1453: Revival of Byzantium

Selim Pasha remained reticent and silent for a while, forced a smile upon his face, and responded. "Abdullah… I have never imagined back then that a loyal subject to my Sultan like you will betray him."

Abdullah shrugged his shoulders and replied. "While I was brought onto a pirate's boat against all odds, and after I realised it there's no way for me to disembark already."

Abdullah turned to Antonius and introduced. "My friend, this man here is Ahmad Selim Pasha, governing the Eyalet of East Rumelia, he is known to be a sly fox full of intrigues and plots, beware of that."

"I will, thanks for the advice." Antonius stood up and nodded. "So, Selim Pasha, welcome on board, I welcome you formally as the commander of this vessel. Honestly speaking, I didn't know that there is a Pasha so brave that would craw into the cellars to sneak upon our men…"

"…Bobbing up and down like a pecker's head shuttling in and out a honeypot!" Yuri and his Varangians tittered nastily on the side.

Selim Pasha, with his face beaming red from embarrassment, remained silent and lowered his head.

"You will be brought back to Constantinople, don't worry, there you might be treated as a noble, as a guest like Orhan by the emperor until your Sultan offers something decent in exchange, but you and your men tried to killed my brother, causing him such an immense pain, so I will be merciful and still treat you like a human, but as a prisoner of war, and give you that level of pain that my brother just went through."

"Chain him up, since he likes cellar so much, throw him into the cellar." Antonius ordered. "And then, we set sail back for Constantinople."

He looked back at the cabin room, with its doors tightly shut, and continued. "I hope the emperor has some good physicians to treat Giovanni's wounds."

…

The Roman fleet returned to their city by daybreak the next day.

The citizens of Constantinople, although already had the mindset in mind that it might not end well, is still shocked at the sight of their own fathers, sons and brothers returning in such a poor state, with tormented limbs, malnourished face, dent armours, swords bent with openings and blood soaked in their cloth.

The citizens gradually came out of their doors, one by one, joining the crowd walking with the soldiers. Ladies wiping the blood stains off the faces of these soldiers, children giving their only rationed stiff bread and watch the famished men gobble it down within seconds like it is a lavish feast. Mothers weeping over their child's lost limbs, fathers sighing over the news of their deceased son, couples leaning together despite the strong ordour of sweat and blood, kissing and relieving that their men has survived this time.

The citizens of Constantinople have saw too many of people dying, their heart is already numb to fully abled healthy boys marching out of the gates, returning mutilated, tired, amputated or never return at all. A citizen of Constantinople will constantly be learning the cruelty of war, from childhood, to teenager, to adulthood, to old age like their ancient pagan Greek and Roman forefathers that once lived on this land. But when will all of this end? No one knows, at least for now.

Giovanni is carried into the city lying on top of a wagon pulled by a cow, as cows are generally gentler than horses, thus this will prevent Giovanni from further injuries. He has regained conscious now and has a wry smile on his face, as he really feels that it is not necessary to be treated like this with just an arrow on his shoulder.

He is immediately sent to the Monastery of Christ Pantokrator, where the last group of disciples following the teachings of Saint Basil and Hippocrates currently resides to treat his infection and wound.

They were greeted and led by three old physicians with ashen goat beards, dressed in traditional Greek robes. One of the old physician led Giovanni to a seat and opened his bandage. He frowned at the sight of Giovanni's injury, then shook his head and sighed.

Antonius and Mauro saw this and asked anxiously. "Old man, how is his wounds, why are you sighing?"

"Look…" The physician pointed to the open wound. "His shoulder and muscle tissues are already infected, the flesh has darkened and turned purple in colour, from what I know the Ottomans love to dip their arrows in animal dungs making it highly infectious, if this wound is not tended to…"

He touched his beard and continued sternly. "His only way of surviving then is to be amputated."

"We have gold, we have money and treasure, we can give you fame, what do you need? Just say the word and we will get it for ya!"

"I need silence."

The old physician uttered a few words in Greeks that Antonius has never heard before, the two other people, looking like his disciples, bowed, turned behind into a room and came back holding something in their hands. One of them holding an empty jar and said something in Greek to his teacher, then his teacher frowned again and asked Giovanni and Antonius.

"The overall procedure goes like this; I shall tie your hand to a bronze rod, then you shall drink some herbs of anesthesia to ease your pain later. Then I shall cut through your muscles and tissues, scrap the infected tissues away off the bones, paste it with medicines, and then seal the wound with needles and twigs…"

The old physician paused for a while and continued looking at the jar. "But there is one problem…"

"What is it? Just say the word…" Antonius spit out his words anxiously almost yelling.

"You, quiet, or out."

"The problem is that we have ran out of anesthetic herbs…"

Giovanni tilted his head and asked back. "I don't understand old master, how is that a problem?"