Chapter 633: Bulgarian Snow
The night sky was illuminated by the graceful arc of arrows, their trajectory casting a fleeting shadow over the Ottoman encampment. The silent, peaceful slumber of the soldiers was abruptly shattered as arrows found their mark, some piercing through the fabric of tents and embedding into the ground. A particular arrow, with unerring accuracy, landed mere meters from Abbas Pasha, its sudden appearance sending the guards into a frenzied protective formation around their leader. "We are under attack! Protect the Pasha!" the captain bellowed, his voice a sharp contrast against the quiet of the night.
The Pasha’s guards, unwavering in their duty, quickly assembled into a shield wall, their eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of the enemy. Meanwhile, the Rumelian cavalry, their voices carrying across the distance, shouted in broken Ottoman, "Charge! Charge! Deus Vult!" The battle cry, fierce and resolute, echoed through the camp, stirring a mix of fear and readiness among the Ottoman troops.
Abbas Pasha’s face, usually an unreadable mask, now betrayed a hint of frustration, not from fear, but from recognition. He knew all too well this tactic; it was a favourite of the Caesar, previously employed against Grand Vizier Candarli Halil Pasha, and now being used against him with equal effectiveness.
The Rumelian strategy was cunning, exploiting the Ottomans’ slower reaction time at night and their lack of a sizeable cavalry force for a quick counterattack. Throughout the night, the Rumelian horsemen would execute feigned assaults from various directions, sewing seeds of fear and uncertainty among the Ottoman ranks. This tactic was designed to wear down the enemy, not through direct confrontation, but by eroding their morale and stamina, breaking their psychological resilience even before the battle truly began.
One could argue why not simply disregard these minor harassments? However, for an experienced field commander like Abbas Pasha, such a decision was fraught with risk. It was impossible to predict whether the next Rumelian charge would be a genuine full-scale attack or another diversion. His decision to camp on elevated ground, fortified with fences and barricades, was a strategic move to impede any potential Rumelian cavalry assault, a testament to his understanding of the battlefield’s ruthless unpredictability. The night wore on, the Ottoman camp gripped in a relentless state of alert, awaiting the dawn that would bring with it the true test of their fortitude.
"Send in the night watch cavalries, disperse these Rumelians, but they are only allowed to chase them up to five miles away."
"Yes, honourable Pasha."
"Order that no personnel, except those on guard and patrol, return to their tents for sleep. You, my guards, disperse in squads of three across the three camps and maintain martial law and order, for anyone who are still running around, execute on spot; for anyone who is found to be spreading rumours; execute on spot, for anyone disobeying military orders, execute on spot, I want all chaos to go down in half an hour’s time!" command Abbas Pasha with an iron resolve that only years of command could forge.
His guards, well-trained and disciplined, sprang into action. Their swift and ruthless enforcement of the Pasha’s orders quickly silenced the chaos. Heads rolled, quite literally, under the strict military discipline imposed. Abbas Pasha’s cavalry, his prized asset, chased down the Roman harassers, even managing to eliminate a few. In just an hour, the camp was calm again, a testament to Abbas Pasha’s seasoned command. Yet, the night’s events had taken their toll, leaving the Pasha another sleepless night overseeing the movements of his cavalry and guards. The moral impact was contained, but not entirely avoided, thanks to his experienced leadership.
As night gave way to dawn, the first day of January 1466 arrived, marking a fresh start in the European calendar. The Earth donned a rare white blanket in this region, with snow gently falling, an unusual occurrence influenced by the typically milder Mediterranean climate.
The unexpected snowfall rendered the battlefield unsuitable for engagement. The once solid country roads transformed into muddy quagmires, significantly impeding the movement of carts, artillery, cavalry, and infantry, all of which struggled to manoeuvre through the challenging, sodden terrain.
The Roman army took a brief recess to celebrate the Feast of Christ’s Circumcision and Saint Basil’s Day. The venerable Ecumenical Patriarch Gennadius Scholarius, along with a cadre of high-ranking clergies, led the celebrations. This festive occasion brought together those who usually remained secluded within the grandeur of Hagia Sophia and ordinary soldiers who might never otherwise encounter such distinguished figures.
Following the example of Patriarch Gennadius, the clergies mingled with the troops, dispensing blessings and conducting ceremonies. They engaged in more personal interactions too, such as suggesting names for soldiers’ soon-to-be-born children and helping the illiterate craft heartfelt letters to their families in elegant calligraphy. It was a day where the barriers between the esteemed church officials and the common soldiers were briefly lifted, fostering a sense of unity and camaraderie among all ranks. The presence of the church brought a harmonious balance to the camp, intertwining the rigors of military life with the compassionate touch of spiritual guidance.
Despite the limited availability of wood and materials, the emperor managed to provide each soldier with a comforting cup of wine and a loaf of Prosphora bread, and even offered meat to the visiting foreign dignitaries. This act of generosity was further elevated by the presence of the Ecumenical Patriarch, who led the troops in prayer, adding a layer of spiritual fortitude to the gathering.
This created an atmosphere of joy and unity within the Roman camp, nestled in the midst of a battle zone. Soldiers felt a deep sense of appreciation and loyalty, not only because of the sustenance and warmth provided but also due to the emperor’s decision to share these humble festivities with them in the field, rather than isolating himself in the comfort of his quarters.
Meanwhile, the Ottoman camp was mired in tiredness and unease. Disagreements over the allocation of supplies from Burgas exacerbated existing tensions among the various warlords. Each lord, convinced of the superiority of his own forces, demanded a larger share of resources, leading to strife and disunity even as their common enemy lay merely fifty Roman miles away. This internal conflict, coupled with the still-fresh memories of the previous night’s Rumelian assault, significantly dampened the morale of the regular Ottoman soldiers.
Due to the lack of communications, and even language differences between different feudal lords. Numerous Ottoman troopers begun quarrelling between one another, started pushing around, and almost begun an infighting, which is only stopped on the arrival of Abbas Pasha, who then spent his time coming up with a plan for water, which then stopped the quarrels.
Compounding their troubles was a severe shortage of fresh water. With limited access to streams and wells, the vital resource quickly became a point of contention. The situation deteriorated to the brink of internal conflict among the troops, only to be quelled by the timely intervention of Abbas Pasha. His efforts to implement a water distribution plan temporarily eased the tensions.
Just as one says.
In Bulgaria’s range, history spins its yarn,
Under winter skies, grim and grey,
The past echoes, a distant horn.
Balance of victory, in cold air, is born,
By deity’s hand, in silent play,
In Bulgaria’s range, history spins its yarn.
Twenty years past, Varna’s morn,
Shifts its course in a different way,
The past echoes, a distant horn.
Wind howls with sighs forlorn,
Plains dressed in battle’s array,
In Bulgaria’s range, history spins its yarn.
Saint Basil’s blessing, on new year sworn,
Roman hearts, united, stay,
The past echoes, a distant horn.
As days pass, old years are shorn,
Blown away in the howling fray,
In Bulgaria’s range, history spins its yarn,
The past echoes, a distant horn.
...
After two gruelling days, the snow ceased.
Horns echoed across the fields, signalling the end of the brief respite. Wells were filled up, fires extinguished, and soldiers on both sides readied themselves for the impending clash.
Abbas Pasha, seeking to bolster the spirits of his troops, resorted to a desperate measure. He brought three carts filled with women from Burgas and nearby towns into the camp. For one wild night, the soldiers were allowed a distraction from the looming battle, their inner turmoil momentarily quelled by fleeting pleasures. The presence of these women momentarily lifted the heavy air in the Ottoman camp.
The ladies are of course sent back to where they came from on the same carts after that night, their brief role in the war machine concluded.
The Roman camps are busy with the same thing of course, but instead of carrying women on the carts, these carts are filled with the letters of the soldiers, written by all the clergies who spent their entire day on this task, to their families, wives, children, and friends, departing from Bulgaria off to every single corner of the Peninsula, alongside with the best wishes and blessings for the brand-new year.
