water.”

Apostolic gave this man a strange look and nodded his head and guided him to seat down, though still he clapped his hands and called in two service attendants to pour the guest a cup of Quzo, and even some dried fruits that is definitely both valuable and scarce in the winter season. Adrianos again expressed his vibrant vocabulary dictionary of expressing thanks and gratitude, for he is thinking that this old man must be an important figure within the Roman government, judging by his age there can be a chance that this man is the father of that Caesar, so he must be careful here with the risk that his head might drop off with one wrong word used.

Though in fact that he is actually not wrong, this old man Apostolos seating before him shaking that wooden mazer in his hands is indeed the main contributor for all the scares Adrianos has faced the moment since he stepped his foot into this camp.