1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Chapter 134: The Crusades

Port of Marseille, Provence, Kingdom of France.

In a small alley near the port area, there is a shabby pub.

This was the Tavern of Alain, and like most of the rest of the taverns in France and Italy, it was named after the family that owned it.

The pub is neither beautiful nor shabby. From the inside to the outside, both the utensils and decorations are very old-fashioned, exuding a sense of antiquity.

If an elderly person who knows the business comes for a drink, he will surely sigh in admiration.

Thirty years ago, when this pub was still young, it was definitely the most beautiful scenery on the entire street.

The owner of this pub must be a nostalgic person.

The tavern is in a very advantageous location. The port is just across the alley, and the slave and mercenary markets are just across the street.

In normal times, slave traders from Portugal and North Africa liked to come here to have fun after negotiating a big deal, and mercenaries from Italy and France would also come here to drink and sing before going out on an expedition.

In the pub, Alan, the owner who is over 50 years old, stood quietly behind the counter, holding a rag and gently wiping the glass in his hand.

The Hundred Years' War between England and France ended. This war was of equal significance to both countries.

The Kingdom of France won a great victory, recovered Aquitaine and Normandy, public sentiment was unprecedentedly high, and nationalism began to sprout.

King Charles VII of France had gained great reputation, which gave him enough prestige to carry out drastic reforms in domestic affairs, tighten finances and establish a standing army.

Everyone could see that after this victory, the influence of the King of France was no longer limited to Paris. He began to strengthen centralization, and the estrangement and conflicts with powerful French vassal states such as the Duchy of Burgundy could no longer be resolved peacefully.

The Kingdom of England suffered a great defeat and lost all its European territories except the port of Calais, and the efforts of several generations of kings came to nothing.

The failure of this war led to the concentrated outbreak of internal conflicts in England, laying the groundwork for the War of the Roses and the English Reformation.

At the same time, the war forced the English to withdraw from the European continent and stick to the British Isles, and a sense of national identity began to take shape.

But in any case, in a war, the glory belongs to the king, the land belongs to the nobles, the wealth belongs to the merchants, and all the great significance and impact belong to the historians' history books.

The lower class people only suffer endless pain.

Alan looked at the few customers in the tavern and sighed.

The war is over, the mercenaries are gone, the people are penniless, and the emerging merchants and nobles will not come to him.

The slave trade did become more prosperous, but they had a better target - although Aquitaine and Normandy had thousands of acres of fertile land, they had been at war for many years, and the people were displaced, so the labor gap was even greater.

He put down the cup, sat on the high stool, put his arms on the dark but meticulous counter, and looked at the door bored.

In this old-fashioned pub, only the door is new, and it is replaced from time to time, which looks so out of place.

New drinkers marveled at it, but old drinkers had long been accustomed to it and regarded it as one of the characteristics of this pub.

collapse--

More than two years later, the door of Alan's Tavern was knocked open again. This time, even the door frame shattered and fell to the ground.

A huge head poked its head in, looked around, and nodded with satisfaction at the tavern's unchanged interior that had remained unchanged for thousands of years.

It's still the same as I remember.

The giant lowered his head and squeezed through the doorway. His iron armor rubbed against the wall, making a squeaking sound.

A sharp-eyed drinker caught a glimpse of the boar emblem on the giant's armor, and immediately shouted, remembering the rumors he had heard.

"Abel, it's you, you're back?"

"You've got a new scar on your face!"

Abel didn't answer and walked straight to the counter.

"Heat up two barrels of wine and order a pot of lamb stew with chickpeas."

When the drunkard saw that Abel didn't respond, he felt a surge of anger in his heart. Maybe it was because he was drunk or had some other reason to rely on, but he stood up and yelled at Abel on purpose.

"Why did you come back alone? You must have displeased your employer again and got kicked out!"

Abel frowned, a little surprised, turned his head, glanced at him coldly, and looked at Boss Alan.

"His brother served His Majesty Charles and was knighted. He is now considered half a nobleman and has been in high spirits recently."

Alan explained.

Abel nodded, a mocking smile on his face.

He took off the war hammer from his waist and threw it away.

The hammer was as fast as lightning and smashed straight into the drinker's head with unparalleled power.

bang——

A dull sound was heard, and the body fell limply to the ground, with blood and brain matter splattering all over the place.

Alan continued to prepare mulled wine and food, as if he didn't see it.

Several old drinkers took a look at the corpse, turned around, nodded and greeted Abel, as if they were used to it.

"You... killed someone?"

Next to the dead drunkard, his companion stared at Abel in astonishment and amazement.

"His brother is a knight!"

"You murdered a noble's brother!"

He stood up quickly and ran towards the door.

"Wait, I will report the truth to the bishop of the port!"

"The bishop will do justice, no matter who you are!"

As his companion ran to the door, he was knocked straight back into the pub and fell to the ground.

A group of tall, ferocious-looking mercenaries rushed in, with the same roaring boar emblem painted on their coats.

"The person you just offended is the Holy Warrior of Constantinople, the noble of the Roman Empire, the Baron of the Kingdom of Cyrenaica, the Lord of Burka Oasis and Burka Village, the Governor of the Bilinchi City Defense, the Crusader, and His Excellency Abel from the Butcher Family."

"We have obtained permission from His Holiness the Pope and the local bishop to recruit holy warriors in the port of Marseille and prepare for the crusade."

Abel's adjutant came in, picked up the poor guy who was lying on the ground, and pulled out Abel's noble deed and the Pope's call for holy war from his arms.

"Your friend questioned a true noble, a warrior of God, with ill intentions."

"I seriously suspect he is a Saracen spy."

"I do not know him."

"Then get out of here!"

The adjutant threw him out the door and led the soldiers into the tavern.

"I'm sorry, Alan."

"Get used to it, Bok."

The tavern owner brought the hot red wine to the table, motioned to the frightened maid to leave through the back door, and took the soup spoon himself, fiddling with the mutton in the stew pot.

"I heard that more than half of the soldiers fell on the walls of Constantinople, and you are still alive."

"Half of our people died, too."

Abel picked up a small wooden bucket and gulped the water into his mouth.

"However, the remaining half all got promoted and became rich."

Bock took over the conversation.

"So, Xi... The Emperor of Constantinople treats you well?"

"More generous than the French and Italians."

"At least, there are no corrupt officials to deduct your military pay, and no nobles to take credit for your achievements."

“This is what emerging forces are like.”

Alan commented noncommittally.

"In fifty years, Bilinche will be like Paris, with officials as greedy, nobles as arrogant, and peasants' sons as mean."

"So what? This doesn't stop us from toasting to these fifty years of greatness."

Bock raised his glass and waved it around.

Alan was silent for a moment, moved the lamb stewed with chickpeas to the wooden table, and took out the bowls and plates.

"You mean, His Holiness the Pope is ready to support a new round of crusades?"

"Yes." Abel nodded.

"How did your emperor convince His Holiness the Pope?"

"There must be an exchange of interests. This is a matter for big shots. How can I know the truth?"

"What about His Majesty Charles? Does he not care?"

"Let him take care of his son first!"

Everyone burst into laughter, obviously knowing something about Charles VII's family affairs.

Just two years ago, the French Crown Prince Louis XI refused to follow his father's diplomatic strategy, formed an alliance with Savoy, and insisted on marrying Princess Charlotte of Savoy, who was less than ten years old.

This incident caused a complete break between the father and son, and there was no longer any family affection between them.

"Besides, this is not the territory of the King of France. The flag of the House of Anjou is still flying over Provence."

Alan took out the salt bag and sprinkled the muddy yellow salt on the stew.

"Where's the target?"

"Cairo? Jerusalem? Granada?"

"Tunisia."

Alan blinked, searching his mind for memories of Tunisia.

"The last King Louis IX failed there. You must not make the same mistake."

"Louis IX is a fool."

Abel said bluntly.

Bock burst out laughing, and the food in his mouth sprayed all over the table.

"Boss, even though you haven't read many books, your views on certain things are surprisingly insightful."

Everyone laughed, and the pub was filled with a happy atmosphere.

"What about you? You didn't come to Marseille just to visit an old man like me, right?"

"The Saracens in the west are still very powerful and mainly nomadic. The emperor can easily defeat them, but it is difficult to truly destroy them, let alone maintain effective rule."

"So, the Emperor and His Holiness the Pope issued a joint statement, calling for a crusade to the West and to wipe out the Saracens entrenched in the Maghreb region in one fell swoop."

"We are here to recruit volunteers."

Abel said.

"Your Majesty promised that the landless knights could get fiefs, criminals could be exempted from prison, and peasants could get land and slaves."

"The prerequisite is that you must be loyal to His Majesty and gain enough merits."

Bock added.

"It's the same old thing. They're tempting a crazy person who doesn't care about his life with land that doesn't belong to him."

Alan curled his lips.

"You know, just because of what you said, we have the power to send you to the gallows."

“This is the home God promised to Christians.”

Bock said with a smile.

"The war between the King of France and the King of England is over, and the war in Italy has also come to an end. So many mercenaries and lower-ranking knights have nowhere to go. Your emperor has chosen a good time."

Alan sighed.

"Your Majesty has always been as good at predicting things as a god."

"Now, our team is still short of a quartermaster."

"The first one who deserted was chopped off by the boss."

"The second one made the armor look old and sold it to smugglers, and was chopped off by the boss."

"The third……"

Adjutant Bock counted on his fingers, listing them all.

"What happened to the third one?"

"Would you like to be the third one?"

……

On the southern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, at the northernmost tip of the African continent, the city of Tunis.

In terms of geographical conditions alone, there is no city in Africa that can compare with Tunis, the white flower on the Mediterranean.

Compared to Cairo's subtropical desert climate, the climate here is milder, more humid and more pleasant.

Compared with cities such as Anfa and Algiers in the west, this place is located in the center of the Mediterranean, with convenient sea routes and more frequent trade.

Compared with cities like Tripoli and Birinci in the east, there is no shortage of rivers and lakes here, and there is sufficient rain and heat, making it suitable for farming.

It is early winter. The breeze blows away the summer heat and the rain brings life to the earth. This is the best season in Tunis.

In the past, farmers would take advantage of the good season to work the land diligently; herdsmen would feed their cattle, sheep and horses until they were fat and strong, ready to sell them at a good price; merchants would bring in goods from all over the world, the dazzling array of goods would be overwhelming.

However, in recent years, the situation of Tunis has been getting worse and worse. The former prosperous scene is no longer seen and only appears frequently in people's dreams.

Pirates and knights used the St. Simon Islands as their base and frequently raided the northern coast of the Hafsid dynasty, reducing villages and unwalled towns to ruins.

Stimulated by interests, the pirate forces on the island increased in number. The price of privateering licenses was raised again and again, but it still failed to quench the desire of the desperadoes. Waves of pirates came from all directions, continuously, blocking the entire Central Mediterranean.

Their hands gradually extended from east to west, and even the coast of Granada, located in a remote corner of southern Iberia, was attacked by Christian pirates.

The Muslim monarchs blamed all these losses on the Hafs leader Yahya, and accusations and insults came from all sides, leaving him speechless.

A few years ago, those islands were barren and empty, and no one cared about them, including him and the monarchs of all generations.

But who would have known that after the loss of these islands, the entire North African coast immediately became a hunting ground for Christian pirates, and the population and wealth were like sand between fingers, leaking out uncontrollably and flowing towards Birinchi and Surt.

Yahya didn’t understand why the Greek emperor could immediately grasp the weak point of the entire dynasty with just one move?

He wisely realized that the pirate bases on these islands posed a great threat to the entire southern European coast. He sent letters to the monarchs of several major countries, using earnest words to point out the pros and cons and asking them to curb Emperor Isaac's behavior.

King Charles VII of France was negotiating with the land nobles in the north and simply drove the envoy away without even opening the letter.

King Afonso V of Aragon listened to the messenger patiently, read the letter carefully twice, and then gently asked his son Ferdinand what he thought.

Ferdinand tore the letter into pieces.

The envoys going to Venice were the most uncomfortable. Doge Foscari had a gloomy face and looked lifeless. He did not utter a word during the entire process and threw the letter directly to the senators, exposing the envoys to the endless quarreling in Italian.

The most infuriating person was Henry IV of Castile. He did not meet the envoy or read the letter, but sent back a arrogant and conceited letter of surrender, asking Yahya to convert to Catholicism and be loyal to him, which made Yahya so angry that he cursed.

With this kind of situation, he deserves that his wife is still a virgin after thirteen years of marriage.

If the decline of maritime trade made the Hafsid dynasty ill, then the severance of the trans-Sahara route completely turned it into a vegetable, with only a head left to maintain basic thinking.

Under the rule of the Hafsid dynasty, the trade orientation of the Tunisian region was very clear, which was to exchange salt from the Mediterranean coast for gold and slaves from sub-Saharan Africa, and then to exchange large amounts of gold for rich goods from Europe and Arabia.

Similar to Arab and Central Asian countries, the Hafsid Dynasty was also a middleman. The goods it could produce were extremely limited and of low value. When the trade routes were smooth, they could make a lot of money by relying on their geographical advantages. When the trade routes declined, they would also decline, and there was no way they could do anything about it.

The Golden Horde, the Mamluk Sultanate, the Venetian Republic, the Hanseatic League...

Yahya could only watch his country decline rapidly, and before he could turn the tide, the situation had already worsened.

One tribe after another broke away from control, one large chamber of commerce after another moved abroad, and one city after another began to refuse to pay tribute, on the grounds that trade had been cut off and there was not enough funds.

The negative impact of the empty treasury was indeed huge, but the proud and tenacious Yahya did not give up. He firmly held the city of Tunis and the surrounding core areas, liberated slaves, cultivated the land, tightened his belt, reorganized the army, and repaired fortifications.

He frequently formed alliances with various tribal sheikhs and ceded a large portion of his power in exchange for their support.

Yahya knew very well that at this critical juncture, loyalty would have almost no effect on the various forces, so he found another way and used religious sentiment to unite them and agree to jointly deal with foreign invasion.

He also sent envoys to various Sunni forces to seek reinforcements, and personally went to the border of the Zayanid Dynasty, gave up his status as overlord, ceded several towns, married a Zayanid princess, and formed an alliance with it.

However, beyond this, the assistance he could get was still very limited.

The Mamluk dynasty was suspicious of each other, civil wars were frequent in Granada, the Marin dynasty was trapped both internally and externally, and the most powerful Ottoman Empire was too far away and had too weak a navy, so it was also powerless.

The news of the formation of a new round of crusaders spread widely, conflicts continued on the eastern border, and the people of Tunisia were in panic.

Yahya stood on the terrace of the palace, looking at the desolate city below. He was suddenly startled by the slight chill of winter and quickly wrapped his clothes tightly.

got windy.

(End of this chapter)