Free Web NovelChapter 735: The Battle of Nikomedia (3)
The Sultan was dragged back to his camp, and the siege briefly came to a halt.
Inside the city, the rescued civilians were brought into the churches for shelter. Many, after escaping the horrors outside, finally broke down—crying, embracing each other, thanking both God and the soldiers who saved them. Meanwhile, Roman refugees already in Nikomedia rushed out, hoping to find their loved ones among the rescued. Some were fortunate, but many were not.
The cries of sorrow filled the skies above the city.
On the walls, Helios let out a deep sigh of relief. He dropped his bloodied blade to the ground, turned back with a firm but weary voice, and said, "This army lacks the discipline I expected. Go. Bring me the man who led his troops out."
The commander of the infantry contingent was quickly tied up and brought before Helios. Forced to kneel, he looked up at the general, fully aware of what was coming.
Helios stood silently, watching the Turkish troops retreating across the no man’s land, carrying away their dead. Then he spoke, voice steady.
"Your actions revealed a severe lack of discipline within our ranks. You opened the gates without orders, exposed our hidden weapons without authorisation. Despite your bravery and what you achieved, punishment is still necessary... Law officer!"
A young scribe in armor stepped forward and gave a short bow.
"What are the penalties for such misconduct?"
"Immediate execution," the officer answered, his voice cold and emotionless.
"Then so be it." Helios turned toward the kneeling man, placed a hand gently on his shoulder, and said, "But because of your courage and accomplishments, I will grant you one final request—if it is reasonable."
The commander lifted his reddened eyes. "I accept my punishment without question, General. But if I may, I beg you—do not let my actions stain my son’s future. He is only an apprentice in the army, his name is Husrev."
"What is your name, soldier?"
"Ferhad of Zachlumia, General."
Helios nodded. "Alright, Ferhad." He turned to his lieutenants. "Bring the boy. From today onward, he will be my steward."
"Thank you, Your Highness!" Ferhad shouted, slamming his head to the ground in gratitude. Blood began to seep from his forehead as he cried, "Now I can die in peace!"
Helios gave the man one final look, then waved toward the waiting guards. Without another word, he turned and walked away.
...
The Bosporus had become more crowded than ever, with war breaking out on both sides.
Over the past decades, the Empire had made numerous modifications along both shores of the strait. As trade between the continents flourished, new ports, facilities, and even land reclamations were developed. Fortifications and artillery batteries now sealed off both sides, turning the once-commercial artery into a military stronghold.
General Giovanni Junior granted his army a rare three-day pause amidst the emergency, using the time to gather every available boat in the region. He mobilised the civil servants and senators in Constantinople to prepare the necessary supplies for his campaign, and instructed his lieutenants to organise the newly enlisted troops into their units.
Yet despite the official break, few among the army—Giovanni included—could truly rest. They all knew what awaited them across the waters. Some sought momentary relief in the city’s brothels, trying to dispel the stress and fear ahead of battle. For although decades had passed since the collapse of the Turkish Sultanates, and the borders had remained largely peaceful under the Sultan’s obedient stance, the Roman troops, despite their extensive training in anti-cavalry tactics, lacked the hardened experience of their grandfathers.
On the third day, Giovanni Junior assembled his force—now fifteen thousand strong—at the ports, ready to cross the Bosporus.
He stood at the docks as contingent after contingent boarded the waiting ships. Cavalry led their mounts onto galleys nearby, while the logistics crews steadily loaded supply carts onto smaller vessels in long lines, some lashed together three at a time, constantly shuttling back and forth from the shore. Though Turkish scouts had briefly appeared on the opposite bank, they were swiftly repelled by Giovanni’s cavalry and his directly commanded battalion, reinforced by the elite Varangians, who had landed first and secured a defensive formation.
Roughly two hundred Turkish horsemen had managed to bypass the blockades and reach the shores opposite, but upon seeing the Roman defenses, they quickly withdrew.
Such a large-scale mobilisation could never go unnoticed—least of all by the Sultan, who maintained a constant watch over Constantinople. It was only a matter of time before he responded.
And that was why Giovanni Junior remained anxious. He still needed at least two more days to complete the crossing, and another day to regroup his troops. In total, it would take five days before his army could be fully battle-ready in Anatolia.
Meanwhile, ever since word of Giovanni’s approach had reached him, the Sultan had hastened his siege on Nikomedia. Bombardments had rained on the city day and night. Attacks came in waves, hitting multiple fronts. And the Sultan resorted to every cruel tactic he could think of.
Including, most cruelly, the use of hostages.
Giovanni knew well: for each day he delayed, the people of Nikomedia faced another day of peril. The Sultan had even left a narrow communication route open from the city, ensuring that news—always grim—would reach Giovanni. This was no accident. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
It was a psychological weapon, meant to stoke fear and pressure within the Roman commander.
And the more such news arrived, the more likely it became that Giovanni Junior would act in haste, and make a fatal mistake.
Which was exactly what the Sultan wanted.
Just as Giovanni Junior stood watching over the loading of the ships, he suddenly heard the sound of hooves rapidly approaching. He turned around, expecting his own scouts or sentries—only to see a group of riders in light armor, unhelmeted, with a banner trailing behind them. They were led by an older man surrounded by several guards, many of whom had silver hair.
It took Giovanni a moment to recognise him. Then, suddenly, he leapt off his mount and bowed deeply, shouting, "General Khalid! What brings you here!"
His guards, upon realising that this was the legendary commander who helped build the Roman cavalry forces, quickly dismounted and paid their respects as well.
Khalid, now in his sixties, let out a proud, hearty laugh, his hands resting on his hips. "Did you forget what I once told you, my son? I’m a soldier—an old one, yes—but a soldier still. I fought side by side with our admiral, our emperor, to build what we have today. I refuse to die in a bed surrounded by weeping women. I will die on horseback, charging the enemy! And I came to see for myself if you young ’generals’ are really up to carrying on our legacy!"
Khalid rode in a wide circle, flanked by his sons and about two regiments of grizzled veterans. At first, many in the army didn’t recognise the old man, but as word spread of his identity, cheers and applause echoed through the ranks.
Giovanni tried to follow behind Khalid, but was quickly scolded.
"Return to your post, General Giovanni Giustiniani!" Khalid barked. "Remember, I am just an old veteran reporting for duty while my country bleeds. You, however, are the marshal of this army. You carry the command now. Fulfill your duty—make your father and your country proud!"
Giovanni stopped, swallowed hard, and nodded before returning to his post. Soon after, his lieutenant approached. "General, the cavalry is ready to embark."
Giovanni nodded and watched as the cavalry boarded the ships—horses on the left, soldiers on the right. Before they departed, Khalid approached one last time. He gripped Giovanni’s hand tightly and looked him straight in the eyes. "Remember, General—use me however you must. But don’t you dare change your strategy just because I’m here. If you do, I’ll still follow your orders—but after the battle, I’ll personally kick your arse and report to the Emperor—and your ancestors—that you failed them."
Giovanni gave a firm nod. Without another word, Khalid leapt aboard a ship. freёwebnovel.com
The massive army set sail, heading east under the morning sun, setting their foot onto the warzone that they cavalries have been preparing for ages now.
The marine pioneers who have set off since two days back have already set foot on the shores of Anatolia, in Skoutarion, where they constructed a massive defensive camp with barricades along the shores extending one mile away, taking an abandonned palace from centuries ago as an elevated point with defensive structures, as they nervously observed any signs of enemies.
Strangely, as the Roman forces embarked, the Turkish siege on Nikomedia quieted. The relentless attacks on Nikomedia’s walls ceased. The Sultan’s army settled into rest, sharpening weapons and polishing armor, and their massive siege machines now laid into waste, evacuating out of the ranges of Roman trebutchets . Mounted troops were seen riding out from the camps, spreading across the region. Helios, with his seasoned instincts, knew these were flanking forces—meant for ambushes or reinforcements later. He tried to send messengers out to warn Giovanni’s army, but the encirclement around Nikomedia had tightened. None returned.
