1444, Byzantium Resurrects

The mountain road wound its way through the landscape, layers of hills blocking the traveler's view of the distance ahead.

It was autumn, and a warm, moist breeze blew in from the Mediterranean Sea, sweeping away the heat and dryness of summer.

The region lies on the eastern coast of the Adriatic Sea in the west of the Balkan Peninsula and is separated from the Apennine Peninsula by the narrow Otranto Strait. It serves as the gateway from Italy to the Balkan Peninsula.

The terrain is rugged, with numerous passes, making it easy to defend but difficult to attack. The area is crisscrossed by rivers, which have carved out fertile valleys and basins suitable for agriculture.

The rugged terrain has numerous passes, making it easy to defend but difficult to attack.

This is Albania, the mountainous country known as the black eagle of the Balkans.

At the foot of the Kruja Mountains, a river flows quietly and an army marches westward alongside it.

The soldiers are poorly equipped, wearing cloth clothing and straw shoes. Some do not even have standard weapons, setting off on their journey with only pitchforks in their hands.

As they have insufficient bows and arrows, these mountain dwellers use javelins, blowguns and slings to defend their homeland.

They knew that their enemies were knights and mercenaries from Latin, armed with firearms and cannons and wearing the finest armor. They were also wielding the sharpest swords and spears.

The Latin navy could block Albania's sea trade routes at any time and transport endless supplies for their soldiers.

It seemed like an impossible war to win.

But the mountain people were not afraid.

They sang songs and marched to the battlefield, looking up at the black eagle flag flying in front of them.

They knew that their leader, the great Skanderbeg, was beneath it, leading his people.

"Commander, the Venetians have rejected our final ultimatum. They insist on keeping the city of Dania for themselves."

In the center of the ranks, Skanderbeg nodded on his horse, his gaze fixed ahead. He was unperturbed.

It was a result he had already anticipated.

"Anything else?"

The adjutant hurriedly handed Skanderbeg a letter.

"This is a letter from Grand Duke Isaac Palaiologos of Surt. It predicts possible military action by the Venetians, but the secretary who sorted your letters did not present it to you."

"He thought it was pure alarmism."

I reviewed it again, however, and thought you should see it.'

Skanderbeg frowned and took the letter.

"Send the previous secretary back home tomorrow and replace him."

"It's been done."

Skanderbeg nodded.

"The letter says that if Venice attacks, the Prince of Constantinople will support us. I wonder how he intends to do that?"

The adjutant remained silent, as he did not know either.

"We have to solve this problem ourselves. All outsiders just want a piece of our meat."

Skanderbeg remained cold and stern as he squeezed his legs against the horse's belly.

"Speed up the troops! Reach Ishmik before nightfall!"

The troops sped up, and when the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the distant mountains, Skanderbeg's central army of 6,000 men arrived in Ishmik.

The vanguard had already taken control of the city, arrested the indecisive city lord and prepared food while waiting for their compatriots.

Skanderbeg did not enter the city, however, instead staying outside the city walls with his soldiers.

After a quick dinner, night fell and Skanderbeg finished his rounds before returning to the camp to sit alone.

He took out a pen and wrote down what he had seen and heard that day.

"As expected, Venice refused our terms. They are determined to fight us."

We have just ended the war with the Ottomans, and the country is in ruins. We have no food, no weapons and no cannons."

This land, where our ancestors have lived for generations, has attracted the covetous eyes of countless people.

The Greeks, the Romans, the Germans, the Ottomans, the Latins...

"Our intelligence system is too slow. It didn't react at all, but the Prince of Constantinople sensed the crisis."

"Help? How can we help?"

"They can't even save themselves."

After writing these words, Skanderbeg rubbed his sore eyes and blew out the wax candle.

"I prefer to write something to calm my heart and relieve my worries rather than abuse alcohol."

"But remember: burn it after you have finished writing; leave no trace."

That was what his Ottoman instructor had told him when he was serving in the Janissary Corps.

Then, Skanderbeg spread out the map and began to take notes.

The map was covered in red dots representing the Ottoman army, densely packed across the north-east.

There were also many blue dots representing the Venetian army, scattered along the coastline and centered on several coastal fortresses.

"Commander! An Italian man is seeking an audience. He claims to have come to help us."

A bodyguard pushed open the tent to come and report.

"This is his knife."

The bodyguard handed over a well-maintained curved knife, which Skanderbeg took.

Made of fine materials and displaying exquisite craftsmanship, it was a fine Damascus curved knife.

The blade was engraved with the Palaiologos family coat of arms.

"In the name of God, follow my lead."

Skanderbeg murmured the Greek words engraved on the blade.

"Isaac Palaiologos."

Number: 006.

Skanderbeg waved his hand.

"Let him in!"

Soon, an Italian man with a frivolous smile walked in. His arrogant yet smooth demeanor was typical of an Italian mercenary leader.

He bowed deeply, almost dropping his hat to the ground.

"Greetings, my dear Duke. My name is Maruna. I have been sent by His Highness Isaac Palaiologos to assist you following the Venetian invasion."

"His Highness has bestowed upon me the title of Baron of Cherler. You may address me as such; I find the title pleasing."

Maruna said with a smile.

Skanderbeg pulled out Isaac's letter. "Does your lord foresee the future?"

"He is well-versed in history and can use it to predict the state of the world."

Skanderbeg threw the curved sword back into Maruna's hand.

"It's a fine sword, well maintained. Do you like your prince?"

"Who wouldn't like a generous and wise master?"

Skanderbeg smiled and handed the letter to Maruna.

"Your good prince promises in his letter to help me. How do you intend to uphold his reputation?"

Maruna quickly read the Latin letter and curled his lips.

"Firstly, His Highness did not explicitly state that he would provide you with assistance; he only said that he intended to do so.

Secondly, you are the one who needs help now, so don't be so arrogant."

The guards standing nearby glared at Maruna, preparing to draw their curved swords.

Skanderbeg waved his hand to stop them.

"I don't believe your prince sent you all this way just to argue with me, do you?"

"I have recruited 800 mercenaries in Italy and another 1,000 in North Africa. If the price is right, we will fight for you."

"The straits are blocked by Venetian ships. How will you get here?"

Maruna sneered.

"My mother is Venetian. I know very well what they are like."

Joking aside, this is the noble Republic of Venice, which is fighting you while supplying you with equipment.

"There is no consensus within Venice on this war. We can take advantage of this opportunity to deploy our troops."

Seeing that Skanderbeg did not respond, Maruna had no choice but to reveal his intentions.

"My 800 mercenaries have already arrived in the Black Mountain region. As soon as you give the order, they will rush to the battlefield."

"I don't have any money,"

Skanderbeg replied slowly.

"Well..."

Maruna gave a professional smile.

"We can talk about it slowly."

...

The Atlantic Ocean, the Viceregal District of Bizergo, Dangiro Island.

Unlike La Palma Island, Dangiro Port was a den of pirates.

The docks were dilapidated, the architecture bizarre, and sewage flowed through the streets. The taverns and brothels were dirty and disorderly, emphasizing a sense of spontaneity and naturalness.

Only the governor's mansion and the colonial office were official buildings that looked presentable.

The Bizergo Governorate currently had a population of around 1,500, mostly outlaws, merchants and prostitutes who had come to do business.

There were few farmers or fishermen on the island; most were adventurers who risked their lives in West Africa for money.

The island's food supply was almost entirely dependent on trade with African natives.

These adventurers were all registered with the Greek Guinea Company and the Sult Colonial Office. If their ventures are successful, they must pay taxes and sell their goods to the Greek Guinea Company first.

If they fail, they are naturally exempt from further taxation, but all their property on the island is confiscated.

Tax evasion was, of course, commonplace. In fact, Earl William's main task over the past six months had been to crack down on illegal smuggling.

Offenders were banned for life from entering any supply points under the colonial administration's jurisdiction, and all their island property was confiscated.

Earl Gosia formed a constabulary made up of old sailors who had remained on the Grand Duke of Morea to deal with unrest in the governor's district.

Gosia also had several local youths taught Greek in order to communicate with the tribal chiefs of the Guinea-Bissau region.

With these people forming the basis of his army, Count Gosia was preparing to establish a native mercenary force known as the Bizergo Guard.

The islanders both respected and feared this rough count and dared not act recklessly.

Apart from prohibiting tax evasion, Gosia did not establish many laws, and murder, robbery and prostitution were commonplace.

However, there was one rule: no one was allowed to speak ill of the Balearic family.

Last month, several Genoese captains got drunk and mocked John VIII for his financial difficulties.

Upon hearing this, the Governor of Gosia immediately led a squad of constables to tie the captains' heads to the tails of horses and parade them through the streets. The Governor also confiscated the captains' ships and slaves.

From then on, no one dared to provoke this arrogant and tyrannical Count.

Upon his arrival, Isaac harshly criticized the Count of Gosia's behavior.

I don't care about the rest. The early days of a colony are always chaotic, but the sanitation issue must be resolved.

Those infected with malaria and other mysterious diseases end up on their deathbeds.

Isaac introduced some reforms, collected the latest revenue and prepared to leave.

Gosia reported that an old Portuguese captain had sailed east along the Gulf of Guinea and discovered several small, mountainous islands.

Others laughed at the old captain's wild imagination, but Earl William insisted on going to investigate.

After buying the captain's sea charts, William set sail a week ago with three caravels.

Consequently, Isaac was unable to see him and could not convey his brother's concerns to this distant traveler.

Further south, malaria was deadly, and Isaac could not risk his life again.

On 20 June 1447, he ended his western expedition, said goodbye to Gosia and set sail for home.

He watched the port grow smaller and smaller, along with the flags fluttering in the sky above.

The Count of Gosia had been quite creative in designing his flag, which featured a black man holding gold, with the Palaiologos family crest painted in the top left corner to symbolize his subordinate status.

From a distance, it looked as though the black man was bowing humbly, offering tribute to the Palaiologos family.

Isaac watched the Count waving frantically from the pier and smiled slightly.

The fertile coast of West Africa would always tug at his heart.

Until we meet again — who knows when?

He walked to the bow of the ship and gazed at the distant waves.

He must return to Europe, where the smoke of war was rising.

to join the battle feast.

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