Darkness before Dawn - Purple Phoenix 1416

Dear All,

For the past two years I have finally somewhat settle my RL duties, finished my Ph.D thesis, started a new company, and now after a long hiatus, I am finally able to revisit my TL from 2022, Darkness before Dawn.

I have made significant changes to the outline of the TL, and as I read through my past updates and chapters, I came to the conclusion that the plotline and description requires a complete rewrite in order to represent the story and TL in a more streamlined way, and hopefully provide an entertaining read.

I shall resume posting with an interval of 2 - 3 chapters per week until I catch up where I left behind, and then let's see how I can properly balance my RL with this interest project of mine.

Thank you to all of you that have kept an interest to the original TL, now let the story begin.
 
PROLOGUE - PRELUDE TO THE STAGE
As darkness falls upon the night sky, ominous clouds gather, their undersides swirling with a menagerie of grays and blacks. A banner, emblazoned with the proud symbol of a horse's tail, flutters and dances in the breeze as a light drizzle starts to fall. In the distance, low and rumbling thunder can be heard, growing steadily louder with each passing moment. The angry waves of the Aegean Sea crash relentlessly into the rocky shoreline, sending plumes of saltwater high into the air in a majestic display of nature's power. A storm is coming, and it promises to be unlike any other.

Beneath the banner, a man with powerful figure stands tall and proud, his muscular frame cloaked in a blue tunic adorned with exotic patterns that shimmer in the flickering torchlight. His face, strong and handsome, is a testament to his noble heritage, with prominent features that are highlighted by the dancing flames. His gaze shifts between the churning sea and the cloud-covered sky, finally settling on the blurred shadow of a distant city of Thessaloniki that lies beyond the reach of the torchlight.

"Your Highness," comes a soft voice from behind him, breaking the silence of the night, "the wind is heavy, and the drizzle has dampened your hair. It would be wise to seek shelter from the impending storm."

The young man turns slightly, acknowledging the presence of his grand vizier, Bayezid Pasha, a trusted advisor and friend who has been with him through many trials and tribulations. "I know, my dear friend," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy that is rare for one so powerful. "But we do not have the luxury to choose the storms of life. We can only endure them and hope to emerge victorious on the other side."

Bayezid nods solemnly, understanding the weight of responsibility that rests upon his Sultan's shoulders. "Your Highness has faced many storms before and has always emerged victorious," he says with conviction in his voice. "This too shall pass, and your reign will continue to prosper."

The Sultan turns back to face the sea, his voice hardens and the tiny trace of melancholy disappears with the wind. "Speaking of storms," he begins, "the Venetians have dealt us a heavy blow at Gallipoli, taking many lives and dealing a significant blow to our fleet."

Bayezid frowns, knowing that the loss of their navy at Gallipoli is a serious setback to his Sultan’s new reign. "It is true that we have suffered a setback," he admits, "but the Venetians are not without their own weaknesses. Their fleet may dominate the sea, but they are powerless on land. Their holdings and castles lie bare and open to our arrows and lances. If they choose to challenge us further, they will surely meet their end."

The Sultan nods slightly, his gaze hardening as he considers the future. "Yes, the Venetians may think they have the upper hand now," he says coldly, "but they will soon learn that they have bitten off more than they can chew. Bah, they are but a minor pain… As for my 'dear' cousin Mustafa and that traitor Junayd Bey," he spits the words out with contempt, "they will pay dearly for their treachery."

Bayezid remains silent, he knows the Ottoman crown has weight down on the Sultan. Ever since the disaster at Ankara, where the former Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt was captured by the Tamerlane the World Conqueror, the realm of the Ottomans has been tumultuous. The situation only began to stabilize after the ascension of his Sultan to the throne three years ago, yet fortune force his Sultan, the proud Mehmed to ride against challenge after challenge, crisis after crisis, with no end in sight. With a heavy heart, Bayezid turns his attention to the approaching storm, watching as the raindrops grew larger and heavier with each passing moment.

As the storm draws nearer and the rain begins to fall in earnest, the Sultan stand his ground unmoving, allowing the elements to wash over him. It was as if he were trying his will against the challenge of nature. But the Sultan is a man of iron resolve, and he would not be moved.

"When the time comes," after a long silence, the Sultan opens up finally, his voice carrying over the howling wind and crashing waves, "we will strike back at the Venetians with all the force we can muster. And when we do, it will be like a thunderbolt in the night, swift and unexpected. But as of now, we must eliminate the parasite Mustafa, and that wicked man of Bedreddin first and foremost."

Bayezid nods in agreement. The realm faces many threats, compare to the imminent and stubborn disease that is Mustafa and Bedreddin, the Venetians are only a minor discomfort.

The storm rages on around them, but the two men stand firm against the elements, their resolve as strong as ever.

Three days later, a small vessel set sail from the city of Thessaloniki, bound for Constantinople. On board was a messenger carrying a letter



'To my esteemed Basileios,

The Ottoman prince, Mustafa, along with the governor of Nicopolis, Junayd Bey, have taken refuge behind the tall walls of Thessaloniki after their humiliating defeat by Sultan Mehmed. The sultan's army pursuits relentlessly and has now encircled our city, demanding their surrender. After three days of delicate negotiations, I have deemed it prudent to apprise my Basileios of the Ottomans' offer through this letter. They propose a sum of one million akces in exchange for the contender to the Ottoman throne .

It is worth noting that during these negotiations, the rebellion in Dobrudja has escalated significantly, to such an extent that it appears to have commandeered Mehmed's complete attention. Despite his illness due to a cold, he abruptly departed with his main force yesterday. Considering the Ottomans' precarious situation, I believe they may be amenable to terms more favorable to us. However, such a negotiation demands a direct line of communication between two heads of state.

Meanwhile, Thessaloniki stands resolute. Our walls are manned by vigilant guards, our people are well-provisioned, and morale is high. The Ottoman navy, having suffered a crippling defeat by the Venetians, is unable to blockade our port. Our city shall endure. Despot Andronikos, having recovered from his recent illness, sends his warm regards to you.

I pray this letter finds my Basileios in good health and high spirits.



Your ever-loyal and devoted servant,
Demetrios Laskaris Leontares'

On the fifth day of June, in the year of our Lord 1416.
 
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Great to see this TL once more, may the Roman Empire rise once more after so many years of hardship. Keep up the great work 👍👍👍.
 
CHAPTER 1 - THESSALIAN NIKE
‘Andronikos Palaiologos's childhood remains frustratingly enigmatic to historians. At the tender age of eight, the young prince was wrenched from his familial surroundings and invested as the titular Despot of Thessaloniki. This significant appointment was entrusted to the capable stewardship of Demetrios Laskaris Leontares, a seasoned soldier and administrator whose guidance was undoubtedly pivotal in shaping the prince's early years.

In contrast to his brother Theodoros, who was bestowed with Morea and condemned to languish in its frigid fortresses, Andronikos enjoyed the relative luxury of residing in the Empire's second largest city. However, Thessaloniki's former glory had long been diminished by years of upheaval and Ottoman occupation, leaving it a mere shadow of its former self. Nevertheless, the city's residual prosperity would have offered the prince a more enriched upbringing than his sibling.

Remarkably, prior to the summer of 1416, historical accounts afford us little to no insight into the prince's life. His absence from the annals of history is so profound that he might be mistaken for a spectral figure, flitting through the margins of medieval chronicles. Intriguingly, scattered references in Roman bishopric correspondence of the 1430s hint at a rare malaise that blighted his youth, severely curtailing his social ability and any participation in affairs of state. These letters, penned by pious bishops, saw his condition as a divine chastisement.

Speculation abounds concerning the influence of the elusive Master Plethon on the young prince. Whispers from the 1430s persist that Andronikos was a clandestine adherent of Plethon's pagan teachings, a devotee of ancient pagan gods hidden in plain sight. However, such tales are the stuff of legend, perpetuated largely by the conservative clergy of the late 1430s and 1440s, eager to malign a ruler whose reforms they deemed heathen.

What we can infer with some confidence, from the accomplishments that would later grace his reign, is that Andronikos must have undergone a rigorous military tutelage. Moreover, his proficiency in the intricacies of statecraft, evident in his early years, suggests that he received at least a modicum of exposure and tutelage in the arts of governance. This conjecture is bolstered by his close-knit relationship with his guardian, the esteemed Leontares, whose own acumen in these matters would have undoubtedly had its mark on the young Despot.’


- Treatise on the political development in early 1400s Empire, Professor Emeritus Alexandros Lekapenos, Academia Thessalonica, 1899




*******************************************************************

1642446433000 (1).png


- Map of Thessaloniki


A teenager with a slim figure and delicate facial features, leans out of his window at the Palace of Galerius. His long, pale hair dances in the wind as he basks in the warm embrace of the sunlight, yet his face, pretty yet pale, betrays the lingering shadows of his former frailty. His eyes, though bright with the novelty of the world outside, are also clouded with a hint of unease.

From his balcony, he surveys the bustling scene below, ears filled with the cacophony of city life. Behind him is the Hippodrome of Thessaloniki, second only to the Hippodrome of Constantinople, to his left is a large harbor, while to his front and right is a bustling street and market. But beneath the hustle and bustle, he detects a subtle undertone of unease, a whispered mention of Ottomans coming, a looming siege. This news, coupled with his own fragile past, weighs heavily on his heart. A whiff of salt and fish in the air catches his attention, drawing his gaze towards the harbor.

"The ships about to set sail." he murmurs, noting that many of the foreign trade vessels docked in the harbor have begun preparation to leave port, obviously fearing the safety of the city. As he counts the sails and flags, his thoughts wander back to the long years he spent confined to his room.

A week ago, a newfound strength had coursed through his limbs, thanks to the potions sent by his old mentor and friend, the renowned philosopher Master Plethon. However, with this newfound freedom came a heaviness of heart, the world he had once known only through books and letters was now spread out before him, but so too were the worries and fears that awaited him.

Now that the storm which lasted for 5 days has finally settled, the young man decides to take a walk outside for the first time in years. He dresses himself in fine clothing and slowly makes his way down the palace stairs, still adjusting to walking himself. As he passes, servants bow, their eyes still filled with surprise at the sight of him walking freely. But he senses their surprise is mixed with a cautious optimism, aware of the fragility that still clung to him.

Stepping outside, the young man feels a surge of excitement, but it is quickly tempered by the weight of his concerns. The ordinary sights and sounds of the city, once a novelty, now carry with them the whispers of an impending crisis.

As he strolls through the streets, listening to the banter and bargaining, he catches snippets of conversation that speak of the Ottomans, their vast and unrelenting army now encircling the city, and the past unspeakable calamity that army inflicted to his people not that long ago.

Even now after a decade, whenever spoken, the name of Bayezid the Thunderbolt, lord of the Turks, Master of the horses, Conqueror of Christian lands and Head of the Ottomans, still frightens the hearts and minds of Roman people, reminding them the humiliation and devastation he imposed upon them.

Born in 1400 as the son of Emperor Manuel II, the young man is named Andronikos by his father. Although he was too young to understand, he could still recall when he was three years old, the excitement among the servants in Constantinople when news broke that the terrible Bayezid had been defeated in a great battle to the East by another mighty horse lord, and his son the young Sultan had come to Constantinople begging for peace. For the first time in almost a century, the fortunes of the Empire seemed to have turned for the better. Not soon after, at the age of eight, he was appointed Despot of the newly reacquired Despotate of Thessaloniki which include the city of Thessaloniki and its surrounding holdings.

Another eight years have past, and as he stands here, seeing and sensing people around him, feeling the wind brush against his face and the sun warm his skin, he cannot help but feel the ghosts of his past illness hovering around him. He wonders if his newfound strength will be enough to carry him through the storms that are sure to come.

With a heavy heart but a determined stride, Andronikos takes a deep breath, knowing that every step he takes is not just a journey of discovery but a test of his will and resilience.

"Your Highness," a guard pants as he rushes up to Andronikos, "Lord Leontares is awaiting you in the palace."

Andronikos nods curtly and follows the guard back into the palace. In the hallway, he finds the tall and composed general, his steward, Demetrios Leontares standing at attention, dressed in armor. As soon as Andronikos enters, Leontares breaks into a broad smile and hugs him deeply.

"It is good to see you well, my Despot, I heard you took a walk to the streets? You should have had guards with you…" Leontares says, voicing concern.

"Thank you, Demetrios, but I am fine and capable to handle things myself." Andronikos replies calmly, shifting the topic to more pressing issues. "I presume you've come with urgent matters? Have we received any news from the wall? Have the Ottomans made any new move?"

Leontares' smile fades away. "Yes, my Despot, I fear the news is not good. Our guards on the wall have reported that the Ottomans have begun pillaging nearby villages, demanding tribute and ransoms from the local people."

Andronikos' face darkens. "Outrageous! We have a Treaty with them! They have no right to trespass our territory or destroy the livelihood of our people!"

Leontares waits for Andronikos to have his emotions vented, pauses for a moment, then continues in a calmer tone. "We are well aware of the Ottomans' barbaric behavior. But the disparity in our forces makes intervention difficult on our part. It's a bitter truth we must swallow."

"The strong takes what they can, and the weak suffers what they must. But we are not without options." He pauses, looking Andronikos squarely in the eye. "The Ottomans are here because they seek our two 'guests', particularly Prince Mustafa. As the son of former Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt, he has many sympathizers and followers in the Ottoman court. He may have been routed by Sultan Mehmed in this round, but in the next round, if under right circumstances, he could pose a significant threat to Mehmed. Your father, His Majesty, intends to use this to our advantage."

Andronikos nods slowly. "I see. And what do you propose we do in the meantime?"

"Patience, my Despot." Leontares replies. "Come with me to the walls. It would be beneficial for you to witness the Ottoman army with your own eyes."

Andronikos changes his regal clothes for armor, and follows Leontares to the acropolis of the city, encountering soldiers along the way, many of them local militias, their armament poor and morale low. As the pair near the wall, Andronikos catches sight of the Ottoman army for the first time. Immeasurable tents, camps, weapons, horses, wagons, and provisions are stretched out in an orderly manner. Soldiers in bright armor perform their daily duties with precision.

From afar, Andronikos sees a plume of smoke rising from one of his villages. "Do we have any way to save those villagers?" he asks, with empathy and sorrow in his eyes.

Leontares shakes his head. "Not at the moment, unfortunately, my Despot. But if we can negotiate with the Ottomans favorably, we might be able to save our people from further harm."

"And when would that be?" Andronikos demands.

"Patience, my Despot," Leontares repeats. "As Despot, you must learn to possess this virtue."

Andronikos sighs heavily. "Very well. But I want you to count the number of people enslaved by the Ottomans each day and report the names of the victims to me. They are my people, and even if we cannot avenge them now, they shall not perish nameless and forgotten."

Leontares is surprised by the order and the emotion behind, he looks at Andronikos briefly, then nods in assent. "As you command, my Despot. I will ensure that all names of the victims to the Ottoman incursion are accounted for."

After issuing his first order, Andronikos takes a deep breath and turns to survey the Ottoman camp. The centuries of humiliation inflicted by the Ottomans on his empire and his people fill him with resolve. He swears to fulfill his duty as Despot and protect his people to the best of his ability. Then, his eye catches sight of an unusually large horse tail banner in the center of the Ottoman camp, tilting slightly from left to right.

"Demetrios," he says, "how many soldiers do you estimate they have out there?"

Leontares considers for a moment, then replies, "Based on the number of wells they have dug, the plumes of cooking smoke I've observed over the past few days, and the size of their horse herd, I would estimate their numbers to be around 8000 infantrymen and 4000 cavalry."

Andronikos' brow furrows. "That is more than all the men at arms in the empire. We currently only have 1800 garrison in our city, right?"

"Yes, my Despot," Leontares confirms. "But we have an effective Treaty with the Ottomans, they cannot afford the cost to alienate the Empire. And despite all their numerical advantage, they lack siege equipment and would have a difficult time breaching our walls."

As the two men continue to discuss preparations for a full mobilization, Andronikos' eye is suddenly drawn to the large banner he had noticed earlier. It begins to move, and he sees hundreds of horsemen marching out of the Ottoman main camp.

“This banner belongs to Sultan Mehmed.” Leontares has also taken note. He stares intently for a brief moment, soon finding himself pondering: "Judging by their direction, it seems the Sultan is making his way north. Given that he arrived here just four days ago after a lengthy pursuit, it's evident that something urgent is brewing in the north. What could it possibly be? A rebellion led by the remnants of Mustafa? Or perhaps a Vlach invasion?"

“Regardless, I must uncover the truth behind this and relay it to your father.”
 
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As darkness falls upon the night sky, ominous clouds gather, their undersides swirling with a menagerie of grays and blacks. A banner, emblazoned with the proud symbol of a horse's tail, flutters and dances in the breeze as a light drizzle starts to fall. In the distance, low and rumbling thunder can be heard, growing steadily louder with each passing moment. The angry waves of the Aegean Sea crash relentlessly into the rocky shoreline, sending plumes of saltwater high into the air in a majestic display of nature's power. A storm is coming, and it promises to be unlike any other.

Beneath the banner, a man with powerful figure stands tall and proud, his muscular frame cloaked in a blue tunic adorned with exotic patterns that shimmer in the flickering torchlight. His face, strong and handsome, is a testament to his noble heritage, with prominent features that are highlighted by the dancing flames. His gaze shifts between the churning sea and the cloud-covered sky, finally settling on the blurred shadow of a distant city of Thessaloniki that lies beyond the reach of the torchlight.

"Your Highness," comes a soft voice from behind him, breaking the silence of the night, "the wind is heavy, and the drizzle has dampened your hair. It would be wise to seek shelter from the impending storm."

The young man turns slightly, acknowledging the presence of his grand vizier, Bayezid Pasha, a trusted advisor and friend who has been with him through many trials and tribulations. "I know, my dear friend," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy that is rare for one so powerful. "But we do not have the luxury to choose the storms of life. We can only endure them and hope to emerge victorious on the other side."

Bayezid nods solemnly, understanding the weight of responsibility that rests upon his Sultan's shoulders. "Your Highness has faced many storms before and has always emerged victorious," he says with conviction in his voice. "This too shall pass, and your reign will continue to prosper."

The Sultan turns back to face the sea, his voice hardens and the tiny trace of melancholy disappears with the wind. "Speaking of storms," he begins, "the Venetians have dealt us a heavy blow at Gallipoli, taking many lives and dealing a significant blow to our fleet."

Bayezid frowns, knowing that the loss of their navy at Gallipoli is a serious setback to his Sultan’s new reign. "It is true that we have suffered a setback," he admits, "but the Venetians are not without their own weaknesses. Their fleet may dominate the sea, but they are powerless on land. Their holdings and castles lie bare and open to our arrows and lances. If they choose to challenge us further, they will surely meet their end."

The Sultan nods slightly, his gaze hardening as he considers the future. "Yes, the Venetians may think they have the upper hand now," he says coldly, "but they will soon learn that they have bitten off more than they can chew. Bah, they are but a minor pain… As for my 'dear' cousin Mustafa and that traitor Junayd Bey," he spits the words out with contempt, "they will pay dearly for their treachery."

Bayezid remains silent, he knows the Ottoman crown has weight down on the Sultan. Ever since the disaster at Ankara, where the former Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt was captured by the Tamerlane the World Conqueror, the realm of the Ottomans has been tumultuous. The situation only began to stabilize after the ascension of his Sultan to the throne three years ago, yet fortune force his Sultan, the proud Mehmed to ride against challenge after challenge, crisis after crisis, with no end in sight. With a heavy heart, Bayezid turns his attention to the approaching storm, watching as the raindrops grew larger and heavier with each passing moment.

As the storm draws nearer and the rain begins to fall in earnest, the Sultan stand his ground unmoving, allowing the elements to wash over him. It was as if he were trying his will against the challenge of nature. But the Sultan is a man of iron resolve, and he would not be moved.

"When the time comes," after a long silence, the Sultan opens up finally, his voice carrying over the howling wind and crashing waves, "we will strike back at the Venetians with all the force we can muster. And when we do, it will be like a thunderbolt in the night, swift and unexpected. But as of now, we must eliminate the parasite Mustafa, and that wicked man of Bedreddin first and foremost."

Bayezid nods in agreement. The realm faces many threats, compare to the imminent and stubborn disease that is Mustafa and Bedreddin, the Venetians are only a minor discomfort.

The storm rages on around them, but the two men stand firm against the elements, their resolve as strong as ever.

Three days later, a small vessel set sail from the city of Thessaloniki, bound for Constantinople. On board was a messenger carrying a letter



'To my esteemed Basileios,

The Ottoman prince, Mustafa, along with the governor of Nicopolis, Junayd Bey, have taken refuge behind the tall walls of Thessaloniki after their humiliating defeat by Sultan Mehmed. The sultan's army pursuits relentlessly and has now encircled our city, demanding their surrender. After three days of delicate negotiations, I have deemed it prudent to apprise my Basileios of the Ottomans' offer through this letter. They propose a sum of one hundred thousand akces in exchange for the contender to the Ottoman throne .

It is worth noting that during these negotiations, the rebellion in Dobrudja has escalated significantly, to such an extent that it appears to have commandeered Mehmed's complete attention. Despite his illness due to a cold, he abruptly departed with his main force yesterday. Considering the Ottomans' precarious situation, I believe they may be amenable to terms more favorable to us. However, such a negotiation demands a direct line of communication between two heads of state.

Meanwhile, Thessaloniki stands resolute. Our walls are manned by vigilant guards, our people are well-provisioned, and morale is high. The Ottoman navy, having suffered a crippling defeat by the Venetians, is unable to blockade our port. Our city shall endure. Despot Andronikos, having recovered from his recent illness, sends his warm regards to you.

I pray this letter finds my Basileios in good health and high spirits.



Your ever-loyal and devoted servant,
Demetrios Laskaris Leontares'

On the fifth day of June, in the year of our Lord 1416.




‘Andronikos Palaiologos's childhood remains frustratingly enigmatic to historians. At the tender age of eight, the young prince was wrenched from his familial surroundings and invested as the titular Despot of Thessaloniki. This significant appointment was entrusted to the capable stewardship of Demetrios Laskaris Leontares, a seasoned soldier and administrator whose guidance was undoubtedly pivotal in shaping the prince's early years.

In contrast to his brother Theodoros, who was bestowed with Morea and condemned to languish in its frigid fortresses, Andronikos enjoyed the relative luxury of residing in the Empire's second largest city. However, Thessaloniki's former glory had long been diminished by years of upheaval and Ottoman occupation, leaving it a mere shadow of its former self. Nevertheless, the city's residual prosperity would have offered the prince a more enriched upbringing than his sibling.

Remarkably, prior to the summer of 1416, historical accounts afford us little to no insight into the prince's life. His absence from the annals of history is so profound that he might be mistaken for a spectral figure, flitting through the margins of medieval chronicles. Intriguingly, scattered references in Roman bishopric correspondence of the 1430s hint at a rare malaise that blighted his youth, severely curtailing his social ability and any participation in affairs of state. These letters, penned by pious bishops, saw his condition as a divine chastisement.

Speculation abounds concerning the influence of the elusive Master Plethon on the young prince. Whispers from the 1430s persist that Andronikos was a clandestine adherent of Plethon's pagan teachings, a devotee of ancient pagan gods hidden in plain sight. However, such tales are the stuff of legend, perpetuated largely by the conservative clergy of the late 1430s and 1440s, eager to malign a ruler whose reforms they deemed heathen.

What we can infer with some confidence, from the accomplishments that would later grace his reign, is that Andronikos must have undergone a rigorous military tutelage. Moreover, his proficiency in the intricacies of statecraft, evident in his early years, suggests that he received at least a modicum of exposure and tutelage in the arts of governance. This conjecture is bolstered by his close-knit relationship with his guardian, the esteemed Leontares, whose own acumen in these matters would have undoubtedly had its mark on the young Despot.’


- Treatise on the political development in early 1400s Empire, Professor Emeritus Alexandros Lekapenos, Academia Thessalonica, 1899




*******************************************************************

View attachment 897049

- Map of Thessaloniki


A teenager with a slim figure and delicate facial features, leans out of his window at the Palace of Galerius. His long, pale hair dances in the wind as he basks in the warm embrace of the sunlight, yet his face, pretty yet pale, betrays the lingering shadows of his former frailty. His eyes, though bright with the novelty of the world outside, are also clouded with a hint of unease.

From his balcony, he surveys the bustling scene below, ears filled with the cacophony of city life. Behind him is the Hippodrome of Thessaloniki, second only to the Hippodrome of Constantinople, to his left is a large harbor, while to his front and right is a bustling street and market. But beneath the hustle and bustle, he detects a subtle undertone of unease, a whispered mention of Ottomans coming, a looming siege. This news, coupled with his own fragile past, weighs heavily on his heart. A whiff of salt and fish in the air catches his attention, drawing his gaze towards the harbor.

"The ships about to set sail." he murmurs, noting that many of the foreign trade vessels docked in the harbor have begun preparation to leave port, obviously fearing the safety of the city. As he counts the sails and flags, his thoughts wander back to the long years he spent confined to his room.

A week ago, a newfound strength had coursed through his limbs, thanks to the potions sent by his old mentor and friend, the renowned philosopher Master Plethon. However, with this newfound freedom came a heaviness of heart, the world he had once known only through books and letters was now spread out before him, but so too were the worries and fears that awaited him.

Now that the storm which lasted for 5 days has finally settled, the young man decides to take a walk outside for the first time in years. He dresses himself in fine clothing and slowly makes his way down the palace stairs, still adjusting to walking himself. As he passes, servants bow, their eyes still filled with surprise at the sight of him walking freely. But he senses their surprise is mixed with a cautious optimism, aware of the fragility that still clung to him.

Stepping outside, the young man feels a surge of excitement, but it is quickly tempered by the weight of his concerns. The ordinary sights and sounds of the city, once a novelty, now carry with them the whispers of an impending crisis.

As he strolls through the streets, listening to the banter and bargaining, he catches snippets of conversation that speak of the Ottomans, their vast and unrelenting army now encircling the city, and the past unspeakable calamity that army inflicted to his people not that long ago.

Even now after a decade, whenever spoken, the name of Bayezid the Thunderbolt, lord of the Turks, Master of the horses, Conqueror of Christian lands and Head of the Ottomans, still frightens the hearts and minds of Roman people, reminding them the humiliation and devastation he imposed upon them.

Born in 1400 as the son of Emperor Manuel II, the young man is named Andronikos by his father. Although he was too young to understand, he could still recall when he was four years old, the excitement among the servants in Constantinople when news broke that the terrible Bayezid had been defeated in a great battle to the East by another mighty horse lord, and his son the young Sultan had come to Constantinople begging for peace. For the first time in almost a century, the fortunes of the Empire seemed to have turned for the better. Not soon after, he was appointed Despot of the newly reacquired Despotate of Thessaloniki which include the city of Thessaloniki and its surrounding holdings.

And yet, sixteen years later, as he stands here, seeing and sensing people around him, feeling the wind brush against his face and the sun warm his skin, he cannot help but feel the ghosts of his past illness hovering around him. He wonders if his newfound strength will be enough to carry him through the storms that are sure to come.

With a heavy heart but a determined stride, Andronikos takes a deep breath, knowing that every step he takes is not just a journey of discovery but a test of his will and resilience.

"Your Highness," a guard pants as he rushes up to Andronikos, "Lord Leontares is awaiting you in the palace."

Andronikos nods curtly and follows the guard back into the palace. In the hallway, he finds the tall and composed general, his steward, Demetrios Leontares standing at attention, dressed in armor. As soon as Andronikos enters, Leontares breaks into a broad smile and hugs him deeply.

"It is good to see you well, my Despot, I heard you took a walk to the streets? You should have had guards with you…" Leontares says, voicing concern.

"Thank you, Demetrios, but I am fine and capable to handle things myself." Andronikos replies calmly, shifting the topic to more pressing issues. "I presume you've come with urgent matters? Have we received any news from the wall? Have the Ottomans made any new move?"

Leontares' smile fades away. "Yes, my Despot, I fear the news is not good. Our guards on the wall have reported that the Ottomans have begun pillaging nearby villages, demanding tribute and ransoms from the local people."

Andronikos' face darkens. "Outrageous! We have a Treaty with them! They have no right to trespass our territory or destroy the livelihood of our people!"

Leontares waits for Andronikos to have his emotions vented, pauses for a moment, then continues in a calmer tone. "We are well aware of the Ottomans' barbaric behavior. But the disparity in our forces makes intervention difficult on our part. It's a bitter truth we must swallow."

"The strong takes what they can, and the weak suffers what they must. But we are not without options." He pauses, looking Andronikos squarely in the eye. "The Ottomans are here because they seek our two 'guests', particularly Prince Mustafa. As the son of former Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt, he has many sympathizers and followers in the Ottoman court. He may have been routed by Sultan Mehmed in this round, but in the next round, if under right circumstances, he could pose a significant threat to Mehmed. Your father, His Majesty, intends to use this to our advantage."

Andronikos nods slowly. "I see. And what do you propose we do in the meantime?"

"Patience, my Despot." Leontares replies. "Come with me to the walls. It would be beneficial for you to witness the Ottoman army with your own eyes."

Andronikos changes his regal clothes for armor, and follows Leontares to the acropolis of the city, encountering soldiers along the way, many of them local militias, their armament poor and morale low. As the pair near the wall, Andronikos catches sight of the Ottoman army for the first time. Immeasurable tents, camps, weapons, horses, wagons, and provisions are stretched out in an orderly manner. Soldiers in bright armor perform their daily duties with precision.

From afar, Andronikos sees a plume of smoke rising from one of his villages. "Do we have any way to save those villagers?" he asks, with empathy and sorrow in his eyes.

Leontares shakes his head. "Not at the moment, unfortunately, my Despot. But if we can negotiate with the Ottomans favorably, we might be able to save our people from further harm."

"And when would that be?" Andronikos demands.

"Patience, my Despot," Leontares repeats. "As Despot, you must learn to possess this virtue."

Andronikos sighs heavily. "Very well. But I want you to count the number of people enslaved by the Ottomans each day and report the names of the victims to me. They are my people, and even if we cannot avenge them now, they shall not perish nameless and forgotten."

Leontares is surprised by the order and the emotion behind, he looks at Andronikos briefly, then nods in assent. "As you command, my Despot. I will ensure that all names of the victims to the Ottoman incursion are accounted for."

After issuing his first order, Andronikos takes a deep breath and turns to survey the Ottoman camp. The centuries of humiliation inflicted by the Ottomans on his empire and his people fill him with resolve. He swears to fulfill his duty as Despot and protect his people to the best of his ability. Then, his eye catches sight of an unusually large horse tail banner in the center of the Ottoman camp, tilting slightly from left to right.

"Demetrios," he says, "how many soldiers do you estimate they have out there?"

Leontares considers for a moment, then replies, "Based on the number of wells they have dug, the plumes of cooking smoke I've observed over the past few days, and the size of their horse herd, I would estimate their numbers to be around 8000 infantrymen and 4000 cavalry."

Andronikos' brow furrows. "That is more than all the men at arms in the empire. We currently only have 1800 garrison in our city, right?"

"Yes, my Despot," Leontares confirms. "But we have an effective Treaty with the Ottomans, they cannot afford the cost to alienate the Empire. And despite all their numerical advantage, they lack siege equipment and would have a difficult time breaching our walls."

As the two men continue to discuss preparations for a full mobilization, Andronikos' eye is suddenly drawn to the large banner he had noticed earlier. It begins to move, and he sees hundreds of horsemen marching out of the Ottoman main camp.

“This banner belongs to Sultan Mehmed.” Leontares has also taken note. He stares intently for a brief moment, soon finding himself pondering: "Judging by their direction, it seems the Sultan is making his way north. Given that he arrived here just four days ago after a lengthy pursuit, it's evident that something urgent is brewing in the north. What could it possibly be? A rebellion led by the remnants of Mustafa? Or perhaps a Vlach invasion?"

“Regardless, I must uncover the truth behind this and relay it to your father.”


I must admit that I have never read the original story, but these two chapters struck me extremely in their narrative, both because we are in a critical moment for the fate of the Roman Empire ( which if I'm not mistaken currently only controls Constantinople, Thessaloniki and the Morea ) which also for the development of the Ottomans, furthermore it is also the moment in which the negotiations for the reunification of the two churches began to become more and more insistent ( the Council of Florence and just 20 years later ) and naturally there is to consider that HRE Sigismund wants to try to organize a new crusade against the Turks ( Hussite permitting ( 1 ) therefore we have the young Andronikos who is deposed from Thessaloniki while his brother Theodore is put to govern the Morea ( he is therefore also have to do with the Frankish traditions that have taken root in the region, after 2 centuries of Crusader rule ) now it would not be so absurd to think that the deposed young Andronicus wants/asks to have a new fortified town built to welcome the desperate people on the run from the Turkish advance ? ( mindful of the tragedy that he saw from the city walls and also seen that in Otl I entered into negotiations with Venice to protect the inhabitants of Thessaloniki from a possible Ottoman conquest, given that in that period the Empire was at war with them ) now obviously the situation is desperate but not as irremediable as a few decades later, so I am sure that Byzantium's chances of recovering are still few but good ( how many chances Is it possible that Manuel II was able, through his ties built during his European trip, to bring in additional aid for the Empire, both economically and in men ? ( I was thinking of some Teutonic knight, given that under Sigismund , there was the plumber to use them massively in the fight against the Turks or some Italian leader armies in Giovanni Giustiniani Otl style ) for the rest I am extremely curious to see how the story continues



1 ) it was one of his main projects, together with the imperial reforms and the coronation in Rome ( this too is quite delayed and causes internal problems for his possessions ), but he could only realize them once the Hussite question had been successfully addressed ( considering that in Otl, he organized 5 crusades against them, with varying success, and it was recognized officially as king of Bohemia only in 1436, although he had become king in 1419 ) after the bitter taste in the mouth for the failure of Nicopolis due to the stupid shamelessness of the French knights who underestimated the Ottomans, without forgetting that the fate of the empire is also of great interest to Rome and in Monferrato ( given the obvious ties of kinship and marriage, given that in Otl a daughter of Theodore II married John VIII )
 
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I must admit that I have never read the original story, but these two chapters struck me extremely in their narrative, both because we are in a critical moment for the fate of the Roman Empire ( which if I'm not mistaken currently only controls Constantinople, Thessaloniki and the Morea ) which also for the development of the Ottomans, furthermore it is also the moment in which the negotiations for the reunification of the two churches began to become more and more insistent ( the Council of Florence and just 20 years later ) and naturally there is to consider that HRE Sigismund wants to try to organize a new crusade against the Turks ( Hussite permitting ( 1 ) therefore we have the young Andronikos who is deposed from Thessaloniki while his brother Theodore is put to govern the Morea ( he is therefore also have to do with the Frankish traditions that have taken root in the region, after 2 centuries of Crusader rule ) now it would not be so absurd to think that the deposed young Andronicus wants/asks to have a new fortified town built to welcome the desperate people on the run from the Turkish advance ? ( mindful of the tragedy that he saw from the city walls and also seen that in Otl I entered into negotiations with Venice to protect the inhabitants of Thessaloniki from a possible Ottoman conquest, given that in that period the Empire was at war with them ) now obviously the situation is desperate but not as irremediable as a few decades later, so I am sure that Byzantium's chances of recovering are still few but good ( how many chances Is it possible that Manuel II was able, through his ties built during his European trip, to bring in additional aid for the Empire, both economically and in men ? ( I was thinking of some Teutonic knight, given that under Sigismund , there was the plumber to use them massively in the fight against the Turks or some Italian leader armies in Giovanni Giustiniani Otl style ) for the rest I am extremely curious to see how the story continues



1 ) it was one of his main projects, together with the imperial reforms and the coronation in Rome ( this too is quite delayed and causes internal problems for his possessions ), but he could only realize them once the Hussite question had been successfully addressed ( considering that in Otl, he organized 5 crusades against them, with varying success, and it was recognized officially as king of Bohemia only in 1436, although he had become king in 1419 ) after the bitter taste in the mouth for the failure of Nicopolis due to the stupid shamelessness of the French knights who underestimated the Ottomans, without forgetting that the fate of the empire is also of great interest to Rome and in Monferrato ( given the obvious ties of kinship and marriage, given that in Otl a daughter of Theodore II married John VIII )
Thanks for taking an interest in the TL, the original TL was from 2022 under the same name, feel free to check that out (spoiler alert~)

It so happens, that the topics and the moments in history you mentioned (Ottoman internal strifes, Council of Florence, Crusade enthusiast Sigismund etc.) are also my main reason to have the POD set in 1416, using Andronikos as the main POV. Rest assured those moments and trend will be touched on in one way or another.
 
CHAPTER 2 - THE CURTAIN RISES
The early 15th century marked a critical juncture in the intricate and storied tapestry of Roman history. The preceding century had borne witness to a precipitous decline for the once-illustrious Empire, leaving it teetering on the brink of oblivion. It was only through the timely intervention of Tamerlane, the heir of Temujin and Conqueror of Asia, that the Empire escaped the clutches of Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt. The fateful Battle of Ankara in 1402, followed by the capture of Bayezid and the Treaty of Gallipoli, which restored vast tracts of land to the Empire, and the ensuing eleven-year Ottoman Interregnum that irrevocably altered the trajectory of the Empire, the Ottoman Sultanate, and indeed, the historical course of Europe.

Many, even among the elite and powerful circles of the era, were oblivious to the subterranean tectonic shifts occurring beneath the surface, the subtle undercurrents that were heralding the dawn of a new age. Little did they realize that the changes looming on the horizon would be nothing short of epochal. As the curtain rose on this new era in 1416, a fresh character emerged onto the historical stage: the young Despot Andronikos. Alongside venerated figures such as Manuel II, Mehmed I, Sigismund the Holy Roman Emperor, and countless others, they collectively played out a captivating drama that has since enshrined the early 1400s as one of the most intriguing and pivotal moments in world history.



- Treatise on the political development in early 1400s Empire, Professor Emeritus Alexandros Lekapenos, Academia Thessalonica, 1899



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- The map of the Empire of the Romans and its surroundings, circa 1410



14th of June, 1416

The messenger, bearing news from Leontares, arrives in Constantinople and promptly makes his way to Emperor Manuel II Palaiologos. Manuel, having reigned for two decades, is renowned for his eloquent words, captivating charisma, gregarious nature, and sharp intelligence.

Recently recovered from a severe cold, the aging emperor appears visibly tired, yet his eyes retain their customary wisdom. As he reads the letter, his gaze shifts from the parchment to a large map of the surrounding region spread across a nearby table. His eyes briefly linger on the position of Thessaloniki, then shift northward to Dobrudja, a region in northern Bulgaria divided by the Danube River from the voivodeships of Wallachia and Moldavia.

After a moment of silence, Manuel begins to compose a reply. He hands the letter to the waiting messenger, saying, "Deliver this to Demetrios and remind him to keep a close eye on Mustafa and Junayd. They must be treated well but kept secure from themselves, the Ottomans, and any other parties with conflicting interests. As for the Ottoman unrest, I commend Demetrios for his efforts. Rest assured, I will negotiate a favorable deal with my beloved son, the Sultan, who will be obedient in times like these."

"As you wish, my most benevolent Basileios," the messenger replies.

Ever since his early days as a hostage in the Ottoman court, Emperor Manuel has forged a strong friendship with the young prince Mehmed. Mehmed always holds Manuel in high esteem, admiring his wisdom, charisma, cunning, and diplomatic skills. After Mehmed emerged victorious during the Ottoman Interregnum, their bond was further cemented when he honored the Treaty of Gallipoli signed by his pretender brother, Suleiman. By this agreement, the relationship between Manuel and Mehmed is nominally father and son.

As the messenger departs, Manuel's gaze returns to the map. He summons his eldest son, Ioannes, who has recently been crowned co-emperor and has witnessed the exchange. Ioannes walks to his father's side, curious about the matter.

"Ioannes, my son, this is Dobrudja, where Sultan Mehmed is heading, according to Leontares' report," Manuel says, pointing to the location on the map. As his son observes, he continues, "My agent in the north has sent reports from Mesembria, indicating that a certain mystic, former kazasker to the late Prince Musa, Sheikh Bedreddin, has gathered a significant following in Northern Bulgaria. Rumors suggest he has gained support from the princes of Wallachia and Moldavia, and there are reports of weapons, armor, wheat, and arrows being transported across the river."

"This Sheikh Bedreddin must be a headache for Sultan Mehmed," Ioannes observes. "Many Ottoman frontier beys still hold favorable opinions of Musa, and I've heard that some Ottoman Sipahis are uneasy with Mehmed's favoritism towards foreign Gazi warriors. But without a son of Bayezid at the helm, I wonder how long this unrest will last."

"The politics of this situation are complex, my son," Manuel replies. "We must carefully consider our moves, if we were to support for Mehmed in suppressing this unrest, it would certainly gain his favor and lift the siege on Thessaloniki. However, we must also consider the cost. How many men can we spare? What are we willing to sacrifice for the Ottomans? And most importantly, what benefit could they possibly offer us in return? Mehmed is well aware of our limitations."

Ioannes, however, has a different perspective. Young and eager for glory, he argues, "That is but one of our options, but if we refrain from supporting Mehmed and instead take advantage of the fact that Mustafa and Junayd are currently in our custody... imagine if we transported them to Anatolia while Mehmed is distracted in Bulgaria. They could stir up considerable support and pose a serious threat to Mehmed's position. Then he would truly understand our potential and grant us even greater concessions."

Manuel frowns at the aggressive stance of Ioannes, he patiently explains his position to him: "We are still too weak to engage the Ottomans in an open conflict, Ioannes. Mustafa and Junayd are our only significant leverage. If we release them, we lose control of the situation and risk losing Mehmed's favor. It would be a dangerously risky move for us without any prospect of benefit."

"Precisely because we are weak on our own, we must exploit the Ottomans' internal divisions to keep them occupied and distracted," Ioannes insists. "That way, when the Latin crusaders finally arrive, we can strike the final blow against our common enemy and reclaim our empire." His voice is determined.



“Latin Crusaders! Don't let your hopes soar too high. If we solely rely on Latin intervention, our fate will be sealed.” Manuel pauses for a moment, his tone softening as he continues. "If we release Mustafa and Junayd today, with Mehmed still enjoying the allegiance of the beys, Mustafa would be crushed by the beys in Anatolia eager to prove their loyalty to the sultan. Therefore, it's best that we entrust Leontares and your brother Andronikos to keep them in Thessaloniki. They'll remain in our grasp until some major crisis erupts in the Ottoman court, whenever that may be. And for now, we must maintain amicable relations with Mehmed to safeguard our hard-earned gains following the Treaty of Gallipoli. This way, we can keep our options open without forcing our hand."

Ioannes has to reluctantly acknowledge that his father's wisdom outweighs his own impulses. He bows his head in agreement and shifts the conversation's focus. "How much are the Ottomans willing to offer us to keep Mustafa and Junayd away from them?"

"Initially, they demanded an immediate release into their custody," Manuel replies. "But Leontares has negotiated an initial Ottoman offer of one million akces for their release."

"And what's your plan, father?" Ioannes inquiries.

Manuel smiles briefly. "We'll promise Mehmed that we'll never release Mustafa and Junayd, but they'll remain in our custody. Fortunately, the Venetians have crippled Ottoman naval capabilities, and Bedreddin's rebellion has strengthened our position. I'll demand an annual payment from the sultan. I estimate a 500,000 akces yearly would be a reasonable figure, given Mehmed's current predicament."

"In addition, Leontares has also reported instances of pillage in Thessaloniki," Manuel continues. "We must demand compensation for these damages as well."

Satisfied with his son's understanding, Manuel places his right hand on Ioannes' shoulder. "My son, the path of an emperor of the Romans is long and challenging. It demands patience above all else. Rash decisions will lead us to ruin."

Ioannes looks at Manuel firmly and replies: "I understand your decision, father. I'll be more patient."

"Leave the negotiations with Mehmed to me." Manuel says. "Focus your efforts on the upcoming Morea campaign. This we have been planning all year, waiting for the opportune moment. This moment has now arrived! We must seize the opportunity provided by the Ottomans' distraction. You must fully support your brother Theodoros in consolidating Peloponnese and sweeping aside the remaining Latin usurpers. We must take advantage of every opportunity to strengthen ourselves while carefully avoiding intervention from the Ottomans and Venetians."

Ioannes smiles eagerly at his father, his mood brightens with hope of victory and glory. As a young man, he is eager to prove his worth, and a military campaign in Peloponnese will certainly cement his rightful position as co-emperor of the Roman Empire.




[1] A kazasker or kadıasker (Ottoman Turkish: قاضی عسكر, ḳāḍī'asker, "military judge") was a chief judge in the Ottoman Empire, so named originally because his jurisdiction extended to the cases of soldiers, who were later tried only by their own officers.
 
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Very good chapter, hopefully Ioannes's Peloponnesian campaign is strong enough to ward off any intervention from the Ottomans or Venetians. I like the conversation between Manuel and Ioannes, the elder is calm and calculating while the younger is bold and assertive (though wanting to learn). Could we possibly get any POVs with others characters like Bedreddin? Keep up the great work 👍👍👍
 
CHAPTER 3 - BEDREDDIN THE REVOLUTIONARY
CHAPTER 3 - BEDREDDIN THE REVOLUTIONARY

As Manuel and Ioannes pressed forward with their plans in Constantinople, and Andronikos familiarized himself with his new role as despot in Thessaloniki, Sultan Mehmed marshaled his army and invaded the dense, hilly region of Dobrudja.

Dobrudja, a windswept and rugged land, lay sandwiched between the Danube River to the north, the Black Sea to the east, and Bulgarian territory to the south and west. Its landscape was a diverse tapestry of thick forests, rolling hills, and lakes in the south, and hills, steppes, and marshy lowlands in the north. Its inhabitants were a mix of Turks, Bulgarians, and Vlachs, each group carrying their own unique culture and traditions.

For centuries, Dobrudja had been sitting at a strategic crossroads, facing constant threats and invasions throughout its history. Its people, hardened by these constant challenges, had developed a reputation for martial prowess and a rebellious spirit that had long haunted their overlords. They were proud descendants of Ivailo, the legendary peasant leader who, in the 1270s, rallied the people to expel the Mongol invaders and briefly reigned as Tsar of the Bulgarian Empire, until betrayed and slain by his own nobles.

The Ottomans had only recently conquered Dobrudja after a protracted struggle with Wallachia's voivode Mircea, who coveted the strategic land as much as the Ottomans.

Ivan, a young Bulgarian herdsman, found himself caught in the maelstrom of events. Born into a once-wealthy family in his native Dobrudja, Ivan had known a life of privilege until the Ottomans' conquest. His father, recruited by the Ottomans as a tax collector, had converted to Sunni Islam and changed his name to Omar, dragging his family into a new religious orbit.

Ivan's childhood had been a blend of comfort and learning, his father's privileged position afforded him access to education and exposure to both Christian and Islamic teachings. But his life and dreams were soon shattered by the Ottoman Interregnum, a period of political turmoil and societal collapse that ravaged Dobrudja.

The Ottoman Empire was thrown into chaos and dynastic infighting after Sultan Beyezid I's defeat by Tamerlane at Ankara in 1402. This period, known as the Ottoman Interregnum, saw Mircea seize the opportunity to launch a new anti-Ottoman campaign. In 1403, he captured the Genoese fort of Kilia at the mouth of the Danube, and by 1404, he had extended his authority over Dobrudja, which had descended into anarchy.

During this tumultuous time, the lands of Dobrudja was repeatedly ransacked by the armies of rival Ottoman princes and Wallachians. Each of the armies came and went, always leaving behind a repeatedly pillaged and extorted local populace. Death and starvation stalked the land, and Ivan's world crumbled around him. Many of his friends and neighbors were killed or starved to death, even more fled their houses and field to find safe haven in the dense marshes and forests, Ivan was one of the lucky few who fled out of harm’s way.

Ivan survived for years and fighting through meagre food supply and constant starvation in the nearby forest. When the war finally ended and a new Sultan Mehmed proclaimed the new Sultan, Ivan received the news that his father had long time ago died fighting for the pretender Sultan Suleiman, his mother and sister vanished, and with his father's allegiance to a dead pretender, their homes and privileges were stripped away by the new Sultan Mehmed. The family’s tax collector's privilege was awarded to an elderly Gazi warrior from Anatolia, a ruthless and ill-mannered warrior who cared only for his own gain, exploiting the poverty-stricken locals.

Ivan, now orphaned and penniless, found refuge as a herdsman with a kindly survivor who had once been helped by his father. His new life was a far cry from the comforts of his childhood. He worked long hours for little pay, barely scraping by, his stomach constantly gnawed by hunger. As the years passed, the resentment and bitterness among the survivors of Dobrudja grew, and Ivan's heart was filled with a deep and abiding sorrow for the life he had lost and the future that seemed so bleak.

It is in these extraordinary circumstances, that the revolutionary Sheikh Bedreddin chose Dobrudja to initiate his revolt, a land fraught with potential and ripe for civil discontent. Born in 1359 to a Turkish Muslim ghazi warrior and a Greek Orthodox mother, Bedreddin's early life was a tapestry of religious coexistence. Initially serving as a kadi, the military judge to the Ottoman army, he later delved into theology, studying in Konya and Cairo, and even lived among the mystic Safavid Shia Muslims, absorbing their wisdom.

His encounters with various religious beliefs kindled a fire within him, and drawing inspiration from Shia Mystic teachings, Bedreddin forged a unique pantheistic belief—the doctrine of "oneness of being." He vehemently denounced the arbitrary social structures of religion and social class, viewing them as obstacles to the unity of God and the individual. He preached a message of full equality between Muslims and Christians, advocated the abandonment of personal property, and the establishment of communal ownership.

During the Ottoman Interregnum, Bedreddin occupied a position of influence as the chief military judge under Prince Musa, who controlled Rumelia and battled against the Romans, as well as his brother Mehmed, who reigned over Anatolia. Leveraging his influential position, Bedreddin preached his beliefs, attracting a loyal and passionate following. His generosity in granting favorable lands, known as timar, to loyal ghazi warriors further endeared him to the masses and made them more receptive to his teachings.

However, when Musa was defeated by Ottoman Sultan Mehmed I in 1413, Bedreddin was exiled to Iznik, and his followers were stripped of their lands. The anger and dissatisfaction among his followers, coupled with the widespread discontent among dispossessed warriors, administrators who lost their privileges, tax-burdened peasants, bankrupt merchants, and artisans in the post-civil-war Ottoman society, made Bedreddin firmly believe that the end of Ottoman rule was nigh. He saw it as his divine duty to establish a new and equal world on the ashes of the House of Osman.

In 1415, Bedreddin escaped his exile in Iznik and made his way to Sinope with a cadre of devoted followers, intent on raising the banner of revolution and spreading his beliefs across the lands of Rumelia and Anatolia like wildfire. From the port of Sinope, Bedreddin sailed across the Black Sea to Wallachia, where he found a supporter in Voivode Mircea, who was eager to stir up unrest in Ottoman territory. With Mircea’s supplies, Bedreddin raised the standard of revolt against the Ottomans in the Deliorman region of Dobrudja in the summer of 1416.

Deliorman, meaning ‘mad forest’, is a region known for its dense and vast forests, was a territory that Bedreddin knew well. He understood the suffering of the locals and how he could win them over to his cause. He also knew that the rugged terrain would negate the overwhelming numerical advantage of Mehmed's army.

Concurrently with his uprising in Dobrudja, followers of Bedreddin also rose up in Izmir and Saruhan, led by his faithful chief disciple Borkluje Mustafa. The rebellion was a diverse coalition of disgruntled Ghazis, dispossessed Sipahis, Medrese students, Jewish merchants, sailors, artisans, Muslim and Christian peasants—all across the society rose up in flames.

Ivan, having known Bedreddin as a just, wise, and well-esteemed kazisker before the rebellion, was immediately fascinated by his teachings. An intelligent man who had lost all his earthly possessions due to the brutal infighting between greedy Ottoman princes, Ivan took up arms and joined the ranks of the newly formed rebel army. He was appointed as a Kadi, a military judge, overseeing a contingent of 1,000 men, mostly composed of former soldiers who had vast experience in the Ottoman army.

Realizing the impossibility of confronting Mehmed's army in open battle, they decided to adopt guerrilla tactics. Utilizing the dense forests of Dobrudja to their advantage, they launched surprise attacks on the Ottomans' flanks and rear, disrupting their logistics while avoiding pitched battles. Ivan, with his keen strategic mind and compassion for the downtrodden, quickly rose through the ranks, becoming a key figure in Bedreddin's rebellion.

Sultan Mehmed, a statesman of profound wisdom and a ruler of unwavering intelligence, was immediately cognizant of the immense threat posed by Bedreddin's revolt to his sovereignty. Without hesitation, he set aside his rest and swiftly assembled a vast army to quell the uprising before it gained momentum. Abandoning his camp near Thessaloniki, he personally led his men into the fray in Dobrudja, determined to stamp out the rebellion. His trusted Vizier, Bayezid Pasha, was tasked with leading another formidable force into Anatolia to crush the revolt simultaneously.

However, fate had a cruel jest in store for the Sultan. The persistent cold Mehmed had contracted due to the nocturnal rain at the Thessaloniki camp worsened during his arduous journey northward through the windswept Dobrudja. As he arrived with his army at the outskirts of Deliorman in mid-July, Mehmed was stricken with a high fever. The camp medicus, though well-trained, administered treatments that only exacerbated the Sultan's condition. After consuming the potions prescribed by the medicus, Mehmed lapsed into a coma, spending most of his days unconscious, unable to speak or issue commands.

With the Sultan incapacitated, the Ottoman army ground to a halt. None of the beys dared to take command without Mehmed's explicit orders. Rumors began to swirl that the Sultan might soon perish, causing panic and confusion to grip the camp. The morale of the army sank to new lows.

While Mehmed lay bedridden, Bedreddin seized the opportunity to consolidate his position. He stocked up on provisions, established defensive fortifications across Deliorman, and dispatched his followers to quell unrest in Bulgaria. By the time Mehmed miraculously recovered from his coma, a month had already passed, and it was mid-August. The army's inaction had left disorganized. Many ignored the martial order and left camp to pillage the surrounding lands, further alienating the local population against the ill-disciplined army.

Meanwhile, Bedreddin's rebellion had spread like wildfire across Northern Bulgaria. Inspired by his teachings, disgruntled peasants and ghazi warriors rose up in defiance, seizing land from loyal beys. In Anatolia, the revolt at Izmir was also raging. The bey of Aydin, Alexander, fell victim to an ambush and was killed by the rebels. His 7000-strong force was either slaughtered, surrendered, or scattered.

Realizing his weakened state, Mehmed summoned his trusted Vizier, Bayezid Pasha. He was the only one Mehmed could entrust with the command of the entire Ottoman army. As Mehmed had main support based in the Anatolian beys and gazis, he distrusted the Rumelian beys and gazis, many of them had once been subjects of his brother Musa, an enemy of Mehmed and a compatriot of the rebellious Bedreddin, and only recently had sworn allegiance to him.

Even in agony, Mehmed still remembers the teaching of his father that ‘A sultan must always be vigilant against those close to him’. Given that his brother, the pretender Mustafa was still alive inside the walls of Thessaloniki at the hands of the ever-creative Romans, who knew what these frontier beys of Rumelia might do if they gained control of a powerful army, especially when the sultan was weakened? On the contrary, Vizier Bayezid Pasha has always been his most ardent supporter ever since the Battle of Ankara. As a man of lowly origins, his friend the Vizier had no claim to the throne and all his powers and positions relied solely on the grace of Mehmed. In the eyes of Mehmed, Bayezid Pasha was thus the only candidate to lead the main Ottoman army in his absence.

While Mehmed's choice seemed sensible, it nonetheless led to further delays in action. Bayezid had already assembled a formidable force in Bursa, Anatolia, intending to march towards Izmir. Upon receiving Mehmed's order, he was forced to abandon his post and nominally entrust the army to the young prince Murad, who was only 12 years old at that time. After attending to all crucial matters, Bayezid Pasha swiftly headed north to Mehmed's camp. Once there, he wasted no time in reorganizing the camps, chastising the unruly beys and soldiers who had become lax due to the prolonged inaction, and restoring order and discipline to the camp and army.

Before long, Bayezid Pasha managed with whip and wit to reorganized the ranks of the Ottoman army, restored its morale, and regained its campaign capabilities. They were finally ready to strike at the rebels. The newly regrouped army quickly pacified the surrounding towns and villages, killing and capturing many rebels in the process. Growing confident from recent successes, and with new-found intelligence of the whereabouts of Bedreddin from the mouths of the captives, on 13 September 1416, Bayezid Pasha led the main force of the Ottoman army - a formidable contingent of 18,000 hardened and experienced warriors - deep into the forests of Deliorman where Bedreddin is supposed to have his main base of operation located. Bayezid Pasha is determined to put an end to the rebellion once and for all.
 
Very good chapter, it would be ironic is it's the illness that does in Mehmed instead of all the constant fighting. Hopefully Bedridden does enough damage in Bulgaria for the Romans to truly take advantage. Keep up the good work 👍👍👍
 
CHAPTER 4 – SILENT HILLS AND MOVING BUSHES
CHAPTER 4 – SILENT HILLS AND MOVING BUSHES



"Run! Run! Save our lives!"

Bayezid Pasha, the Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire, watches as hundreds of terrified rebel peasants flee in panic. The Ottoman cavalry charges forward, intent on hunting them down. Some are hacked to pieces by the Ottoman scimitars, while others scramble into the hills and forests, using the rugged terrain as a shield against the pursuing cavalry.

"These peasants are like sand castles against our mighty waves," mocks a bearded Ottoman general. "A single charge from our cavalry is enough to shatter their fragile line. This is hardly a battle; it's more like smashing flies."

Bayezid Pasha glances at Ahmed Yahyali, the cavalry commander of his army. A muscular man with broad shoulders and a deep chest, Yahyali boasts about the bravery of his men. Though Bayezid dislikes the commander's arrogance and bad temper, he acknowledges the truth in his words.

Since leading the main Ottoman army of 12,000 infantry and 6,000 cavalries into Deliorman to crush the rebel forces, they have encountered scattered resistance along the way. Most often, the enemy forms roadblocks with poorly equipped peasant rebels hiding behind hastily dug ditches. Their numbers never exceed a thousand.

Routing them requires only a single cavalry charge or a concentrated volley of arrows. They always flee into the hillsides at the first sign of contact, leaving their wounded and dead comrades behind. This cowardice fills the Ottomans, who prize bravery and courage, with contempt for the rebels. As the Ottoman army presses deeper into Bedreddin's territory, they are all confident that victory is near.

"My Pasha, we have a prisoner," a cavalry officer announces, bringing forth a wounded captive. With a kick, he forces the captive to kneel before Bayezid Pasha.

"Speak to the Pasha, or you will die by the sword," the officer threatens.

"Lord Pasha, please be merciful and forgive my trespasses! I am a humble peasant, caught up in the lies of..."

Before Bayezid can speak, Ahmed Yahyali dismounts from his horse and kicks the captive in the stomach. "Stop your games, fool! Where are the main rebel forces? How many men do they have?"

The captive rebel, a middle-aged man, sobs and snivels, his dirty shirt covered in snot and tears. With fear in his eyes, he nods his head violently, eager to tell them everything to save his life. "My good lord, I'll tell you everything! The rebels have set up a camp in a village about two days' march to the north. I was there a week ago, working on building wooden fences and digging ditches. I was forced to join the rebels; if I didn't, they would've killed me, I swear!"

Yahyali draws his sword and presses it against the captive's throat. "Silence, you worthless pig. Answer my question. How many men are there?"

"There are around 4,000 men in the camp, mostly from nearby villages. Please, have mercy and spare my life. My good lord, I beg you..."

"How deep are the ditches?"

"They're... about half a man's height deep."

"Do they have any armor? Any horsemen?"

"No horses, only some goats and sheep, and... and chickens and boars, all from nearby villages. Some men are clad in iron, but most are like me, just peasants with pitchforks, kidnapped by the devil. I have no ill will towards the great Sultan or my good lord."

Yahyali seems satisfied with the answers. He helps the captive to his feet and cuts him loose with his sword.

"Thank you, my benevolent lord. May God..." Before the captive can finish his gratitude, Yahyali slashes open his throat.

Without even looking at the man he has just killed, Yahyali calmly cleans his sword with a piece of cloth. He turns to Bayezid Pasha and says, "The captive's words are consistent with those of the others. They must be speaking the truth. The enemy headquarters is only miles away. We should strike quickly and take them by surprise, ending this rebellion once and for all. Our sultan will be pleased with our swift action."

Bayezid Pasha glances briefly at the body on the ground. The man's hands are still clutching the gaping wound in his throat, as life slowly slips away from his eyes. For a fleeting moment, a hint of empathy flickers in Bayezid's gaze before it returns to its usual cold, calculating state. He turns his attention back to Yahyali and considers his recommendation carefully. Despite his disdain for Yahyali's ruthlessness and ambition, he must agree with the commander's assessment, albeit for different reasons.

Unlike Yahyali who is eager to gain military accomplishment by crushing the rebels and obtain the favor of sultan Mehmed, as grand vizier Bayezid Pasha must think of the bigger picture. Due to the late delays and departure of the army, they only have a short campaign season. If they fail to encircle and destroy the main rebel army before the snow falls, the cold and harsh climate of Dobrudja will prevent them from taking any major military actions for the remainder of the winter season, and the rebellion will be drawn out to next spring. This in turn will waste hundreds of thousands of extra silvers to supply the army, money much needed to rebuild the empire; not to mention a delayed campaign and distraction in Dubrudja could prompt other players lurking in the dark to make moves against the Sultan. To destroy the rebels before winter arrives is therefore of high priority to Bayezid Pasha.

“Give my order to the army, form a battle column, with the cavalry in front and the main infantry groups into ten columns and force march towards the rebel camp, we shall crush the rebels once and for all, so that no one dares to defy our great sultan ever again!” with the order of Bayezid, the Ottoman army moves north with fervor.

“Wise Vizier, your grace, I humbly propose to lead my cavalry men as the vanguard, I promise to bring to you the head of Bedreddin.” Yahyali pleads with Bayezid Pasha to let him receive the glory of defeating the rebels.

Bayezid Pasha considers this proposal carefully. As he has decided to rush and surprise the rebels with a swift attack before they manage to spread and flee to the forests and become a continuing headache, he intends to make good use of Yahyali’s courage. This experienced cavalry commander known for his unrelenting and forceful charges will surely shatter the rebels.

“Bey Yahyali, I commend your courage, you have my permission to lead your men as vanguard, be careful of rebel tricks, and do not disappoint our great Sultan!”

“Thank you, my Vizier, you are wise as always, I will not make you regret your decision today!”

The Ottoman army, led by the determined Grand Vizier Bayezid Pasha and with the eager Yahyali as vanguard, rushes northward with a singular purpose: to crush the rebels before winter's icy grasp sets in. Their cavalry forms the sharp edge of the blade, while the infantry masses behind in tight columns, ready to strike.

As the Ottoman army marches through narrow dirt roads, the dense vegetation and steep hillsides loom ominously. Unbeknownst to them, they are being watched closely by the rebels, lying in ambush. Ivan, the leader of the ambushing rebel forces, clutches his crossbow tightly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill autumn breeze. His heart pounds as he waits for the signal to attack.

The Ottoman soldiers, blinded by their greed and arrogance, march onward, unaware of the danger looming ahead. Suddenly, a group of rebels appears in front of them, blocking the narrow road with their loose formation. Yahyali, seeing an easy target, orders a cavalry charge.

But the rebels don't budge. Instead, they stand their ground, using their large shields and long spears to fend off the Ottoman charge. The cavalry's momentum is halted by the narrow road and the unexpected resistance. Yahyali grows impatient, ordering a full attack with the rest of the army.

As more cavalry pours into the battlefield, the rebels are pushed back, but they refuse to break. Just as Yahyali thinks victory is within his grasp, a small rock fall near him. He looks up, horror-struck, to see countless rebels lining the steep hillsides, bows and crossbows aimed down at the Ottoman forces.

Ivan, his heart filled with revenge and the desire for a new world, shouts, "For the new world, for our Sheikh Bedreddin!!" With all his might, he loosens his bolt, sending it flying towards the enemy. Around him, the other rebels follow suit, loosing their arrows and rocks, raining down a deadly hail on the Ottoman army.

The Ottoman soldiers, caught in the midst of this unexpected ambush, panic begins to spread. The cavalry, once so confident and fierce, is now thrown into chaos as they try to evade the hail of arrows and rocks. The infantry, trapped behind, can only watch helplessly as their comrades fall.

"Ambush! Sound the retreat!!" Yahyali's panicked cry rips through the air, as countless arrows rain down on the unsuspecting Ottoman ranks. The narrow dirt road confines their formation, making the arrows' aim all the more deadly. With their main armor and shields facing the road ahead, they're left exposed to the flanking and rear arrows. Arrows pierce unprotected backs and bodies, and within minutes, the Ottoman soldiers are suffering horrendous casualties.

Meanwhile, Ivan stands on the hillside, watching the Ottoman army fall. His heart is filled with both revenge and a sense of justice. He knows that this is only the beginning of their fight against the Ottomans, and he is ready to lead his men into battle again and again until they achieve their sacred goal.

Simultaneously, the thundering of cavalry charges echoes, and the Yahyali's hearts sink further as he beholds hundreds and of rebel cavalry and infantry, fully armored, charging down the road from everywhere. Trapped by the arrow fire and a relentless rebel infantry, the Ottoman formation becomes chaotic and too disorganized to mount any meaningful resistance.

Yahyali's face contorts in a mask of despair and fury. His eyes bulge from their sockets as he watches his men fall, helpless to stop the onslaught. "This cannot be happening!" he screams, his voice hoarse with rage. "Where did they all come? How did they hide their forces from us??"

As the rebel army crashes into the Ottoman ranks, men are thrown into the air by the force of the impact. The Ottoman battleline collapses in a chaos of screams and panic, Yahyali's bravely faces the onslaught, killing many rebels with his sword and roar, before vanishing in the sea of rebel army. With their commander dead, and nowhere to go but through the dense forests, the Ottoman army panics and flees, trampling and killing their own men in the mad dash to escape.

Not far behind, the main Ottoman army faces a similar fate. Ambushed by an even larger rebel force, they fight desperately but slowly lose ground as enemy arrows rain down and heavy infantry hack into their flanks. Bayezid Pasha, rallying his troops with shouts of encouragement attempt to hold their ground until their vanguard could come to their reinforcement, unbeknown of Yahyali's fate.

“Hold on brave soldiers, hold your ground! Bey Yahyali will charge them from the rear and route them!”

“Look, the banner of Bey Yahyali is in rebel hands!”

Bayezid looks to the call of a Ottoman officer, seeing a signature red horse-tail banner and realizes in an instant the demise of Yahyali's force's. His face falls, realization dawning.

"Bedreddin..." he mutters, realization striking him like a blow. "He's been playing us all for fools. His elite forces were hidden, feigning weakness." The peasant forces were a distraction, meant to lull us into a false sense of security. The banner of Yahyali made the Ottoman soldiers realize that no reinforcement is coming and they are fully surrounded, morale begins to collapse.

Bayezid's heart sinks as he watches this once proud army begin to crumble, then flee in disarray in front of him.

"This is disaster..." he repeats, his voice filled with regret and helplessness. As his loyal guards drag him away, he can only stare in horror at the carnage unfolding before him. The Ottoman soldiers, their armor discarded in their haste to escape, flee with no honor, leaving only the sound of their panicked shouts echoing in the aftermath of the battle.

Of the 18,000 soldiers deployed, only about a third returned alive to their camp. Bayezid Pasha, along with approximately half of his men, survived with minor injuries, but the main cavalry force, including its commander Yahyali, perished in the woods. In stark contrast, Bedreddin's rebel forces sustained negligible casualties to their elite corps.

The stunning Ottoman defeat at Deliorman by the rebels came as a surprise to the entire region of Rumelia, news of Ottoman defeat spread like wildfire, and many whispers appear in the darkness.

As winter approached, Mehmed was compelled to acknowledge defeat and postpone his campaign until the next year, while hastily assembling a new army. It was in this disadvantageous position that Mehmed received a personal envoy from Emperor Manuel II. Physically weakened by illness, pride wounded, and having recently lost his main army, Mehmed reluctantly agreed to terms heavily favoring the Romans on October 27, 1416. In exchange for the Romans keeping Mustafa and Junayd away from Ottoman territory, with Mustafa exiled to the island of Lemnos and Junayd confined in the castle of Neopatras, the Ottomans were obligated to pay 600,000 akces annually and cede control of the castle of Neopatras to the Romans. Neopatras, situated at a crossroads between the despotate of Thessaloniki, Duchy of Athes, Duchy of Epirus, and the Despotate of Morea, became a valuable strategic asset for the Romans, opening a corridor between Thessaloniki and Morea through the Gulf of Corinth.


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- Sheikh Bedreddin visits and commends the victorious rebels that returned to the villages, with crowds cheering.
 
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With the resurgent ERE this timeline has, what would be interesting to ponder would be what the Middle East would be like with a way weaker Ottoman Sultanate, especially with the Mamluks on the way out and Timur’s descendants not being up to par vis-a-vis succeeding him.
 
Great chapter, the forces of Bedridden have delivered a crushing defeat to the Ottomans, Rumelia will surely be taken away from the Turks by the Latins/Romans/Rebels/etc. as the years go by. Would love to see how nearby kingdoms react to the crushing defeats the Ottomans have been receiving.
With the resurgent ERE this timeline has, what would be interesting to ponder would be what the Middle East would be like with a way weaker Ottoman Sultanate, especially with the Mamluks on the way out and Timur’s descendants not being up to par vis-a-vis succeeding him.
It would be interesting if the Mamluk Sultanate survives TTL due to a much weakened (or eradicated) Ottoman Sultanate. With my short reading, Shah Rukh of the Timurid Empire (the current leader right now) tried several times to firmly conquer the lands of the Qara Qoyunlu. Maybe some changes have Shah Rukh be successful? It would be interesting if we have the Timurid Empire remaining a serious threat to the Turks of Anatolia (and maybe the Romans).

Qara_Qoyunlu_Turcomans_1407%E2%80%931468.png
 
It would be interesting if the Mamluk Sultanate survives TTL due to a much weakened (or eradicated) Ottoman Sultanate. With my short reading, Shah Rukh of the Timurid Empire (the current leader right now) tried several times to firmly conquer the lands of the Qara Qoyunlu. Maybe some changes have Shah Rukh be successful? It would be interesting if we have the Timurid Empire remaining a serious threat to the Turks of Anatolia (and maybe the Romans).

Qara_Qoyunlu_Turcomans_1407%E2%80%931468.png
And on that note, a Sunni Iran in itself, without the rise of the Safavids, would be interesting to ponder in its long-term repercussions, though, OTOH, having the Safavids still rise to prominence with weaker Ottomans than OTL would be cool to see.
 
Great chapter, the forces of Bedridden have delivered a crushing defeat to the Ottomans, Rumelia will surely be taken away from the Turks by the Latins/Romans/Rebels/etc. as the years go by. Would love to see how nearby kingdoms react to the crushing defeats the Ottomans have been receiving.
In this new version, Bedreddin and to an even larger extent his core supporter will play very important roles that will shape the history of the region in a long and lasting way.
 
CHAPTER 5 – EPILEKTOI THE CHOSEN
CHAPTER 5 – THE CHOSEN


Manuel_II_Helena_sons.JPG

- А miniature from the Louvre MS. Ivoires 100 manuscript, depicting the Byzantine emperor Manuel II Palaiologos, empress Helena and three of their sons - the co-emperor John VIII and the Despots Theodore and Andronikos.


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The recent treaty with sultan Mehmed is yet another Roman diplomatic success, the news of signing sends the Roman court in Constantinople into jubilant moods. The yearly income of 600.000 akces accounts for almost one tenth of the total annual revenue of the empire, and provides a rather significant boost to its limited financial status.

In addition to the monetary gain, the strategically important castle of Neopatras was also returned to Roman hands. A masterful plan devised by Despot Andronikos and Leontares of Thessaloniki; the castle situated in the county of Salona was originally a remnant of Latin empire. 20 years ago, the last Count of Salona sold the county to the Knight Hospitaller for a rather meagre sum of money. The Ottomans however did not respect the transaction and forcibly took the county from the Knights Hospitaller around 10 years ago.

Due to the constant civil war and internal struggle Ottomans faced, they haven’t had the resources to consolidate their gain in the county, and as a result many cities and castles in Salona is only lightly garrisoned or outright abandoned. Now, Neopatras is situated to the northern part of Salona and next to the vital land road connection between Thessaly, by controlling the castle the Roman army of Thessaloniki can traverse briefly through Ottoman Salona, then reach the gulf of Corinth to be ferried across easily. This will in practice link up the Despotate of Thessaloniki with the Despotate Morea, significantly improve the synergy and connection not to mention opening up future expansion routes into Epirus and Central Greece. This diplomatic success makes large scale reinforcement from Thessaloniki to Morea possible and easy, and vice versa, undoubtedly helpful to the coming Morea campaign which will see the Empire assemble all its might into reconquering the remnant Latin holdings in Morea and Achaea.

To celebrate this recent fortune, Emperor Manuel II announces a grand banquet at the palace of Blachernae, but only in honor of the newly arrived Despot Andronikos, to avoid offending the Ottomans. Many details of state affairs will be discussed before, during, and after the banquet.

As soon as Andronikos arrived by sea to Constantinople, he was immediately summoned to a state council inside the palace, participating the meeting is Emperor Manuel, Co-emperor Ioannes, Despot of Morea Theodoros and Andronikos himself.

Chairing the council is the young and vigorous Ioannes, he opens with a firm voice: “Now as the Ottomans have suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of the mystic rebels, it is high time that we put our plan into action! We must utilize this opportunity to restore Imperial rule on all of Morea and Achaea again, and liberate our people from the yoke of the illegal Latin occupants!”

“Theodoros my son, please inform us of the provisions.” Manuel takes over the conversation, and asks Theodoros for confirmation.

The young and inexperienced Theodoros seems nervous at first, he stutters a bit before gathering his act together and reads from a parchment prepared for him by his advisors: “Since last spring, we in Morea have prepared energetically for the upcoming campaign. We increased taxes and the storage of grain, and made good effort in importing additional grains from Egypt through the Venetians. We are now pleased to inform the Basileios that we are well course to meet our target, and when the campaign begins next year can sustain four thousand men for three months of campaign of immediate vicinity with sufficient grains and other necessary supplies. Anything further than that will put great stress to our local economy and the tax base in years to come.”

Manuel nods without any comments, then place his looks on Andronikos. Without hesitation and with a confident posture, Andronikos reports that: “The weapons supply target of Thessaloniki will meet in time, we are proud to report that as of now, a thousand infantry spears, three hundred cavalry lances, five hundred bows, three hundred crossbows, a thousand shields, and four hundred long swords have been manufactured and procured in place. Furthermore, we like to use this opportunity to inform our wise Basileios that we plan to train a new army of a thousand men using our share of the yearly tribute the Ottoman provided us.”

“A thousand men? Are you sure?” Ioannes sound surprised. In his calculation, 600.000 akces although a very large sum, is not nearly enough to pay for a thousand men in arms. Fighting men are very expensive. “Our campaign is of utmost importance, we do not need ill-equipped militias, they won’t help only increase our labor.”

Manuel and Ioannes cast suspicious glances at Andronikos as he explains his plan. "A thousand well-trained, capable fighting men, that's my promise to you," he declares firmly. "We've established furnaces and manufacturing facilities in Thessaloniki to produce all our equipment locally. This will significantly reduce the cost of our armament compared to imported weapons and armor."

"And how do you plan to pay them?" Manuel asks, showing interest.

"Instead of money, we've acquired vast tracts of land from abandoned villages and farms in our Despotate," Andronikos replies. "Already, hundreds of people fleeing Ottoman territory have settled there. They'll serve as levy soldiers in our new army, paying their dues through their service."

"A Pronoia army, a Timar army," Manuel murmurs, considering the idea. "But why are so many Ottoman subjects fleeing to us now?"

"Most of them are followers of Bedreddin," Andronikos explains. "Unlike previous instances, these followers of the Mystic Rebel have been treated harshly under the direct order of Sultan Mehmed. He considers them a threat to religious stability and his rule, vowing to eliminate them all. Countless men, women, and children have been slaughtered indiscriminately by the Ottoman armies before they could reach our gates."

"And you don't think they pose a threat to us as well?" Manuel asks.

"While they could indeed be a potential threat, and the Church in Thessaloniki opposes my decision, I believe they will provide valuable manpower for our cause," Andronikos replies. "They hate the Ottomans deeply and have nowhere else to go. Relying on our grace and mercy to survive, we can harness their strength for our own benefit. This outweighs all other considerations, as we need to prepare for a prolonged struggle, and in that struggle, we need all the men we can gather."

"An interesting idea, Father," Ioannes says, nodding in approval. "Let's give Andronikos a chance to try his method. We do need good men to fight, and I've heard that many of the followers of the Mystic Rebel are experienced fighters. If Andronikos can control and organize them efficiently at a low cost, it will greatly aid our efforts."

Manuel nods in agreement. "So be it. Now, let's discuss our strategy. The campaign shall commence in spring, when the Latins least expect us..."

Theodoros interrupts with concern, "But what about planting the fields? No campaign has ever been launched in spring. The land needs men to till it, and the crops need to grow..."

Manuel frowns at his inexperienced young son and speaks in a tone seldom heard from the otherwise charismatic emperor, "Don't get distracted by minor details; you are a Despot! Look at the bigger picture! Our procurement of grains and supplies must have already alerted the Latins. They are not fools and will be expecting an attack. But they will surely anticipate an attack in the summer, after the fields have been planted. That's why we must strike in spring, when their castles are unmanned, without reinforcements from Italy or provisions gathered after winter depletion. They will be most vulnerable then. As for the loss of crops in Morea, that's a cost we must bear. This is war, my sons! You are too young to remember, but war is ugly, it devours flesh and bone, and it demands the greatest sacrifice from everyone involved. Never forget that!"

With a strong voice, Emperor Manuel II reminds everyone that he has lived through more turmoil, faced unwinnable challenges, and experienced horrors beyond imagination. War, betrayal, intrigue, diplomacy, death, tragedy, and struggle are all part of the old Emperor's memories. Despite everything, he stands strong and resolute, vowing to stand against the tide of oblivion and refuse to bow his head to cruel fate.

With the campaign's launch date set, the state council continues discussing other details and tactics for the entire day. It is decided that Theodoros will assemble an army of 2000 men in Morea, Ioannes will lead 2000 men from Constantinople, and Andronikos will bring another 1000 men from Thessaloniki. They will join forces in Mystras, the capital of Morea, and launch a surprise attack across Achaea, capturing as many castles as possible. Then, they will march on and reunite at the capital of the duchy of Achaea, Castle of Glorentza, to defeat Count Centurione and reclaim the rest of Achaea once and for all.

A day later, on the eve of November 11th, 1416, the palace of Blachernae was transformed into a vibrant painting of sights and sounds. The grand hall was adorned with rich tapestries, golden candelabra, and intricate mosaics that sparkled in the candlelight. The air was filled with the enticing aroma of exotic spices and the sweet scent of flowers, mingling with the rich aroma of roasting meats and baking breads.

All the dignitaries of Constantinople had gathered, dressed in their finest attire, eager to pay their respects to Emperor Manuel II. As they entered the hall, they were warmly greeted by the emperor, who stood at the entrance, a welcoming smile on his face.

The banquet that followed was a feast for the senses. Long tables were laden with a variety of dishes, from succulent roasted meats to delicate pastries, all served on fine porcelain plates. The wines flowed freely, and the air was filled with the clinking of glasses and the laughter of guests.

Dancers from the Orient entertained the crowd with their exotic and acrobatic dances. They moved gracefully, their bodies twisting and turning in intricate patterns, their costumes adorned with sequins and beads that sparkled in the light. Their movements were accompanied by the rhythmic beats of drums and the sweet melodies of flutes, creating a magical atmosphere.

Bards, too, took to the stage, singing songs of praise to the empire and the emperor. Their voices rose and fell, filling the hall with melodies that were both powerful and poignant. The lyrics spoke of the glory of the empire, its past triumphs, and its present challenges, inspiring the guests to remember their heritage and to strive for a brighter future.

In the midst of this celebration, Manuel sat in the main seat, surrounded by his family and closest advisors. His eldest son, Ioannes, sat to his left, while his wife, Empress Helena Dragas, occupied the seat to his right. The younger sons, Demetrios, Konstantinos, and Thomas, sat nearby, their faces reflecting the excitement and anticipation of the evening.

As the banquet progressed, the atmosphere in the hall became increasingly festive. Guests mingled and conversed, laughing and joking as they enjoyed the feast. The emperor, too, seemed to relax, his face breaking into a warm smile as he engaged in conversation with his guests.

And then, to further enhance the festivities, a mystic claiming to come from the faraway land of India took to the center of the hall. He swallowed a long sword without harm, much to the amazement and awe of the audience. The feat was met with a thunderous applause, and the mystic bowed gracefully, acknowledging the praise.

While Manuel greets each guest who has come to pay their respects to the emperor, Ioannes, Andronikos, and Theodoros seize the opportunity to relax after a hectic meeting yesterday.

"I must say, your suggestion to take Neopatras is a genius move!" Ioannes looks at Andronikos, cup raised, a big smile on his face.

"Yes, now the lands of the Romans are linked. The Venetians can't cut our sea communication anymore. It will greatly aid our campaign!" Theodoros, still not accustomed to wine due to his young age, is already half-drunk and red-faced.

"Come spring, and I'll lead the Thessaloniki army to join you, my brother, in Morea. Together, we'll crush the Latins who have infested our lands and people for too long!"

"Let's drink to that!" Ioannes finishes his cup, wine dripping down his strong beard. He puts his arm around Andronikos' shoulder and shouts, "That's the spirit! The empire depends on our unity, but first, let's enjoy this banquet."

"Andronikos, our father calls to you." Theodors taps Andronikos on his shoulder, he turns and sees Manuel waves at him, calling him to his side.

Andronikos leaves his seat and come to the side of Manuel. "Let me take a good look at you. I'm pleased with your recovery. It's truly a blessing from heaven." Manuel looks visibly happy with Andronikos, his health, and his calm intelligence.

"It was all thanks to Master Plethon and his potions."

"I know. Now, tell me about Thessaloniki. How is this beautiful city? Does the bell of the Church of Prophet Elijah still ring as loud as before?"

"The bell has undergone renovation to remove rust. Now, it's the bells of Sankt Nicholas that ring."

"Ah, Sankt Nicholas. You see, when I was the Despot of Thessaloniki some thirty years ago, not much older than you are now, I used to walk down the streets and admire the ancient murals in the churches and monasteries. I often held long conversations about theology and philosophy with the clergymen. There was one young priest, so intelligent and pleasant to talk with." Manuel can't help but reminisce about his youthful years when he was the steward of Thessaloniki and ruled for almost ten years before the Ottomans conquered the city.

Andronikos rarely sees his father praise another man in such glowing terms. Curious, he asks, "What's this man's name, and where is he now?"

Manuel's eyes darken a little. "His name was Nikephoros. He was taken as a slave by the Ottomans when the city fell. The next time I saw him was seven years later, at the siege of Philadelphia. Our Empire's last stronghold in Asia Minor, a valiant and loyal city that held out against the horde of heathens for eighty years without reinforcement."

"I was there as the hostage of Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt. As the Ottomans prepared to assault the city, I saw Nikephoros from afar. His blonde hair was visible. He was in the first assault ranks, ragged men whose only purpose was to absorb the defender's arrows. I saw arrows pierce his chest, and he died on a sunny morning in the fields."

Andronikos' emotions deepen with a hint of sorrow. Manuel taps his son's hand and comforts him gently. "Many good men have died in the past, too many to count. What's important is that we move on."

"Maybe I'll visit the city once the Morea campaign is over and before my aging bones prevent me from moving around, haha." Manuel laughs, lightening the mood. His spirit is high, and he jokes around. Before sending his son away, he gives him advice: "You've grown into a bright young man, my son. Read history in your free time. Learn from past mistakes to draw inspiration to face future challenges. Read especially carefully about the events of our Empire in the last hundred years. See how much destruction the civil war between the Andronikos and Ioannes caused our Empire's demise. See how the Ottoman Interregnum made them suffer. Learn from them and don't repeat past mistakes."

“I will learn with all my passion.” Andronikos makes vow to Manuel.

As the evening draws to a close, the emperor rises to his feet, raising a glass in a toast to the empire and its future. His voice rings out clear and strong, filling the hall with a sense of hope and determination. The guests follows suit, raising their glasses in unison, their voices echoing in the grand hall as they pledg their loyalty and support to the empire.
 
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