1444, Byzantium Resurrects

On 15 July 1446, Sirte Bay, Sirte Port, North Africa.

The ancient Phoenicians once built a city here, and during the Roman Empire, a port was established as part of the Mediterranean trade network.

The land ten kilometers south of Sirte Port falls within the narrow Mediterranean climate zone along the North African coast, with annual rainfall reaching up to 240 millimeters, making it an important agricultural and pastoral region.

The residents here are primarily Berbers and Bedouins, leading a semi-nomadic, semi-sedentary lifestyle.

Every year at this time, Bedouin nomadic tribes from the southern deserts drive their camel caravans to the Sirte area to sell the furs, dried meat, and dates and figs they have harvested in the oases over the past year.

Merchants from Europe or Egypt also arrive on schedule, exchanging ironware, textiles, and other basic handicrafts for the nomads' agricultural products.

This place is not far from the European continent. It takes only a few days to sail there from Catania in southern Naples, following the ocean currents.

Currently, a large trading fleet is anchored in the port of Sirte.

The fleet flies a white flag with a blue double-headed eagle, indicating that it is the Monferrato trading fleet from Genoa.

The port of Sirte was not large, and the Montferrat fleet filled it to capacity.

The fleet was here to buy furs and dates, as well as some coarse salt from the salt marshes.

The sailors of the trading fleet rushed into the city, filling the brothels and taverns to capacity.

Muslims, of course, could not drink alcohol, but that did not mean they could not taste fermented grape juice in moderation.

In a hotel in the city, Albert, the chief spy, was holding a meeting.

Captain Norwich, Captain Fidel, Captain Mehmed, Chief Engineer Lancelot, and Abu were all present.

"His Highness's orders are that I am to command this operation."

"Captain Norwich, is the trade fleet ready?"

"No problem, sir. All of our elite sailors are in groups of three or five and deployed at important locations in the city and at the docks."

Albert turned his gaze to Captain Fidel.

"Sir, the Grand Duke of Morea, the Bayezid, and the Icher are currently patrolling the waters off Sirte. The small fleet of the Kingdom of Fezzan has just returned from Tripoli. We will intercept and sink them."

Fidel said in a low voice.

"Captain Mehmed?"

"A 400-strong Purple Guard unit has been deployed to the transport fleet of the Montferrat trade fleet and can launch an attack immediately if there are any changes in the city."

"Lancelot?"

"With the help of informants, we have mapped out a rough map of the city and recorded important water sources and oases outside the city."

"What about my tribe? You promised!"

Abu shouted.

Albert ignored him completely.

"Then, let's move tonight!"

This was the first time Albert had commanded an operation of this scale. He had prepared for a long time and mobilized far more forces than necessary.

Even a lion uses all its strength to catch a rabbit.

He remembered Prince Isaac's warning before he left.

It was imperative to minimize the enemy's response force as quickly as possible!

...

Meanwhile, Isaac was not idle.

After making arrangements for the Royal Knight Academy, he boarded the St. Nicholas and crossed the strait to the Black Sea.

By 1452, after the Ottomans had built the Throat Castle, not even a mosquito could pass from the Bosporus Strait to the Black Sea without Ottoman permission.

Some things had to be done quickly.

On 18 July 1446, the Saint Nicholas and several transport ships arrived at the pearl of the Black Sea, Theodoro.

After the disaster of 1204, the Crimean Peninsula broke away from the empire's control, and the local Goths and Greeks were compressed into the southern part of the peninsula, establishing a small principality loyal to Trebizond.

At present, the Principality of Theodoro has effectively broken away from the influence of the Trebizond Empire and turned to the Crimean Khanate to pay tribute.

Isaac exchanged a few casual words with the newly enthroned despotic prince Manuel and attended the welcome ceremony.

Paying little attention to the flattery of the despotic prince and the nobles, Isaac left the formal diplomatic proceedings to Isult, who had accompanied him.

Isaac's purpose was not to deal with these poor relatives who had holed up in a corner.

"Your Highness, everyone is waiting on the ship."

Anderson reported in a low voice.

Isaac nodded, found an excuse, and returned to the St. Nicholas.

Pushing open the cabin door, an old man and a young man bowed to Isaac.

"Your Highness, we heard that you can solve our problem?"

The young man in a cassock spoke first.

"Patriarch Joseph of Constantinople guided me here to rescue you from your suffering."

Isaac blurted out.

"I never imagined that the Patriarch, so far away in Constantinople, still cares so deeply for his loyal subjects!"

The young priest, clearly inexperienced in the ways of the world, said emotionally.

The elderly man glanced at him.

"Your Highness, if you are truly willing to help us, we will swear allegiance to you."

"I have not yet asked your name."

"My name is Guhes, the last vizier of the Dobruja Seljuk Dynasty."

Isaac understood.

This branch of the Seljuk dynasty had indeed suffered many misfortunes.

After the Mongol invasion, the Seljuk dynasty's branch, the Rum Sultanate, fell apart. Some Seljuk remnants who were unwilling to endure the oppression of the Ilkhanate fled to Constantinople under the leadership of Kaos II.

The Byzantine emperor at the time accepted them and settled them in the Dobruja region on the western coast of the Black Sea.

The heavy taxes and labor imposed by the Ilkhanate made life increasingly unbearable for many Turks, who began to flee to Dobruja via the sea route of Kandahar.

They established a regime at the border between Moldavia and Bulgaria and submitted to the Eastern Roman emperor.

In the middle of the last century, the rise of neighboring Orthodox Christian countries led them to collectively convert to Orthodox Christianity, with bishops sent from Constantinople.

Later, the Timurid Sultan Shah Rukh, in order to interfere in Ottoman internal affairs, returned Prince Mustafa, sparking a civil war.

At that time, the leaders of Dobruja were young and impetuous, and they got involved, only to be wiped out by the Ottomans in a single battle.

The area was then placed under the jurisdiction of a governor appointed by the Sultan. The Ottomans regarded them as double traitors to the Turks and Islam, and severely oppressed them, reducing their living space time and again.

Now, only 30,000 of these Seljuks, who believed in Orthodox Christianity, spoke Turkic, and lived a nomadic lifestyle, remained.

The original Seljuk royal family had been wiped out by the Ottomans, and the remaining tribes formed an alliance led by the last vizier of Guhz.

"How are things now?"

"Very bad, Your Highness."

The young priest spoke up eagerly.

"The Ottomans won't let us build churches, and God's lambs have lost the opportunity to communicate with their father God."

Isaac glanced at him.

Is this what I wanted to hear?

"Your Highness, the Ottomans have seized our pastures and fields and driven us to the seaside and mountains, not allowing us to enter the city."

Guhz raised his head, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"The Bulgarian Orthodox and Romanian Orthodox are both accepted by the Ottomans, but our status is even lower than that of the Shiite heretics."

"In the past few decades, our population has been reduced by half."

That's understandable. No one likes traitors.

"How much control do you have over your entire tribe?"

"I lead the largest group, and my three sons each lead a group through marriage alliances."

Isaac glanced at the hunchbacked old man.

Not bad, he's quite formidable.

Isaac slowly paced back and forth.

"If I rescue you, will you obey me?"

"If you are willing to help us drive out the Ottomans, we will..."

Isaac stood up and prepared to push the door open and leave.

Come on, if I can defeat the Ottomans, why would I need your allegiance?

"Your Highness, it is not necessary to defeat the Ottomans to save Dobrogea."

Anderson said at the right moment.

"Oh?"

Isaac feigned surprise.

"Nomadic tribes follow water and grass, and the Ottomans took their land. Why don't we just give them some?"

"Where is there such a place? As far as I know, the empire doesn't have much land left."

Before Isaac could speak, the young priest asked eagerly.

"Elster, the empire does indeed have no spare territory, but His Highness Isaac has expanded some land overseas.

"I believe the Sirte region in North Africa would be a good place."

The truth was revealed.

"North Africa? Isn't that the territory of the heathens?"

Priest Elster asked in confusion.

"For the glory of God, we will take it back and give it to our brothers."

Anderson said solemnly.

Isaac looked at the silent Guhz.

"Chancellor, what do you think?"

"Your Highness, we are not afraid of the desert environment. Our ancestors were born there. What we fear is a life without hope."

"We are not afraid of hardship and war, but we are afraid of suffering hardship and still going hungry."

"Will you swear on your faith as a devout believer to bring us hope?"

Isaac immediately drew a cross.

"I, Isaac of the Palaiologos family, swear to God that as long as Dobrogazel remains loyal to me, I will guarantee them hope and the identity and status of Guhz and his family."

"Guhz, you don't have to move your tribe to North Africa right away. You can try taking some people to see for yourself first and then decide. My oath will always be valid."

"May God bless you, devout prince."

Guhz also drew a cross.

Everyone ate dinner on the ship and had a good time.

The next day, Guhz and Elster returned to Dobrogea to prepare for the first batch of migrants.

Isaac's plan was for the Dobrogazel to replace the Berbers who were unwilling to convert and become a nomadic barrier around the port.

Some parts of the desert were impossible to manage effectively, so rather than entrusting them to pagans, it was better to give them to their fellow tribesmen.

When they arrived there, they would be surrounded by naturally hostile Muslim tribes, who would naturally gather around Isaac.

"Well done, Anderson."

Isaac poured Anderson a cup of wine.

"It is my privilege to serve His Highness."

"I intend to entrust this migration operation to you and Isult."

"You should know... your former valet, Lothar, is now a baron and governor."

Anderson's eyes lit up with excitement.

"I will die for His Highness!"

...

Tonight was bound to be a restless night in Sirte Port.

Albert, who oversaw coordination, sat in the command center and poured himself a glass of strong wine, but did not drink it.

His Highness had entrusted him with such an important task for the first time, and he couldn't mess it up.

He personally led the sailors to the designated location to scout the area, help draw maps, interact with people along the route, and monitor the position of the Fezzan fleet.

In order to perfect this task, Albert hadn't slept properly for three whole days, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Outside the window, there was a dense murmur of voices, occasionally punctuated by gunshots and flashes of fire.

Footsteps sounded.

Albert's heart suddenly tightened.

The door opened.

"Chief Steward, the dock has been occupied by a detachment of the Purple Guard."

Albert nodded and took a sip of wine.

A moment later, the door opened again.

"Chief Steward, our sailors set fire to the city and successfully lured out Sirte's religious guard."

He nodded and drank it all in one gulp.

"Chief Steward Albert! The religious guard fell into the trap we set up in advance. Out of 300 men, 236 were killed and 64 were captured!"

He drank it all in one gulp.

"Chief Steward, with our help, Abu killed his uncle and is now joining forces with the Purple Guard and the sailors to attack the city lord's mansion."

Albert smiled and drank it all in one gulp.

For a long time after that, no one pushed open Albert's door again.

The city became silent, as if it were fast asleep.

Albert began to feel anxious, tapping his fingers restlessly on the table.

A series of hurried footsteps could be heard.

"Chief Administrator! We won! The city lord has surrendered, and Captain Fidel has defeated Fezzan's small fleet. Our flag is already flying over the city!"

Albert opened his mouth, as if to say something.

He gulped down the last of his wine and mumbled.

This man who spoke six languages suddenly couldn't speak.

"Steward?"

"Good... wine."

His snoring began.

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