Chapter 683: Good and Bad Rumelian
In the waning days of autumn, the Serene Doge Cristoforo Moro, burdened by years and illness, made his weary return from the tranquil resort town of Shëngjin on the Albanian coast to the venerable city of Venice. The journey, arduous and fraught with the relentless battering of ship against wave, the relentless glare of the sun, and the relentless clamour of the wind, had been undertaken out of a profound sense of duty. Moro, despite his declining health, was driven by a fervent desire to ensure the enduring legacy of his tenure as the Doge of Venice. He believed deeply that meeting the formidable Emperor Antonius in person was critical to securing the future he envisioned for his city-state.
Regrettably, the voyage did little more than exacerbate his frail condition. Upon his return, Cristoforo Moro’s health rapidly deteriorated. Clinging to the hope offered by contemporary medicine, he consumed potions laced with mercury—a substance his physicians hailed as a miraculous cure. Yet, these treatments offered no relief and seemed only to hasten his decline.
As the pivotal laws he had championed were ratified in July of 1471, Moro’s strength finally failed him. He died at the venerable age of eighty-one, just as his reforms began to take effect, leaving behind a legacy marked by both achievement and controversy.
The mantle of leadership fell to Nicolò Tron, a member of the esteemed patrician House of Tron. His ascension, secured through a popular vote in the Senate, marked the continuation of Moro’s policies. Tron inherited not only the Doge’s administrative duties but also his vision, pushing forward with economic reforms including the introduction of a new currency, the Lira.
Tron, however, diverged in his military strategies, amplifying investments in the army while scaling back naval expenditures. His tenure was characterised by a robust stance against Venetian adversaries, particularly the German and French powers. Meanwhile, he maintained the sanctions imposed on the Ottomans but fostered enhanced trade relations with the Roman Empire, recognising the strategic importance of supplying raw materials to fuel the burgeoning Roman industrial sectors. This complex web of diplomacy and domestic policy underscored Venice’s precarious position on the world stage as it navigated the treacherous waters of international politics and internal reform.
In the scholarly confines of the University of Athens, the year 1472 saw a fervent gathering of minds steeped in the disciplines of geometry, mathematics, and physics. These scholars delved into ancient transcripts salvaged from Roman Egypt, seeking to unlock the mysteries penned by the ancients. Among these was the description of the ’aeolipile’ by the mathematician Hero of Alexandria, a device harnessing the power of steam generated from boiling water.
As they pondered over the texts, a kettle on the side of the room simmered, its steam building pressure under the bronze lid. Engrossed in discussion, the scholars barely noticed the kettle until, with a sudden release of steam, the lid clattered loudly to the floor. The noise shattered the library’s silence but heralded a revelation—the untapped potential of steam power, a force scarcely imagined in their time.
This accidental experiment sparked a new era of curiosity among the scholars, as they realised the immense force that steam could wield, possibly transforming mechanical power as they knew it.
Meanwhile, the ramifications of the ongoing bilateral trade between the Romans and the Ottomans were felt across both empires. Constantinople, now the principal trading partner for the beleaguered Ottoman state, became a lifeline. The Ottomans, their lands ravaged by continuous warfare, had seen a devastating decline in local craftsmanship and production capabilities. Once reliant on inconsistent rural blacksmiths for military supplies, the quality of Ottoman weapons varied greatly, often to the detriment of their warriors in battle.
To remedy this, the Romans and Ottomans forged a pact: Rome would serve as the manufacturing heartland for the Ottoman military. Roman forges burned night and day, crafting weapons, armour, and other war necessities, while the Ottomans supplied valuable resources like horses, crops, iron ore, and coal—commodities Rome lacked in abundance.
This symbiotic exchange swiftly demonstrated its worth. Armed with superior Roman-made weaponry and armour, the four brothers of Zaganos consolidated their fragmented forces. With renewed strength and enhanced equipment, they stabilised their defences, holding their territories against encroaching rivals and restoring a semblance of order to their domains. This strategic partnership not only bolstered the Ottoman war effort but also underscored the deepening ties between two historically adversarial nations, each discovering new strengths in this unforeseen alliance.
Within a mere two years, the tactical acumen of the four brothers had profoundly transformed the Ottoman military landscape. With an army freshly minted and numbering eight thousand prime warriors, they orchestrated a devastating defeat against the Persian forces near Erzurum. Traveling merchants who passed through the area spoke of a grim scene where the valley lay blanketed with Persian corpses, while crows circled overhead, partaking in a macabre feast. The defeat forced the armies of Aq Qoyunlu to retreat to their strongholds around Lake Van, their vanguard shattered and advance halted.
Mehmed Bey, seizing the momentum, led half of the Ottoman forces southward. After securing a significant victory against the Mamluk governor of Syria in Mersin, he pressed on to lay siege to the fortress city of Adana. Simultaneously, his two brothers advanced toward Antioch, tasked with intercepting any reinforcements from the Saracen warlords. In response, the Mamluk Sultan, Sayf ad-Din Qa’itbay, propelled northward, clashing with Ottoman forces on the outskirts of Antioch. Though the Sultan emerged victorious from the battle, he found himself unable to push forward into Adana, relegated to reinforcing the coastal cities via his fleet.
The Ottomans ultimately reclaimed Adana, marking a significant though incomplete victory. Despite their failure to secure the entire province, the success in Adana symbolised a significant achievement for the brothers. They had not only constructed a formidable military force but also centralised government authority, won widespread popular support, and stabilised the economy.
By the summer of 1474, these accomplishments heralded a new era. Mehmed Bey, the eldest of the Zaganos siblings, ascended as Sultan of all Turks, inaugurating a new dynasty and effectively ending the Ottoman Empire’s historical lineage. In truth, the empire had been floundering without a Sultan, governed instead by the four regents. This transition, though dramatic, merely formalised the reality of power dynamics that had shifted significantly beneath the surface of empire politics.
With the establishment of the new Zaganos Turkish dynasty, Sultan Mehmed faced the Herculean task of mending the deep-seated domestic scars left by prolonged wars and conscription. The country lay in ruin; vast tracts of farmland were abandoned, and the populace was gripped by fear and uncertainty. Unable to coax the wary farmers back to their desolate fields, many sought refuge in the Rumelian-funded mines, trading hard labour for scant wages just enough to buy the grain that kept their families from starvation.
Meanwhile, those less fortunate were swept into the merciless arms of famine, as hunger ravaged through the streets and villages, pushing the populace ever closer to the brink of mass starvation. Amid this dire backdrop, Ahmed Celebi, the head of government, embarked on a desperate diplomatic effort to secure grain supplies. He reached out to neighbouring states, only to be met with mixed responses: the Mamluks and Persians flatly refused, while the Golden Horde and Georgians, though sympathetic, could offer little more than symbolic assistance. The Venetians, seizing on the opportunity, proposed a grain trade but demanded a steep price—the establishment of a new colony in Antalya. Outraged, Sultan Mehmed vehemently rejected this audacious demand.
However, a glimmer of hope arrived from an unexpected quarter. Ahmed Celebi returned from Nikomedia bearing good news—the Rumelians had offered to supply vast quantities of grain at prices below market rates, thanks to their bountiful harvests. They proposed a sustainable trade agreement: a steady supply of grain in exchange for the Turks’ rich natural resources. Furthermore, Lord Alexios of the Rumelians advised the Turks to diversify their agriculture by focusing on high-yield, economically valuable crops such as oil plants, fruits, and vegetables, and to enhance livestock production to boost government revenues quickly.
Though Sultan Mehmed was naturally suspicious of the Rumelians’ sudden magnanimity, the pressing crisis at home left him with no choice but to tentatively accept their offer. This provisional agreement, while shrouded in distrust, held the promise of staving off the famine that loomed over his reign—a crucial respite for a nation teetering on the edge of collapse.
In just a month’s time, a transformative sight unfolded along the coastal cities of the Turkish domain. Ships laden with crops arrived continuously at the docks, their holds brimming with bag upon bag of precious grains. These were swiftly offloaded and exchanged for a plethora of local valuables—ores, gold, silver, silk, ceramics, and even used items—anything the populace could muster to trade for the life-sustaining grain offered at fair prices. The local Turkish population, deeply relieved and grateful for the respite from hunger, quickly grew fond of these beneficent Rumelian traders. They affectionately dubbed them the "Good Rumelians," a testament to their crucial role in alleviating the famine. This endearing moniker distinguished them from the "Bad Rumelians," remembered for their roles in past conflicts.
