Chapter 671: The Old Man’s Adventure (5)
The junior officer observed from above as throngs of men bustled through the streets below, each engrossed in daily chores. These individuals represented a cross-section of society, their lives reshaped by the war’s end in the west. With Mehmed Bey’s return to his command, he had begun the process of discharging his soldiers in stages. The streets now brimmed with men, some still in uniform, others bearing arms, their aimless wandering underscored by a descent into vices, their presence a burgeoning chaos on the pathways.
Fearing unwanted attention from these disenfranchised soldiers, who might assign blame for their hardships to any observer, the officer hastily drew the curtains closed.
He then addressed his superior, Apostolos, who was engrossed in documents. "Have you noticed how long we’ve been stalled here without making progress in the task our responsibilities lies, your highness?"
Apostolos replied without lifting his head. "Not long, six days."
"Six days without progress?" The junior sighed. "Have we been forgotten? Stranded here? Can’t leave, can’t do nothing."
"Stay patient, young man." Apostolos replied back once more. "They are just using a diplomatic technique, and we shall give them the chance to use it, but we all knows, that, eventually, they are going to meet us regardless, we shall just wait here patiently, and not let this prolonged time affect our judgement and mindset."
"And what exactly are we awaiting, your highness?"
"Change." Apostolos finally stood up from his seat as he walked to the windows. "Which is something that the Ottomans never wants."
The officer was perplexed.
"Do you not see, young man? We have all the time to wait, but the Ottomans, they need peace as swiftly as possible. If my assumptions are correct, General Helios remains with his forces stationed outside Anatolia on Chios, awaiting our signal to decide whether to proceed with the assault. Meanwhile, the territories of the Ottomans continue to be consumed by conflicts in the east. Trust me, young man, if anyone is under pressure, it’s Ahmed Celebi... For now, our task is to observe and see what unfolds next..."
The awaited change Apostolos referred to arrived sooner than expected.
Just the next day, at night, Apostolos is welcomed by a fellow guest, unwelcomed of course.
For safety reasons, the delegation members, residing near Ankara’s urban centre, took it upon themselves to purchase necessary supplies and return by noon. Coincidentally, it was also a day dedicated to memorialising the Ottoman military, resulting in an increased presence of Ottoman soldiers and veterans on the streets.
It might have been their use of Greek while making purchases, or perhaps their recognition, but the group was followed back to their dwelling, where Ahmed Celebi was making strenuous efforts to remain out of the public eye.
As night fell, a group of Ottomans, particularly young men, stealthily entered the estate. Employing exceptional skills, they silenced the guards and initiated a ruthless attack within the mansion, sparing no one and igniting fires throughout. The blaze became visible even from miles away, yet none of this disturbed Apostolos’s deep sleep.
"Your highness! Your highness!" the officers frantically attempted to rouse the elder from his slumber. "Awaken! We must flee!"
Apostolos turned, and impatiently waved his hands. "Do not disturb me, I have eaten my sleep medications."
"We got to go really! Your highness!" Urged the junior executive once again. "People are getting killed everywhere! We need to go now! Before they find this room!"
The old man got stubborn once again, as he hugged tightly to his pillows. "I am not going anywhere!"
The junior officer was desperate, realising he had no choice but to command three men to forcibly lift the elder statesman and carry him out of the room.
Merely minutes after their departure, Ottoman berserkers stormed in. With swift and decisive actions, they searched the room for any hidden individuals before quickly departing, their blades still wet with blood—a testament to their discipline and lethal efficiency.
Panic ensued among the Romans as they scattered in fear, creating a wave of chaos and distress. It was only then that the cavalry detachment left by Mehmed Bey became aware of the unfolding tragedy. Yet, despite understanding the gravity of the situation, the commanding officer, harbouring years of animosity towards the Romans, chose inaction. He casually observed the massacre of Roman delegates, jeopardizing the respect owed to Mehmed Bey, and did nothing to intervene. The captain of these guards went to the balcony, had a good time laughing at the fire and killing in a distance away, and went back to sleep, instructing his men to wake him up in an hour’s time.
Back in Ankara, Ahmed Celebi is still handling Ottoman civil matters when he heard this graving news, which made him almost jump down from his seat, as he could wait no longer, assembled his palace troops and rode through the streets heading right towards the premise of the Rumelian delegates, crashing his way through the market square that was for demonstration the other day round, creating a mess inside his own city, but he has no mood nor time to take care of these trivial matters right now.
Ahmed Celebi arrived in less than twenty minutes to a scene of devastation. The area resembled a nightmarish landscape: buildings ablaze, people in disarray, limbs strewn about, and the dead attracting swarms of flies in the summer heat. The air was pierced by the screams of victims and the curses of attackers, with occasional sounds of blades being exchanged. The killers seem to have no reactions to the arrival of troops of Ahmed, as they continued with their doings.
Witnessing the chaos, Ahmed Celebi felt a surge of anger. He immediately commanded his cavalry to secure the area, eliminate any hostile forces, and assist the civilians in extinguishing the fires. Personally leading a group of riders, he desperately scoured the fields in search of Apostolos, fervently hoping the elder statesman remained unharmed, regretting the lack of protection provided during the past week.
He kept blaming himself along the way, for he only realised it now on how much has he underestimated the sentiment of national hatred there is for some of his citizens, especially those in the army.
It took him no effort to find the old man, who is left in a barn, and to his amusement, is still sleeping peacefully on top of the haystack despite of all the commotions that are going on around him.
Ahmed Celebi took over the command of the rescue missions staying there for the entire night, and by day break, all hostage have been rescued, numerous culprits caught and handed over, and all the bodies of the victims found one by one.
A total of thirty plus Romans are killed over the night.
Apostolos stood before the body of corpses lined up before him, most of them are faces that he knows, even including the junior officer who has saved his life the last night, now turned into nothing but a lifeless corpse with his eyes still wide open.
Only six out of the fifteen culprits are apprehended by Ahmed Celebi, all have their hands tied up and kneeled on the ground, including the captain of the guards.
Apostolos, though already deteriorating in terms of memory, still remembers one of these men: It is the commander of that legion of orphans, who is still eyeing him with the similar look of hatred, grinding his teeth hard, as if he wants to eat him alive. But Apostolos is not amused by such faces, for he has seen it for numerous occasions through the span of his decade long career. He turned to Ahmed Celebi.
Ahmed Celebi turned to the guard with his eye balls almost bulged out. "Where are you and your men left night? Where are you when this thing happened! Why are you not there to serve your duty!"
"For...Forgive me! Your Majesty!" The man replied with his legs and lips shaking violently. "I... I was about to embark with my troops! Really! It was just that... We are too slow! Because we had too much activities the day prior!"
Ahmed Celebi’s face distorted due to sheer rage. "I rode here from three Roman miles away, and you are just in a few hundred meters distance from this premise, and you dare to be slower than me?"
"I am sorry! Your Majesty! Pardon... Pardon me please! I... I am Mehmed Bey’s man! I shall repent my sins! Please give me another..."
Ahmed Celebi did not give any tolerance to any further squabbles of the man, as he pulled out his blade, with just one swift slice, the head of the Ottoman is sent rolling on the ground, and his eyes still wide open with mouth gulped of disbelief.
After that, Ahmed Bey felt his eyes blacked out, as he sudden had a loss of strength, and fell backwards, if it is not for the guards behind him, the prince regent would have fallen right onto the ground.
He had not slept for almost two days in a row.
