Chapter 599: Sultan’s Meal
Antonius carved out a few precious hours to mourn the death of old man Anjelo with his long-standing comrades in a quaint chapel nestled in the countryside, a stone’s throw from the bustling army camp.
Anjelo had drawn his final breath in his bed, peacefully crossing the veil between this world and the next, as described by the messenger from capital, which is indeed a tender mercy in these brutal, war-torn times. The great bell on the Agia Sophia and Agios Dimitrios are tolled for three times under the order of the Protasekretis Abdullah, in commemoration of the old man’s achievements and contributions in shaping the state into what it is today, building up the first proper intelligence service, starting a round of great purge eradicating all the associates of the old Ottoman rulers, confiscating all the properties and lands of the old Ottoman masters. redistributing it to the people of Romania, and also participating in the writing of the first version of the state’s law, particularly in the section of national security.
Seated in the chapel, Antonius found himself alone, his gaze directed towards the sea in the direction of Thessaloniki. Only Alexios, his trusted aide, remained faithfully in his company.
As the years passed and strands of silver began to thread his hair, more and more of those who are familiar started to leave Antonius, one by one giving themselves for the common dream they had sworn to fulfil in their youth — back when they were nothing more than sailors, pirates, mercenaries. Yet, as they drew closer to this shared goal, these old comrades faded away, each one shaping the next step in the staircase to success.
For the first time, a sense of loneliness began to gnaw at Antonius.
He starts to have this weird feeling that he is getting gradually contained in a box, in a prison cell. As time wore on, fewer people dared to engage with him in earnest conversation. More and more courtiers spun sweet words, pandering to him in hopes of earning titles, while the candid and helpful critiques he once welcomed started to grate on his ears.
Antonius sighed, attempted to clear his mind but failed, and continued to gaze afar seated on the sands.
The brief moment of silence is interrupted the spurs of horses as a rider came approaching, passed a message to the new commander of the guards Mauro, who then came to relay it to his new boss.
"The Sultana Dowager agreed to negotiate her city, but she needs to see her son alive."
Antonius heaved a sigh of relief and stood up stretching his legs. "That would be the best, if the Ottoman court is really willing to surrender the keys of the city to us, then I would have something to say to Abdullah when I get home."
Then the Caesar took a peek at Alexios. "And it would give our dear Alexios here a much easier time reorganising the stability and economy of the region later on, Adrianopolis is no small city."
"Thank you, your Majesty." Alexios nodded.
With this news it seems like optimism and confidence started getting back into the atmosphere of the chapel, because to the most of them here, the Sultan is still well alive and intact, and without a standing army and support from the Ottoman nobles, the Sultan is literally nothing, it would be a perfect deal if they can throw the Sultan away for a well guarded city.
No one wants to fall into the state of depression for fallen men like general Helios.
"Well then, lets go see our little Sultan then."
...
The gang of men marched to the most heavily guarded tent in the camp, where the Sultan is kept captive in, together with a trusted Janissary of his acting as a guard as requested according to the code of chivalry.
Sultan Beyezid II was deeply engrossed in a sumptuous spread: a jug of fresh milk, a dish of Moussaka lamb, a generous plate of Souvlaki, and a hearty bowl of Soutzoukakia, all complemented by an array of wine, bread, diverse sauces, cheese, and stews spread out on the carpet before him. The Sultan, Beyezid II, is gulping down everything that is before his eyes as if he has been starving for days, while the Janissary guard sat vigilant, his hand resting on his meat-cutting dagger — his sole weapon. Despite their defeat, his eyes remained alert, cautiously observing the Roman Caesar and his guards as they entered the tent.
The Sultan lifted his eyes up taking a brief look at the Caesar, and continued with the movements in his mouth.
Antonius clapped his hands to capture the young Sultan’s attention. "I trust the meal meets your satisfaction?" he asked, a friendly smile gracing his lips.
"Oh yes of course, thank you." The Sultan smiled back, passed a Souvlaki to the Caesar while continuing the chewing in his mouth. "You know, sometimes, food is indeed a lubricant that allows you to temporarily get away with all the negative things in life, and although I am a Sultan, it is rare for me to have my tongue on any Rumelian food in the past."
"Oh, really?" Antonius asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yes," Beyezid continued, "My mother, the Sultana Dowager, prohibited me from indulging in such dishes. She believed they were the fare of the corrupt, those who were to be conquered, the food of the lesser."
A palpable tension immediately filled the tent. Antonius’ guards, standing protectively around him, regarded the Sultan with hardened stares, zero tolerance evident in their eyes. Undeterred, the lone Janissary met their gaze without fear, maintaining the dignity of his role even in defeat.
"Talking about your mother." The Caesar coughed and continued. "We have received a reply from your mother regarding the capitulation of Edirne, she agreed on our terms, in exchange for your safety. We would really hope that you can agree with us, for it would really decrease a lot of loss of human lives, for both Edirne and my army."
The Sultan didn’t respond, but he ceased his eating, signalling his attention.
"We would really hope that you head our suggestions, your highness." Alexios tried to persuade as well. "Your mother has declared an all-out mobilisation against a possible siege, if we are going to continue with the siege, things will end up to be pretty bad for everyone, especially the fifteen thousand Ottoman lives in the city."
"We might flood the city." he added ominously.
The Sultan, having grown up by the rivers of Edirne, instantly grasped Alexios’ implications. He halted all movement, emitted a sudden, thunderous roar towards the heavens, and then burst into wild, seemingly unhinged laughter. Sultan Beyezid II raised another skewer of Souvlaki, sarcastically laughing at Caesar and his companions while gesturing with the meat-laden stick.
"So, you people came all the way here, asking me, the De Jure Sultan of all Ottomans, to surrender in exchange for the city of Edirne, which my mother and tens of thousands of Ottomans have sworn their lives to protect?"
"It is best for..." Alexios still tried to argue, while Antonius has already seen that something is not being right, for he can see nothing but hate in the hollow pupils of the Sultan’s deep black eyes, void of anything but the resolution to embrace death."
"I have already failed them for sending thousands of my Sultanate’s best men into their death trap, I have already embarrassed my entire country, I feel shameful for myself, consumed of my own guilt whenever I think of my Sultanate, my people, my tutors, my Imam, and my mother, and now, you want me to embarrass both myself and all Ottomans again, being in a defeated stance, baring my vulnerability and showing my cursed tongue to the people who are trying their best to protect their most precious things, and the pride of the Ottomans from you dirty invaders?"
Then, the Sultan bursted out weeping, falling into an unstable emotional status, before wiping his tears and continuing, still with that skewer in his hands.
"I sincerely thank you for the food that you have treated me for the past few days, honourable Caesar. I have used the good food to immune myself from the defeat and the reality, but now, thanks to your kind words, I guess that it is time for me to face my responsibilities as an Ottoman Sultan. If you want me to thank you for your hospitality, I will, gladly, but if you would want me, an Ottoman Sultan, to surrender and betray his own people, never! Ever! Long live the Ottoman Sultanate! God is the greatest!"
With those words, the Sultan glared at the meat before him, frowning as he tightened his grip on the stick. His intent became clear - he aimed to drive the sharp end of the wooden skewer into his own throat. The rest of the room, still absorbed in the words of the defeated Sultan, had yet to react.
