Chapter 609: The Celebration of Adrianople
Cries of "Woo-hoo!" filled the air, echoed by thousands of voices across the military camp.
The atmosphere was thick with jubilation as servicemen of all ranks, normally barred from imbibing, now toasted to victory with cup after cup of mead, their laughter uninhibited. Agile jugglers weaved their way through the crowds, their tricks eliciting peals of laughter and good-natured cheers. Alluring maidens walked confidently through the ranks, their flirtatious smiles met with playful whistles and cheeky invitations, getting occasionally pulled by love filling soldiers into the tents in the dark for some biological education. Chefs from nearby towns, villages and soldiers’ relatives toiled diligently, ensuring a never ending supply of hearty meal for the victors. The Romans were finally celebrating their final triumphs after a prolonged fighting, surrendering to a heady mix of alcohol and merriment, forgetting all of their pains, loses, and agonies in the process.
However, beneath the exultation and revelry, a quieter undercurrent of emotion ebbed and flowed. Moments of sombre reflection surfaced amidst the revelry, reminding everyone that joy and sorrow are often two sides of the same coin. People are creatures of emotion and memory, and in times of heightened emotion, the memories of loved ones loomed large.
"If only... If only I hadn’t sent the second Infantry regiment to counterattack the Ottomans... If only I’d moved another artillery unit from the gates to the front lines, maybe... Maybe the second regiment wouldn’t have... wouldn’t have been disbanded..."
Helios, overcome by the weight of regret and responsibility, once again crumbled into a storm of raw emotion. His jovial laughter vanished, replaced by gut-wrenching sobs. Knocking back alcohol in an attempt to numb his guilt, he found solace only in the comforting presence of his friend Julian, who soothingly patted his back, anchoring him amidst the tumult of his emotions.
Alexios Asanes is still in the palace of Edirne, for he needs to work overnight to classify all the demographics, government papers, tax records, treasury, trade connections and all the other necessary things in order to govern over this plot of land in the future. He is both tired but yet excited, for he has finally saw his dream of joining the fleet of Antonius come true thirteen years ago, in fact his family from Darica Anatolia has sent him words, regarding him as the new chief of the house. Alexios, after stranding out of his family for years, finally acquired the awe and respect from his family members.
Seated in his private tent, Antonius revealed in the rare quiet, sipping his usual unfermented grape juice. His gaze swept the distant city walls as he reflected on the day’s events. Nearby, Abdullah, who had recently returned from negotiating the detailed terms with the obstinate Sultana Dowager, shared in the contemplative silence. Laughter and friendly banter echoed from outside the tent where Mauro and Cerberus, having developed an unexpected friendship in such a short period of time, were immersed in a lively game of darts. Close by, young Giovanni Junior sparred playfully with a wooden sword, charming a circle of amused friendly uncles who are trying to appease him.
Raising his cup in a solemn toast, Antonius first nodded to Abdullah across from him, then directed his attention skyward. "This first cup of the night," he announced with a warm smile, "is offered to the moon, to the stars. For they have graced us with a perfect weather for our celebration."
Abdullah reciprocated the gesture, raising his own cup and draining its contents in one swift motion.
He refilled his cup, his demeanour turning sombre. "The second cup," he stated solemnly, "is dedicated to our fallen comrades. It weighs heavily on me that they sacrificed their youth, meeting their end in such a harsh manner." Again, he drank deeply from his cup.
Turning to his companion, Antonius raised his cup once more. "And the third cup," he said, his voice resonating with deep gratitude, "is for you, my friend Abdullah. Your efforts in the negotiations were nothing short of a miracle. You managed to sway the Sultana Dowager, a woman as stubborn as a mule, to our cause. For that, I thank you."
"Well, admiral, it is not me who determined the results of the negotiations, it is the Sultan and the Sultana Dowager, for I am just the one who is there to represent the Romans to accept the surrender... You see, the Sultan wanted to surrender in order to repent the sins he felt that he has made to his fallen Ottoman soldiers by preventing any further death or sufferings of their fellow members in the siege. While it is even simpler for the Sultana Dowager, for her priority is to keep her son well and alive, and her second priority is to keep the House of the Osman intact."
"... But she declared a mass mobilisation, saying that she would hold the city until reinforcements arrive..."
"She is right." Abdullah followed up. "If Julian did not defeat the reinforcements of Abbas Pasha through such a gorgeously set up ambush, the Sultana Dowager would still has some hope in getting any help from the outside. But after that ambush, all the things that the Sultana Dowager has done, no matter be it mass mobilisation, making a stance that she will live with the city, is to increase the amount of cost that we need to put in to siege the city, making us reconsider whether it is worth it to really start a siege and increase the bargain of the negotiation."
"With the whole population of the city as a hostage?"
"With the whole population of Edirne as a hostage."
Antonius pondered upon the words of Abdullah, made a smile and shook his head. "Woman."
The Caesar and his friend continued seating there, enjoying the fullness of time under the moonshine and the moment of peace after all the events in the month, cleansing their minds of the bloodshed that they have went through and anticipating for the future. For no matter what the loses are, the recapture of Adrianopolis, is still marked as the greatest milestone that the Romans have accomplished so far in their path of Reconquista, and a direct achievement of the results of their decade long reforms and century long sufferings.
Their next step, of course, is Constantinople.
...
One hundred and eighty Roman miles from the Roman revelries, another man contemplated the moon’s ethereal glow. Zaganos Pasha, atop his emblematic black steed, overlooked the narrow Aegean straits dividing Europa and Anatolia. Having ridden relentlessly from the Syrian frontlines, he left the Mamluk conflict to his trusted lieutenant, choosing to return to Golcuk, an Ottoman fortress on the Anatolian coast.
A subordinate, a Bey, approached tentatively. "Pasha, the Rumelians have destroyed our convoys. I regret to inform you that I’ve only managed to muster a fleet of two hundred plus boats from the surrounding coastal towns and villages."
Zaganos Pasha, his face etched with wrinkles showing the ravages of time, shook his head dismissively. "The fault is not yours. You shouldn’t bear the burden of this."
Indeed, Zaganos felt the sting of his own failures acutely. He had failed his Sultan, arriving on the Anatolian coast when the situation had already reached a dire climax. He considered himself solely responsible for his inability to protect the capital, the Sultan, and his own dignity.
Zaganos Pasha leapt down from his mount, and glanced at the moss-covered warship wreckage nearby.
"That’s a Rumelian ship, your Highness," the Bey informed him. "It was left stranded when the Rumelian Caesar abandoned Anatolia."
"I see," Zaganos replied, his face betraying no emotion. "I need to rest. Continue to gather information about the Sultan. I want to know if he’s alive or dead."
"Yes, your Highness."
"There’s a Rumelian holding in Erdek, correct?"
"Yes, your Highness."
"I shall give you another one thousand men, I want to see all the Rumelian forts there destroyed, and all the Rumelian inhabitants enslaved for vengeance of our Sultan, as fast as possible."
"Yes, your Highness."
With his orders issued, Zaganos Pasha climbed onto a cart laden with straw, his makeshift bed for the night. He applied an herbal mixture to his thighs, nursing injuries inflicted by the days on tough horseback without any rest, moving for an entire eight hundred plus Roman miles from Idlib back to the Anatolian coast.
The night is still long, but Zaganos find it hard to close his eye lids, with the soaring wind of the seas and the chills of the summer night offering some cold comfort to his sour heart.
...
The Romans have finally concluded their celebrations at daybreak.
Antonius as well, came out of the tent after a long night, with Abdullah ready to depart from the new Adrianople back to Thessaloniki, for he cannot stay here forever. With all the issues here settled, he will need to rush back to continue serving in his position to settle all the piled up works from all over the state.
But there is still one last thing that Abdullah needs to speak to his Caesar before leaving.
