1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Chapter 197 I Am France

Balkan Peninsula, Albania, Duratzim.

Many fortresses outside the city had collapsed one after another under the bombardment of Spartan heavy artillery. The city of Durrachium was surrounded by 30,000 troops. The port area in the west had been lost, and the defenders were forced to retreat into the inner city.

Due to the sudden attack of the Eastern Empire, several important colonies of the Republic of Venice were attacked one after another. The Venetian fleet failed to return from Crete in time, and the defenders soon lost the sea route to communicate with the outside world.

The Venetian fleet was well aware of this and began frantically attacking Eastern Empire supply points along the Albanian coast in an attempt to rescue Dyrrachion.

The commander-in-chief of the Albanian Front, Maruna, responded quickly by withdrawing the supply routes inland and arranging for the fast-moving Slaves cavalry to protect them, which quickly made Venice's delay plan fail.

Despite this, the city of Durcion still held out for nearly a month under the fierce attack of 30,000 troops. The layers of fortresses and fortifications in the city seriously hindered the deployment of the army. The soldiers of the Eastern Empire had to fight bloody battles with the Venetian defenders under one fortress after another, slowly but steadily moving towards the center of Durcion.

The ground was soaked with blood, and the sound of artillery fire could be heard from time to time. Commander-in-Chief Maruna, accompanied by his entourage, came to the outside of a large castle that had just been breached.

In order to capture the castle, the Eastern Empire left behind more than 500 corpses, nearly half of which were servants of the Albanian lords.

The flames of war gradually died down, and wailing and groaning sounds were heard one after another. The civilian laborers were cleaning the battlefield and picking up weapons on the brown land. The medical soldiers carried the wounded into the tents and gave them simple bandages.

"The Venetians may not know much else, but they built a good fortress."

Next to Maruna, the commander of the Third Army of the Purple Guard, Messing, kicked the body of a Venetian soldier and waved his hand, signaling the civilians to carry it away and bury it on the spot.

"No matter how powerful Venice is, it is still a commercial city-state that has relied on maritime trade. Its army is weak, it has almost no standing army, and it relies entirely on mercenaries."

Maruna took a deep breath, feeling the smell of smoke and blood.

"That is why they prefer strong walls and fortresses, focusing on defense on land and attacking from all sides on the sea."

"Moreover, the Venetians know how to better utilize the combat effectiveness of mercenaries. These desperate men do not like to fight risky battles. They can only exert half of their strength in a field battle, but they may be able to exert three-quarters of their strength in a battle to defend a city."

Maruna turned around and looked at his entourage.

"The premise is that you have to let them see the reinforcements and hope."

A smile appeared on Maruna's face.

"When we captured the fortress in recent days, the percentage of Venetian soldiers surrendering increased, and fewer and fewer were willing to fight to the death."

"I just looked at a few bodies. All of them were shot in the back by arrows. They were obviously shot by our army while escaping."

"Their fighting spirit has dropped to the freezing point under the fierce attack. They see no hope and are about to collapse."

Messing turned over a few Venetian corpses and found that it was true. He was secretly impressed.

"Is this why you want to take over the port as soon as possible, regardless of casualties?"

"But if the Albanian vassal soldiers suffer too many casualties, will the nobles have complaints?"

Maruna looked expressionlessly at the bleak Albanian military camp.

"Of course there will be some, but they have already boarded this ship and obtained a hereditary territory recognized by the emperor himself, so they naturally have to pay something."

"They may hate me because of this, and will report me to Your Majesty after the war and speak ill of me."

"But I don't care."

Maruna raised his head and scanned the devastated battlefield.

"Do you know why I was able to get the position of commander-in-chief of the Albanian battlefield?"

Messing thought about it.

"Your Majesty trusts you?"

"Doesn't he trust Conte? Doesn't he trust Ibrahim? Doesn't he trust Mehmet?"

Maruna shook his head with a smile.

"Then I don't know."

"Because I am Italian and a mercenary. I am very familiar with the behavior and combat methods of mercenaries. I know how to deal with them."

"More importantly, Your Majesty also knows what I want, what I like, and what I don't care about."

"I have been fighting with His Majesty for nearly twenty years. He knows exactly what kind of person I am."

Maruna pulled a corpse over without hesitation, sat on the bloody chest, took out a handful of mint leaves from his bag, and chewed them slowly in his mouth.

"I like wealth, so His Majesty rewarded me with several mansions. I like beautiful women, so every time he won a battle, he would select a few captives and send them to my house."

"I don't care about reputation, I don't care about chivalry, so he sent me here to do something hateful for him."

"Albania now, and Serbia in the future, are both places where local forces are strong. Your Majesty wants to strengthen the central authority, but he cannot treat them like domestic landlords. He can only weaken them through war."

Maruna stood up, spit out the mint leaves, and the green juice oozed from his lips.

"After the war, he might scold me in front of the Albanian nobles, declare that my merits and demerits are equal and that I will not be rewarded, and then secretly send a lot of gold and a group of beautiful women to my home."

Maruna laughed and glanced at Messing.

"The old emperor is ill and may not live long. There are some scums in Constantinople who are ready to make a move. They may have tried to test you."

Messing was stunned for a moment, then nodded.

"Don't forget who gave you a good life, and don't stand on the wrong side."

Maruna warned gently.

"Don't worry, they are just a bunch of remnants of the old forces. They keep talking about the laws of their ancestors all day long, but they can never achieve anything great."

Messing sneered.

"Those people in the Senate just need to be obedient and be a decoration. If they dare to disobey, I, Messing, will be the first to lead the troops to kill them."

"It's good to know."

Maruna looked at the setting sun and the rising moon. The Eastern Roman soldiers entered the castle one after another. The remaining Venetian troops huddled in a corner of the inner city. It was only a matter of time before they surrendered completely.

"It is said that the Venetian Mercenary Marshal Colleoni has already led his troops into Ragusa, and the Castrioti family's army is also heading north. What do you think of this?"

Messing climbed onto his horse and followed Maruna.

"Corleone? An old acquaintance of mine."

"He is indeed good at military strategy, but he is greedy for money and lust for power. His favorite thing to do is to transfer the public property of the Republic to his own name."

"He has always been very self-centered, and he and Castrioti will definitely not get along. Not to mention working together, even basic mutual assistance is likely to be met with resistance."

"Castellioti is desperate and will be killed by Colleoni sooner or later."

"No more talking. Let's take a day off and get enough rest before we give the Venetians the final blow!"

Maruna laughed loudly and galloped away on his horse.

……

Palace of Fontainebleau, Kingdom of France.

Outside the palace, Field Marshal Courant dismounted, handed the reins to his servant, and strode into the palace's study.

There was no light in the study, but there was a fire burning in the fireplace. Fruit wood was crackling in the stove, releasing a warm aroma.

Charles VII curled up in a soft velvet chair, the flickering firelight shining on his old face.

Years of illness have tortured the old man to the point of being on the verge of death. He is emaciated and his loose skin trembles slightly with his breathing, leaving wrinkles all over his skin.

The old man's eyes were slightly closed, and his weak and feeble muscles moved his heart and lungs, providing the last bit of nutrients for his broken body.

Charles VII had an innocent smile on his face, his hands slightly raised, obviously enjoying a good dream.

Looking at the old king's appearance, Kurant felt a pain in his heart.

He knew that Charles VII would not live long.

"Your Majesty, I'm here."

Kurant said softly, taking off his cloak and hanging it aside.

Charles VII woke up from his dream and looked at the bleak scene in front of him with regret. He gently wiped away his eyes and saw Courant standing beside him.

"Ah, Philip, you are here, sit down."

Courant thanked him and sat down opposite Charles VII.

Charles VII was obviously in a very good mood. He picked up the Bordeaux wine on the table and poured it full for himself and the marshal.

"Your Majesty, the doctor said you can't drink anymore."

"It doesn't matter. The doctor can't help me now."

Charles VII chuckled, handed the glass to Courant, and pointed upwards in awe.

“It’s God’s turn.”

Kurant was silent, his chest felt tight, he took a deep breath and raised his glass.

"To France!"

"To France."

Charles VII drank up the wine and then began to cough violently, with red spots on his chest.

Courant was about to stand up, but Charles VII waved his hand to stop him.

After coughing for a while, Charles VII recovered his breath and a blush appeared on his face.

"I am blessed by God that I can survive until today. There is no need to be too sad."

"God bless everyone who fights for France all his life."

Kurant put down his glass, sighed, and covered his face with his hands.

"I have been unconscious for the past few weeks. How is the state of affairs?"

Charles VII licked his cracked lips.

"Everything is fine. No one dares to do anything unjust at this time."

"Including my son?"

Charles VII asked gently.

"The Dauphin learned of your affairs and returned to the court of Burgundy."

"He still won't come to see me?"

"he……"

Kurant was speechless for a while, then gritted his teeth and told the truth.

"I sent people to summon him several times, but each time there was no response."

Charles VII nodded, his eyes dim.

"I owe a lot of people and have done a lot of wrong things in my life. Maybe God thinks I have done a lot of evil and sent this child to punish me for my sins."

"He was so rebellious when he was a child. I was busy dealing with threats from all sides and never listened to his ideas seriously. I never gave him the love and warmth he deserved."

"I'm not a good father." Charles VII sighed and started coughing again.

"But you are a good king, your majesty."

Kurant comforted.

"After you fell ill, the people of France prayed for you and built a monument for you, hoping that you could continue to lead them on the path of revival."

"We will remember everything you have done forever."

"What about outside the kingdom? What's going on in Europe?"

Charles VII shook his head and returned to the topic.

"The situation in northern Italy has basically calmed down, but the War of the Neapolitan Succession is still going on."

"Ferdinand accepted Isaac's loan but rejected his offer to send troops to help, insisting on winning the war himself."

"He's a smart man."

Charles VII nodded slightly.

"Not long ago, the Eastern Empire and Venice went to war again. The Venetians were no longer able to resist the well-developed Eastern Empire and were completely at a disadvantage on every battlefield."

"Isaac III laid the groundwork for today's war long ago, cutting off Venice's financial resources from both Italy and Egypt, which seriously damaged Venice's war potential."

"A few days ago, a Venetian envoy came to Paris and tried to persuade us to send troops to attack the Free City of La Spezia to tie down Isaac's forces."

"How did you answer?"

"No answer. Wait until you get better."

Charles VII smiled and shook his head.

"I'm dying, so I'll leave this question to my son."

The firewood in the stove was almost burned out, so Kurant walked forward and threw the stacked wood into the stove.

Looking at the suddenly rising flames, Charles VII's eyes were blurred and he fell into deep memories.

"Before you came, I had a very long dream. I dreamed of many people and many things."

"I dreamed of La Hire. Do you remember him? He is the general most feared by the English. Without his great help, my command company would not be established at all."

"That was about 20 years ago. He and I were here, lighting the stove and spending the cold winter."

Charles VII's eyes became moist as he recalled his old friend.

"I dreamed of old Bourbon, who was also my most trusted general and was called 'the scourge of England' by the enemy."

"He died, but his son grew up healthily and has many children and grandchildren. He can smile in heaven now."

Kurant listened quietly, and the images of his old comrades flashed before his eyes.

"I dreamed of Jacques Cole. I exiled him, but his family members were given unprecedented opportunities."

"Before Jacques died, he held my hand with tears in his eyes."

"He said, Your Majesty, I don't blame you."

"I never blamed him."

Charles VII wiped the tears from his eyes and his lips trembled.

"I also dreamed of Andrei, who was promoted by me. He loved drinking and dueling. He became ill during the war and died a few years ago."

"France is a vast country with abundant resources and has never lacked famous ministers and generals."

Kurant's voice was also a little choked.

Old friends are dying one after another, like leaves falling in the wind.

"My father is a lunatic, my mother says I'm a bastard, and my relatives are trying their best to deprive me of my inheritance."

"I am a weak and mediocre person. I did nothing in the first half of my life. When I was wronged, I could only swallow it silently and cry in the queen's arms."

Charles VII lowered his hands and tried to hold back the tears in his eyes.

“But then I met you.”

Charles VII looked at Courant with true emotion in his eyes.

"If it weren't for your efforts, I wouldn't have been able to drive out the English and sit firmly on the throne of France."

"Thank you, thank you for believing in me and in France."

"Your Majesty, your words are too kind. I..."

"Philip, thank you too. Thank you for being willing to accompany me on my last journey and for listening to the memories of a dying person."

Charles VII smiled gently and looked at the old marshal.

"We have just won the war, and France is in a state of disrepair. There are lingering landowners at home, and powerful enemies outside who are eyeing us covetously."

"Tell my son not to touch Italy and not to get involved in Isaac III's affairs before dealing with the great nobles in the north. He is no match for this man."

"Tell my son, no matter what his ideals are, please let him remember that France is above all else."

"Go, Marshal, take care of yourself, for me, for yourself, for your family, and for our France."

Marshal Courant saluted and said goodbye, and Charles VII remained in his study with his eyes closed.

The flames burned and leaped, and waves of warm air hit Charles VII's face like the spring breeze in 1429.

At that time, Charles VII was still a timid and cowardly man. He retained the claim of being the King of France, but could only stay in the remote Chinon Palace.

At that time, Charles VII was unable to repay the war debts and naturally went bankrupt. He convened the Estates General to argue his case, but no one was willing to believe him.

At that time, France was divided into many parts, and the great nobles were fighting for power. No one cared about Charles VII's title of king, so he could only quietly train his team and recruit talents.

At that time, Charles VII's court was full of talented people. The little soldiers who were ignored at that time would become wise ministers and generals who were famous in the future.

It was also in that year that Charles VII met the most unforgettable person in his life.

Charles VII would always remember the scene at that time. It was a warm afternoon. The Chinon Palace was noisy and the nobles and priests filled the hall. Charles VII was extremely disgusted in his heart, but he could only force a smile.

At this time, Louis of Bourbon found Charles VII and claimed that he had found someone who could truly help France out of its predicament.

Charles VII hesitated, nodded in agreement, but silently hid himself among the crowd.

The spring breeze blew across the palace, the sun broke through the dark clouds, and the dim palace suddenly became bright.

Charles VII blinked due to the sudden bright light. When he came to his senses, a heroic female knight was already before him.

She recognized Charles VII in the crowd at a glance, walked quickly towards him, took off her hat and knelt down to salute.

"My name is Joan of Arc. I am commanded by God to assist the only monarch. I am commanded by God to drive out the powerful enemy and save France!"

The scene flashed back. In the dream, Charles VII saw the battle flag held high by the girl outside the city of Reims, the magnificent Reims Cathedral, and the girl and the smiling bishop standing beside it.

"Long live the King, long live France!"

Joan of Arc shouted and knelt in front of Charles VII, her eyes full of joy.

Behind her, the nobles knelt on the ground in a black mass. They were wearing gorgeous clothes and precious jewelry.

Among the crowd, the girl in tattered armor seemed out of place, but she exuded an awe-inspiring and inviolable sacred aura, making the entire church shine brightly.

Charles VII was crowned, the English fled, and France was unified, but the girl who had accompanied him through the difficult years, led him into the cathedral, and sang a triumphant song as he entered the city of Reims was gone forever.

The firewood was almost burned out, and the stove emitted its last rays of light, just like the sunshine thirty years ago, illuminating the study.

Wrapped in that light, Charles VII seemed to have returned to that afternoon, to that dusk. The road ahead was dark, but the girl in front of him reached out her hand to him again, wearing armor and a sword at her waist, still looking the same as she did back then.

Charles VII stretched out his withered hands to welcome the brightest light in his life.

A bright smile appeared on his face, but his throat was choked with sobs. Tears from the corners of his eyes flowed down his face, across his wrinkles and the ravines of time.

In the late spring of 1462, Charles VII of Valois, "the Dutiful," died of illness at the Palace of Fontainebleau at the age of 59.

……

In the Carthaginian palace, the royal teacher Basilius was giving a lesson to his students. The children in the audience were obviously not interested in politics. They were scratching their ears and making faces.

"In our previous studies, we have covered the Magna Carta of England and the Golden Bull of Germany. These laws represent the compromise between the monarch and the nobility, and they have a positive side..."

"Next, we will look eastward and learn briefly about the Khuriltai Assembly of the Mongol Empire..."

Justinian in the audience stared with dissatisfaction at his teacher.

"Your Highness, what is it?"

Justinian stood up with confidence.

"Can we pause our studies and talk about something interesting? For example, something major that happened recently in Europe?"

The children immediately agreed, and there was another round of noise from the audience.

Basilius nodded reluctantly.

"Okay, then let's talk about the recent succession of the new monarch of the Kingdom of France, which will also lay the groundwork for our subsequent study of the French political system."

Basilius closed the book.

"In the spring of 1462, Charles VII died. Prince Louis rode as fast as he could from Dijon to Paris. Accompanied by his ministers, he went to Reims and was crowned in Reims Cathedral."

"For Louis XI of Valois."

"After Louis XI put on the crown, the ministers waited there as usual, waiting for the new king to speak."

"Most kings would say empty words and clichés, but Louis XI was obviously different."

Basilius paused.

"Facing the ministers, Louis XI remained silent for a long time, holding his head high. Finally, he said only one sentence, which immediately shocked everyone present."

"I am France!"

The classroom immediately became quiet. The children were somewhat confused and waited for the teacher's explanation in bewilderment.

However, Justinian's eyes suddenly lit up, his hands clenched into fists, and his face turned red with excitement.

Basilius frowned and stared at the prince who was lost in fantasy.

"Your Highness, what's wrong with you?"

"What a courage."

"Very bold, too, because—"

Basilius waved his hand, motioning Justinian to sit down, but the latter still stood there with his lips tightly pursed.

"Your Highness?"

"As a ruler, you must be like this!"

(End of this chapter)