Chapter 628: Harrow Well the Fields of Kalma!
"Thus the hoary-headed mother Weeps and murmurs in her chambers: ’Where is now my son beloved, In the kingdom of Manala? Sow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni, Harrow well the fields of Kalma!"
- Kalevala, Elias Lönnrot (Finland)
Near the border between Bulgaria and Thrace, on a country road belonging the township of Krum, a caravan of carts meandered along the country roads. Families who are chosen by the local authorities to migrate to Constantinople were brimming with anticipation, their carts laden with household possessions. The air was filled with their songs of cheer, the women sat on the carts doing their chores, and the laughter of children playing tag infused the journey with an air of lightness. Fathers walked together, vigilant for any lurking dangers in the wilderness.
This scene of merriment belied the grim reminders of past conflicts that dotted the landscape: fragmented arrows with corpses hang on crosses and rusted helmets lay discarded by the roadside, silent witnesses to battles long ended.
Little did this fleet know, that in just a distance away on top of the hills, there stands two men watching over them.
Yet, unbeknownst to the travellers, two figures observed them from a nearby hill. One, clad in light armour, turned to his companion, the Sanjak Bey of the region. "Look, my Sanjak Bey," he pointed towards the caravan, "those are the ’fat sheep’ I spoke of. The nearest Rumelian troops are more than ten Roman miles away in the fort of Vurben. We could strike swiftly and vanish before they even know we were here!"
The Sanjak Bey, however, hesitated. Memories of Julian’s ruthless efficiency in dealing with past raids gnawed at his resolve. "But that faggot Julian... he’s still in the vicinity. Remember how he crushed our previous attempts?"
"According to our intel, that cursed bastard Julian should be in Constantinople now for the man who is gripping his dog leash."
The Sanjak Bey is still unable to make up his mind.
"My lord," the lieutenant urged, his voice laced with urgency, "we’re not alone in this plight. Our men have been mired in poverty since the blockade began. We’re owed a debt by the Rumelians, and it’s time we collected it. This is a rightful struggle, a Jihad! And should the Rumelians suspect anything, they’ll point fingers at Abbas Pasha. He’s strong enough to deter any retribution from them. Remember, the greater danger lies in failing to reward our men. The fate of the previous Sanjak Bey should be a grim reminder of what happens when we return empty-handed."
The mention of the previous Bey’s fate sent a shiver down the Sanjak Bey’s spine. The image of the once-powerful leader, overthrown and executed by his own troops after that disastrous defeat by Julian just half a year ago, haunted him. He knew too well the dual thirst that drove his men: a thirst for vengeance and a desperation for wealth.
With a heavy heart, the Sanjak Bey made his decision, weighed down by the burdens of leadership. "Very well," he sighed, "but ensure your identities are concealed. And when you strike, shout the name of Abbas Pasha. Let them bear the responsibility for our deeds."
Eagerly, the lieutenant unsheathed his sword, his eyes blazing with anticipation. With a sharp whistle and a commanding wave of his blade, he signalled the attack.
Moments later, a formidable line of cavalry appeared atop the hill, their swords gleaming and eyes alight with avarice. They gazed hungrily at the caravan below, their presence a portent of doom.
The fleet of families beneath on the country road seems to have realised something as well, as they attempted to chase their donkeys and mounts to form a circle, the children and the women hurdled in the middle, and the men gathered on the outside with whatever weapons they have. One man, riding the only horse these men have, galloped for a far towards the latest Rumelian garrison. However, he would never make it there, as there are already people waiting for him on the other end of the road.
"Charge! My warriors! It is time for the Rumelian to pay for their deeds!"
The lieutenant roared, as he hopped on first wielding that blade in his hands down hills, followed by his fellow robbers galloping downhill roaring strange war cries. Though they did adhere to the order by their new Sanjak Bey, roaring out the names of Abbas Pasha as they charged down the hills.
The fight ended in a brief period of time, as ultimately, a bunch of untrained men are definitely no match for a group of well trained nomad blood thirsty barbarians. The men are killed, weeping women and children enslaved, with everyone knowing where their ultimate destiny would land now in the hands of these men who have their greedy eyes scanning every part of their bodies with lust of men, and their wealth taken, leaving only more corpses and blood sipping into the Earth behind, telling passers by of the events that just occurred here.
It only took minutes for a joyous scene to be turned into a living hell.
"Pass the message to Abbas Pasha." The Sanjak Bey ordered his lieutenant, wiping off the blood on his blade. "Tell him that I have already taken action on the Rumelians on behalf of him... It is now his opportunity to prove to the vast Ottomans on how strong his desire of vengeance is."
The lieutenant made a laugh and bowed down on horseback. "Aye, my lord..."
"Now! Warriors! Move on to our next target! Theres more to hunt!"
...
"Wham!"
The sound of Abbas Pasha slamming against his table can be heard across the room.
"Who! Who gave him the order that he can ransack a Rumelian caravan, who told him that he can brutally slaughter Rumelians! And on my behalf? Vengeance? Is he stupid? Or has he thrown his brain away? Where is he! Where is he! I want to see him arrested! I want to see him persecuted! I want to see him slain!"
The tension in the air was palpable as the stewards stood silently, lined up along the wall. They were all too aware of the gradual change in Abbas Pasha over the years. His arrogance had grown, particularly after the fall of Edirne, as if that event had triggered a fundamental transformation in him, making him almost unrecognisable.
"Pasha! Honourable Pash!" Finally, a courtier stood up, and kneeled in front of his pasha. "Calm down! Honourable Pasha! Ahmed Sanjak Bey is the uncle in law of Candarli Bey, and he belongs to the faction of Mustafa Pasha who is plotting against you now. Arresting him could ignite a new conflict among Bulgaria’s lords. We must seek peace, especially at this critical juncture!
The courtier’s words hit Abbas Pasha like a thunderbolt, causing him to stagger backward, his breath catching in his throat. He slumped against the table, looking skyward with a gaze filled with despair and bitterness.
"...Write me a letter, to Antonius in Constantinople, that I am sorry for the attacks, and I will make necessary reparations, on behalf of my vessels."
"Yes, and also, rally the army, just in case if that easily enraged Caesar of the Rumelians chose to take the hard approach on us."
"...Yes, honourable Pasha."
...
A day later, in Constantinople, on a banquet.
a guard hurried through the throng of attendees, knocking off multiple people along his way attracting a series of attentions and curses. He made his way to General Julian, who was engaged in conversation with Maximos and several officers who had defected from the Senate. Handing Julian a letter, he whispered urgently into his ear and swiftly departed.
Julian scanned the letter, his brow furrowed deeply. He rose from his seat with a forced smile, excusing himself from the banquet on the pretext of urgent family matters.
Within half an hour, Julian arrived at Antonius’s office. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice tinged with frustration, "this appears to be another deliberate provocation from Abbas of Bulgaria. He’s aware of our nationwide celebrations and the fact that our forces are spread thin across the empire. In just one day, there’ve been three attacks on merchants, migrants, and farmers - coordinated strikes. We’ve lost over a hundred people to these Ottoman aggressors. We must act."
Helios chimed in, echoing Julian’s concern. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The primary threat at our border is none other than Abbas Pasha and his cohorts in Bulgaria. We thought defeating them near Adrianople would quell their ambitions, but we were mistaken."
Mauro added gravely, "Our troops are in a dangerous position right now with no solid defence on all the border fortresses. If that Abbas Pasha chose to gather a five thousand strong combat forces, he can actually storm through our border defences, and come all the way to Constantinople in just a few days’ time. Although our forces is definitely able to withstand an assault by the Ottomans, but we must constantly watch out for the Venetians, and the Ottoman remnants who are still within our borders as well!"
