On 30 June 1449, Count Mikhail and his military adviser, Yumir, led the First and Second Legions of the Imperial Guard and two thousand conscripted infantrymen westwards towards Misurata.
On 2 July, Count Mikhail arrived at the foot of Misurata.
Dust swirled and banners fluttered in the wind as Count Mikhail, clad in full armor and accompanied by a group of bodyguards, rode out of the camp.
Whoosh!
Arrows rained down from the city walls and landed in front of him.
"Surrender! His Majesty will allow you to take your money and settle in Sur! The city's residents will not be harmed!"
Mikhail gestured and his interpreter shouted in Arabic.
On the city walls, conscripted farmers holding pitchforks looked up at the heavily armored Omar, hope shining in their eyes.
"Hmph! Surrender?"
Omar forced himself to remain calm.
"We can defend these walls until we die!"
Seeing that the conversation was getting nowhere, Count Mikhail nodded, turned his horse around and ordered the attack to begin.
For several days, at the recommendation of his advisor Yumir, the imperial guard maintained a low-intensity siege, repeatedly attacking the defenders with cannons and large catapults in an attempt to wear them down.
Under Mikhail's offensive, the morale of the defenders quickly collapsed. Omar began to give up, spending his days hiding in the palace and entertaining himself with a few concubines for as long as he could.
"Your Excellency, what are you waiting for?"
In the main camp, Yumir rushed in and looked at Mikhail, who was enjoying himself at his leisure.
During the Cyrenaica War, Yumir, an advisor from Bahri, was new to the scene and had not had the opportunity to prove himself, so he had been stationed in Surt.
This time, however, he had finally obtained the position of military advisor and was able to demonstrate his talent.
This battle must be fought beautifully!
Thanks to his planning, the siege had resulted in minimal casualties and significant gains, and victory was within reach.
However, Mikhail, the commander-in-chief, did not seem to be in a hurry to storm the city. On several occasions, he almost climbed the city walls, but was stopped midway and ordered to retreat.
It was as if he was deliberately letting Omar off the hook.
"Dear Advisor Yumir, don't worry,"
Mikhail said, looking at his new military advisor.
Yumir was a competent military officer, but he was too ambitious and eager to prove himself and his people, the Bahri.
His Majesty had privately said that he would never grant them valuable military power until the Bahri had proven their loyalty.
"That is His Majesty's wish."
Mikhail took out a letter, paused for a moment, then handed it to Yumir.
"We must maintain military pressure at all times while keeping the garrisons in Misurata and Melilla in check."
"The key to this war does not lie in Misurata or Tunisia."
Mikhail pointed to a black dot on the map representing a city surrounded by a dense network of villages and towns.
This was clearly a key geographical location, a hub connecting land and sea and controlling the east and west.
"And Tripoli."
...
"Tripoli was founded more than two thousand years ago as one of the earliest trading posts established by the Carthaginians."
Lord Albert, the chief intelligence officer of the Kingdom of Cyrenaica, sat in his carriage, listening absently to his deputy's report.
Albert had proven his exceptional intelligence, management, and espionage skills during the war to capture Surt, thereby earning the trust of Isaac.
Since then, he had travelled to various places where the king needed him, such as Dobrogea, Bilinchi and Adana, to establish intelligence agencies and gather information for the central government.
Having successfully set up an intelligence agency among the Armenian population in the Cilicia region, Albert handed over organizational authority to the local leader and immediately set off for Tripoli.
This time, however, his duties were more akin to those of a diplomat than a spy.
"Yahya is a powerful ruler and will surely see through the root of the problem."
"You must outwit the envoys from Tunis and prevent the merchants from siding with the Hafs central government."
"Tell them that we are willing to support their independence and autonomy from Tunis."
Albert recalled that His Majesty Isaac had spoken these words in the Black Castle.
"Tripoli boasts favorable natural conditions, lush vegetation, a large population, numerous fine harbors and thriving commerce, earning it the title of 'the White Bride of the Mediterranean.'"
"In Tripoli, the merchants held significant power and elected a puppet emir. Yahya, who had just ascended the caliphate throne, had no choice but to accept this."
"In recent years, Yahya has worked tirelessly to govern the region, amassing vast wealth through trade and bringing prosperity to the area around Tunis."
"Under these circumstances, Yahya gradually revealed his ambition to control everything, starting with Tripoli, which was also famous for commerce and could provide substantial funds."
The merchants of Tripoli were naturally unwilling to accept direct control by the Hafs dynasty again. They had always pursued a state of being close to and distant from the central government.
Albert nodded and pointed outside the car, signaling to his assistant to stop talking.
The white city was getting closer, with more and more carriages racing along the road and camel caravans walking slowly.
Albert turned his head and saw many small vendors on the side of the road selling local specialties collected from villages and affiliated tribes.
Fur, salted meat, dairy products, dates, palm fruits and raisins were all on sale.
The city of Tripoli was surrounded by high walls and deep moats. The walls were lined with battlements and towers, and armored soldiers patrolled the defenses with sharp blades.
What a magnificent city!
Albert stopped at the city gate and handed the letters he was carrying to the guards.
They were from Urda, the executive president of the United Merchants' Guild of Cyrenaica, who had many trading partners in the area.
The guards took the letters and stared at Albert.
His deputy understood and handed over a bag of silver coins.
The guards smiled and waved them through.
The carriage continued on its way. It was noon, and the city was bustling and noisy. The people looked prosperous and happy.
Albert occasionally saw European merchants dressed in luxurious clothes in the crowd. They mingled with the locals, haggling over goods without much ethnic or religious conflict.
This was a healthy, vibrant city with a stable population, an inclusive culture and thriving commerce.
Albert thought to himself.
The delegation found an inn recommended by Urda, put down their luggage, and set off again in the cool evening air.
Their carriage rattled along, passing through the most prosperous commercial district and the most chaotic dock area, before arriving at Tripoli's town hall, the seat of the highest authority. Albert straightened his clothes, put on a professional smile, and was about to get out of the carriage when he heard someone call out, "My lord, look!"
"My lord, look."
The deputy pointed to a beautifully crafted carriage parked next to them.
It was engraved with the coat of arms of the Hafs royal family.
...
It was a very quiet summer night in Bilinchi, with a clear, cloudless sky. Looking up at the sky from the window, one could see the brilliant Milky Way.
Against this backdrop, the Black Castle appeared like a giant beast lurking in the darkness at the foot of a small hill.
In Isaac's study, candles burned quietly; the specially made candle oil made a slight sound and gave off a pleasant scent that calmed the mind.
The room was filled with bookshelves, but the books on them showed little sign of having been touched; they lay there brand new, as if merely props to display the owner's literary tastes.
The weapon rack was well-stocked with swords, spears and halberds, while armor and shields hung nearby. However, all of these items were covered in dust and clearly neglected by their owner.
In contrast, the desk was cluttered with maps covered in scribbles and markings.
On the opposite wall was a carved map of the known world, with the continents in black and the oceans in greyish white. Some areas were marked in bright purple.
The room's owner, Isaac Palaiologos, co-emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire and ruler of Cyrenaica and Surt, sat in a chair next to the desk, staring blankly at the map on the opposite wall.
Cyrenaica, Surt, Oron, La Palma Island, the Bijegros Islands...
In five years, he had gone from being a prince on the verge of losing his country to becoming the ruler of a vast territory. He had defeated countless powerful enemies and walked on thin ice, step by step, to reach his current position, repeatedly turning danger into safety.
As the fateful day drew nearer, Isaac's heart began to race.
Could he really rewrite the fate of Constantinople and defeat the arrogant Ottoman Sultan?
He stared at the secret letter on the table, speechless.
News had come from within the Ottoman Empire that, with Murad II growing old and unable to produce an heir, Mehmed's return to the throne seemed inevitable.
Many former fence-sitters began to switch their allegiance to Mehmed, hoping to reap some benefits when the old king stepped down and the new king was crowned.
The latest letter revealed that Mehmed had begun preparing a private fleet, hiring naval talent from Venice at high salaries and entrusting the fleet to the experienced and loyal Zagan Pasha.
He was making progress, but his enemies would not sit idly by.
Not long ago, Mehmed's eldest son was born. Many people did not think highly of the child, who was three-quarters Greek, but that did not stop Mehmed from loving his eldest son.
Overjoyed as a first-time father, Mehmed named his son Bayezid.
This name had once been a nightmare for many people in Constantinople.
Isaac shook his head vigorously, trying to cast aside his unease.
He forced himself to focus on the ongoing war.
Misurata was within reach, like a bone lying on the edge of his mouth with little meat left on it.
Technically, this area was not considered part of the core region of the Hafs dynasty. Located on the edge of the desert, it offered few resources.
If Misurata were to be captured alone, his fleet of raiders would find it difficult to attack the richest trade routes in the Gulf of Tunis directly.
Tripoli was a large city that could not be bypassed.
Isaac was unsure whether the merchants of Tripoli would still arm themselves to resist the central government in Tunis in this timeline.
He remembered that, in the original history, these merchants had been very dissatisfied with the central government in Tunis and had always sought similar treatment to that afforded to the Italian commercial republics.
However, they encountered Yahya, a monarch determined to restore the glory of the Hafs dynasty, and the conflict between the two sides was irreconcilable.
Ultimately, the Tripoli merchants joined forces with the Barbary pirates and expelled the central officials in a fit of rage. The city was then successively occupied by Spain and the Knights Hospitaller until the arrival of the Ottomans.
His opponent, Yahya, was no simple man. He would probably do everything in his power to bind Tripoli to his cause, even if it meant temporarily relinquishing some interests.
Later generations evaluated Yahya similarly to Emperor Manuel I of the Komnenos Dynasty of the Byzantine Empire. During their lifetimes, they brought a certain degree of revival and prosperity to the country as a whole, but after their deaths, the empire declined rapidly and eventually fell apart, never to recover.
The fact that it took only a few decades to go from prosperity to destruction speaks volumes.
It has been proven that some of the rulers' policies were nothing more than short-term fixes that depleted the country's strength and sowed the seeds of destruction for their successors.
However, from a modern perspective, Caliph Yahya can be considered a wise ruler who should not be underestimated.
No matter how turbulent the situation on the periphery of the dynasty was, he remained calm at the core, working hard to improve the country. This kind of determination and strategic vision cannot be learned by ordinary people.
Yahya knew very well that Tripoli was the gateway to the heartland of Tunisia.
Isaac stared intently at the black dot on the map representing Tripoli, wishing he could wipe it off.
Was there any way to prevent this place from fulfilling its original purpose? Isaac's eyes flashed as he took out two pieces of paper, dipped them in ink and began to write a letter.
...
"Conte, you disturbed my sleep. I'm sure you have good news."
The next morning, Isaac looked at the dusty Baron Conte, who had dark circles under his eyes and an expressionless face.
"Your Majesty, I have completed the task you assigned me."
"Oh? How many people did you find?"
Isaac perked up.
"Only fifty-three for now, but they're all skilled men, exactly as you requested — all former knights of the lost lands."
"How did you evade the pursuit of the king knights?"
"We disguised ourselves as refugees, took a detour through Provence and boarded a merchant ship at Marseille."
Conti paused. "Your Majesty, these men have been hiding on the fringes of society for a long time and may not be easy to deal with."
"But I can assure you that they are all men of honor. As long as you treat them with sincerity, they will treat you with sincerity in return."
"Those fickle traitors would already have sold their comrades' heads to the local officials in exchange for a pardon."
Isaac nodded, took a money bag from his pocket, weighed it and tossed it to Conte.
"Your Majesty, what is this?"
"You left in such a hurry that you didn't take much money, and I really didn't expect the process to be so complicated. This is compensation for you."
"Thank you, Your Majesty!"
"But what about the knights?"
Under Conte's guidance, Isaac had met these French knights who had lost their lands.
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