As Bosporus Caesar Manuel cast his gaze south towards Thrace, inside the Gallipoli Peninsula fortress, the Ottoman commander, trapped there, sat dejectedly in the strong, fortified city, resting his head on one hand, saying nothing.
After a long while, when his deputy rushed over, he listened to the report with a glimmer of hope. After a moment, realizing he was still isolated and without aid, the commander asked, both angry and helpless, "Can't Sultan's forces get here yet?"
The Sultan he referred to was Sultan Aladdin Ali, one of the three Ottoman princes. Since Murad II had designated his beloved son as his successor during his lifetime, and Aladdin had indeed served as Sultan for a short period before the Disaster of Edirne, which Christians called the Battle of Adrianople, he had the most loyal followers and the greatest power. Therefore, his subordinates directly called this young prince Sultan. As mentioned earlier, the Gallipoli Peninsula had chosen to pledge allegiance to him.
"No," his deputy was equally dejected, "The Sea of Marmara is blocked by the damned Romans' fleet, so Sultan's troops simply can't get through."
"Damn Romans!" The commander angrily swept everything off the table to vent his frustration, while his deputy sheepishly retreated to the side; this scene had occurred several times in the past week.
This was the seventh day they had been blockaded by the Romans. After the Battle of Adrianople, although the fortress on the Gallipoli Peninsula could not be taken quickly, Bosporus clearly would not miss this opportunity to reclaim the strategic peninsula. After all, over a century ago, Suleiman Pasha, son of the Ottoman Bey Orhan, had captured this place, initiating over a hundred years of glorious Ottoman conquest.
Thus, a few days after that battle, the main Bosporus Navy sailed into the Sea of Marmara, cutting off communication between Gallipoli and Asia Minor. Fortunately, Sultan Aladdin Ali and most of the high-ranking Ottoman officials who followed him had already crossed the strait and reached Brusa, so they luckily escaped.
However, the garrison stationed in Gallipoli was not so fortunate. Not long after being ordered by the former Sultan and Sultan Aladdin Ali to continue defending the fortress on the peninsula, the Roman navy sailed into the Sea of Marmara, cutting off their communication with the opposite shore. Although the peninsula's extreme proximity to the Biga region on the opposite shore allowed them to maintain contact by sending individuals across at night using tricks like "bathtub smuggling" to reach their Sultan, this did nothing to resolve their current situation.
Facing an elite Bosporus peasant-soldier legion and its conscripted militia, coupled with the navy's continuous daily bombardment and siege, the Ottoman garrison of less than a thousand men inside the Gallipoli fortress naturally fell into an extreme disadvantage. Furthermore, the area was still affected by holy fire disease, and the fortress's food reserves were not even enough to last them half a month!
Just as the commander was about to dismiss his subordinate to prevent his impotent rage from being constantly observed, his deputy tremblingly produced another letter, "Sir, there's also this, the Roman monarch also sent a letter with a fletchless arrow..."
Before he finished speaking, the commander swiftly took the letter, tore it open, and began to read. After reading, he let out a helpless and painful sigh, lowering his head. After a long while, he managed to raise his head and ordered, "Let's talk to those Romans."
On the morning of February 15, 1445, after days of siege by the Bosporus Army, the Gallipoli fortress garrison, lacking supplies and provisions, chose to surrender on terms that preserved their lives after brief negotiations with the enemy. From then on, all of Thrace was recaptured by the Romans, and the remaining Ottoman forces in Asia Minor completely lost their ability to counterattack the Balkans from the Gallipoli Peninsula.
After accepting the garrison's surrender with honor on the Gallipoli Peninsula, Manuel, having recovered large tracts of lost territory, prepared to return to Constantinople. Ever since his great victory over the Ottoman Sultanate at Adrianople, where he killed Sultan Murad II and reclaimed vast imperial lands, the residents of the "City of Cities" had regarded him as their rightful monarch.
Moreover, in any case, the Bosphorus Despotate and its predecessor, the Principality of Theodoro, were Roman states; this fact would not change simply because the Palaiologos Dynasty had not reintegrated other splintered Roman states into the Empire. In other words, for most citizens, they not only did not reject Manuel but supported this monarch born outside the Empire's borders.
It was under these circumstances that at noon on February 15, at St. Romanus Gate in Constantinople, a grand triumphal ceremony led by Caesar Manuel began—
Weather-wise, this day was an unremarkable afternoon: the lingering chill of winter, and visible ice and snow everywhere, indicated a typical late winter day.
But in the area around the Theodosian Walls, thousands of Constantinople citizens eagerly looked out of the city, gazing westward with fervent anticipation, as if oblivious to the lingering cold wind: for they had heard that the Caesar who was reviving Rome was leading his triumphant army back to Constantinople.
As the citizens discussed this, Caesar and his grand army finally appeared in their sight. The army advanced slowly and orderly towards the ancient city like a black cloud. Every step they took towards the city reminded those Romans well-versed in history of the disciplined and solemn imperial armies they had only read about in historical records.
Just as the crowd was about to erupt, the army suddenly halted about three or four stadia from the city gate. Immediately after, the artillerymen in the army brought out several large-caliber cannons, adjusted their muzzles to an upward angle, and aimed at the vast, clear blue sky—
Several "boom--rumble--" cannon shots echoed across the sky, as lead, iron, and flames roared upwards. And as the cannons boomed, all the taxi soldiers in the army raised their right hands, palms down and extended forward, saluting Constantinople and the Empire it symbolized, just like Roman soldiers in classical times. This scene even inspired many of the onlookers, causing them to involuntarily raise their right hands like the soldiers.
But this triumphal ceremony would clearly not stop there. After this brief pause, the army continued to advance towards the city gate. As they approached the gate, the defenders cooperated with the army by opening the St. Romanus Gate wide, allowing them to enter smoothly.
The first legion of heavily armored infantry marched through the gate. Beneath their iron armor, they wore grey uniforms, helmets, carried long spears, and had scimitars at their waists, their eyes all revealing the fierce glint that could not be concealed from long experience on the battlefield. Leading them was a tall, dark man, like a black tower, riding a robust black steed even darker than himself; he was Legion Commander Staurakios Posadas. The standard-bearer behind him carried a flag that, besides a yellow-backed pure black double-headed eagle symbolizing the Gavras Family, also depicted a grey-robed knight riding a grey pegasus, much like the grey horseman foretelling death mentioned in the Book of Revelation.
They were the first legion to be named by Caesar, the "Death Announcement Legion," which had achieved great feats in Asia Minor.
Amazed by the power and majesty displayed by this legion, the citizens of Constantinople fell silent: How long had it been since they had witnessed such a disciplined and awe-inspiring legion? When did what should have been commonplace in Roman eyes become a distant memory?
But this thousand-man legion was clearly not the entirety of the grand army. After the "Death Announcement Legion" entered the city, they were followed by the "Termination Legion" and the "Divine Power Legion," two other legions named by Caesar. Their two legion commanders also entered the city gate with solemn expressions, basking in the glory of victory.
Due to significant local defense pressures, not all legions came to participate in Caesar's ceremony. After two other legions that had distinguished themselves in the war entered the city like the first three, they were followed by the Autocratic State's unique Armenian Legion. Considering the Empire's special nature and the fact that the Tatar Legion and the Circassian Legion also had garrison duties, only the Armenian Legion among the three special legions attended this triumphal ceremony.
As the Armenian Legion entered the city, the citizens of Constantinople all stared at this foreign legion and its soldiers, but not with rejection or disgust, but with sadness and nostalgia: How many years had passed until the Armenians finally pledged allegiance to the Roman army again? Especially when they saw the white-backed red lion flag symbolizing the legion, many well-read people couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion, as if history had come full circle, returning to its original state.
And the commander of the Armenian Legion, Bagrat Filaretus, a rising general, concealed an Has been suppressed excitement beneath his calm face. This couldn't help but make him recall that just a few years ago, he was a slave begging for survival under the Muslims, but in the blink of an eye, he had become a general under Caesar and a student of the Megaslogothetēs / Grand Secretary.
Everything felt so dreamlike.
After the Armenian Legion also entered the city in a disciplined and solemn manner, the next to enter was not Caesar, but a middle-aged Western European man in a wheelchair. He no longer looked young, and the place where his right leg should have been was empty.
But this person showed no decadence or gloom because of this. Instead, accompanied by peasant-soldier guards, he slowly approached the empress of many cities.
"What is he doing?" The citizens of Constantinople discussed this, and some recognized his identity, quietly telling those around them, "Isn't that the Army Commander who was most severely wounded in the Battle of Adrianople? It's said that this naturalized man, for Caesar and Rome, led the charge and killed many Turk dogs, but was ambushed and lost his right leg."
"It seems so. Holy Father in heaven, I remember his name, what was it again?"
"It seems he's from far-off Britannia, or Hibernia, named Dungar de Lapole..."
Although he couldn't hear the citizens' discussions, seeing their eager and unrejecting expressions, Dungar laughed heartily for the first time in a long while. Then, as he approached the city gate, he unexpectedly let go of his subordinates' hands pushing the wheelchair, and following a small downhill slope, his wheelchair crashed into the city gate.
"Holy Mother Mary, Commander, there should be a limit to your mischief." His old subordinate, Nicholas, who had been promoted to general, quickly rushed over and helplessly pulled him back into the wheelchair.
"It's alright, it's alright. It's like this already, I might as well try it once in this life, at least before meeting angels or Satan, so I don't regret my short earthly life, right?"
"You really are..." Looking at the helpless yet profound smile on the Commander's face, Nicholas and the others could only laugh and agree with him.
Dungar's action caused a gasp from the citizens of Constantinople, but Caesar's appearance quickly overshadowed the commotion caused by the Commander's act.
At this moment, Caesar Manuel Gavras, bathed in the midday sun, finally rode his snow-white warhorse, accompanied by the Filaka Legion and his personal guards, wearing a purple-black cloak and armor, slowly entering the city. His still handsome face had matured significantly compared to years ago, but the smile on his lips was still as spirited as when he was young. Beside Caesar, the cabinet members of the Autocratic State, Prime Minister Justinian Seresnus, Commander of the Guard Badars Gavras, and Army Commander Dimitri Ivanovich Tukharovsky, also wore armor, accompanying their monarch.
Just as Caesar was about to enter the city, they halted. Then, his Commander of the Guard, Badars, led men to throw flag after flag down below the city: the military flags of the Ottoman army and navy, the Ottoman Sultan's red-backed crescent flag, Kandar's white-backed red hexagram flag, and the flags of various Turk tribes. Then came the captives of various ethnicities they had captured in the war: Turks, Tatars, Slavs, and even Latins...
This was the triumphal procession, a triumph that Romans missed immensely.
In the past, when Roman emperors returned victorious, countless spoils of war and symbols would be displayed before the city gates, demonstrating the Empire's victory and glory. But for how long had it been? Two hundred and fifty years? More than two hundred years? One hundred and fifty years? Or perhaps more than one hundred years? The once glorious triumphal procession had almost become history, until today—
"Long live!"
Someone in the crowd, it's unknown who, first raised their arm and shouted. But soon, in less than half a minute, almost all the citizens of Constantinople present choked up and raised their arms, shouting,
"Long live! Long live Caesar! Long live Rome!"