Battle in the East
[Kayseri, Anatolia, Ottoman Empire]
After enduring over a month of relentless raids and skirmishes between the two formidable eastern powers, exhaustion and fatigue had inevitably set in on both fronts.
Despite the Mamluks, the more powerful of the two, failing to decisively inflict significant damage on the resilient Turks in Anatolia, their own manpower was gradually dwindling.
Then, startling news reached them not long ago: the Ottoman capital in Rumelia had fallen, and all its possessions were relinquished.
The orchestrator of this event was none other than the co-emperor of the Byzantine Empire, their shadowy ally.
While the Mamluks initiated the aggression on the Ottoman frontline, with the Byzantines joining later as agreed, they were astonished to discover that the declining empire had successfully destabilized the Ottomans in Eastern Europe, capturing the Ottoman sultan in the process.
Moreover, the Byzantines had not only reclaimed their lost territories but also gained a vassal. Initially, the Mamluks found this news unbelievable.
How could a young co-emperor, still wet behind his ears and predicted to fail miserably, emerge as the ultimate victor in a major conflict?
It seemed like a fluke, a stroke of luck.
The Mamluks, instead of being discouraged, found themselves more motivated than ever to initiate a full-scale open war against the Ottoman despite the fact.
Little did they foresee, however, the formidable challenge presented by the Ottoman commander, Orhan Öztürk.
This adept chief-of-arms for the Ottomans stood as the unyielding bulwark, singularly defending Anatolia from impending doom.
Although no major confrontation had unfolded, he successfully maintained the core of the army in Anatolia, suffering fewer losses compared to their adversaries and enjoying significant advantages over them.
Like many Mamluks, he found himself perplexed by the recent events wherein the Ottomans faced annihilation in Rumelia, not at the hands of any formidable foe, but surprisingly, from their ostensibly meek adversary, the Byzantine Empire.
Regrettably, he was powerless to act, as the sultan remained hostage and incessant disturbances from the Mamluks hindered any meaningful response.
Consequently, he was constrained to remain in Anatolia, incapable of dispatching forces to aid or reclaim the lost territories.
Despite his fury at the news, Orhan found himself in a conundrum.
While nursing a deep-seated grievance against the Byzantines for the disgraceful defeat, it was the ceaseless provocations from the Mamluks that irked him the most, their repetitive tricks becoming a persistent nuisance to him and his force.
Nevertheless, he maintained his composure, refraining from hastily engaging his army with the primary Mamluk forces stationed in Adana.
The Mamluks find themselves in a dire position, driven by the urgent need to emerge victorious in this war. The prospect of a seemingly weakened empire prevailing adds an unthinkable layer to their predicament—how could they, a formidable power, face defeat? Unfathomable!
"Commander! There's movement! The main Mamluk force is on the move, departing from Adana and advancing towards Kayseri! A formidable army of 80,000," reported Orhan's scout.
Orhan narrowed his eyes, then turned to address his officers within the confines of the building.
"Issue my orders! We shall confront the determined Arabs on the battlefield!" he declared.
The officers promptly acknowledged the orders, carrying them out with precision, leaving Orhan alone as he studied the meticulously laid-out map on the table before him.
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[Hagia Sophia Hospital, Constantinople]
The room hung heavy with an uncomfortable silence as John, accompanied by his newly appointed personal alchemist, Fatah, and the Rus' Bodyguard, Ivar, faced the bewildered physician, Father Andreas, who was attending to Anna.
"You can't be serious, right?"
Father Andreas found himself torn between anger and bewilderment.
The young co-emperor's proposition seemed absurd, bordering on utter lunacy, and he struggled to fathom the true intention behind it.
"The princess meant a great deal to you, didn't she? Whatever this is for, it can't be real," he expressed, a mix of disbelief and concern evident in his voice.
"...Father, I'm VERY serious," John replied, his tone underscoring the gravity of his intentions.
Father Andreas teetered on the brink of anger, a tempest simmering beneath a composed exterior.
Despite the storm within, he restrained his emotions, mindful that the person before him was not just a monarch but also a revered war hero.
His practiced composure masked the displeasure churning within him.
Struggling to rein in his temper, Father Andreas visibly displayed restraint, a fact not lost on the occupants of the room. John, however, remained unperturbed by the physician's evident disapproval.
"Your Highness, I comprehend the urgency, but purposefully administering unfamiliar medication to a distinguished figure from another realm is a perilous path. It not only risks diplomatic complications but also threatens to sully your reputation. I sense that even our... guest here may not view this course of action favorably."
Father Andreas delicately sought to dissuade the co-emperor, his eyes briefly flickering toward Ivar. Despite Ivar's imposing presence, it was evident he struggled to grasp the intricacies of the situation.
Earlier, when John sought permission to administer the 'antibiotic' to Anna, Ivar had displayed momentary skepticism at the seemingly absurd request.
However, he reluctantly extended a measure of trust to John, acknowledging that the co-emperor wouldn't intentionally harm the princess.
Ivar, with a measure of trust—or perhaps faith—that John wouldn't harm those dear to him, had at least reserved judgment.
"I can assure you, Father, my intent is not to cause harm. Desperate situations call for desperate measures."
"..."
The physician refrained from speaking.
No, rather, he couldn't.
Not that he knew how to dissuade a tenacious young future emperor like John anyway.
Recently, he even heard that this audacious co-emperor argued with the Patriarch without fearing consequences. So, what could he, a mere scholar, do in the face of such defiance?
"Father, though my faith in miracles may not be unwavering, a deep longing resides within me to witness one — to encounter the extraordinary and allow faith to take root.
"For too long, we have averted our gaze from the suffering inflicted by this 'Black Death.' I hesitate to label it as a curse; instead, I perceive it as a challenge, a trial we must surmount. In my belief, a benevolent God would not subject the beings He holds dear to such agonizing deaths."
John clarified his stance, acknowledging that, at this moment, it served as more of a psychological strategy to persuade the hesitant physician.
Despite contemplating the matter beforehand, he understood the potential for unnecessary conflict with the Church.
Nevertheless, he felt compelled to extend a measure of courtesy and respect toward the institution, even if it seemed futile in the face of Anna's progressively deteriorating condition.
Upon hearing this, Father Thomas reclined further into his chair. Despite being no older than Pavlos, his demeanor spoke of a wisdom beyond his years.
The physician shared the same sentiment as John. As a devout man of God, he resisted the notion that the 'Black Death' was a curse from God; he found it more plausible if it were the machinations of the Devil.
Having dedicated decades to studying the disease, the elder physician had harbored aspirations in his youth to be a healer akin to the illustrious Hippocrates and a compassionate figure like St. Basil of Caesarea.
Though those aspirations had dimmed with age, the underlying passion still lingered, flickering on the edge of extinction.
Despite the centuries-old belief that the 'Black Death' was God's merciful judgment, Father Andreas, considering such a notion irresponsible and contrary to the love of God preached every weekend in the grand cathedral, sought to trust what the co-emperor proposed.
Yet, an inner conflict waged within him, urging caution against blind trust, yet also whispering that there might come a time when regret would follow for not at least considering the words of the young co-emperor.
Silent moments stretched between Father Andreas and John as their eyes remained locked, creating an awkward atmosphere that left Ivar and Fatah standing in blank uncertainty.
After what felt like an eternity, Father Andreas finally spoke.
"If that's your wish, I, too, yearn to believe in the possibility of a genuine miracle—one that could cure this disease and banish its haunting presence from our lives once and for all."
Hearing that he had finally received confirmation, John leaped with joy. Of course, that was in his heart, as in front of that reply, it was only his face that brightened and curved into a smile.
"Rest assured, your decision today will prove to be a wise one, my friend," John said with a warm smile. The elder physician responded in a jest, almost a whisper, "I'd hope so."
The unshakable trust in unproven medicine perplexed Fatah, leaving him more exasperated than pleased. He couldn't fathom why the co-emperor placed such faith in his 'cure' over other options.
"Fear not, young man. If your observations are accurate, it can at least be deemed trustworthy," John reassured the young alchemist.
"Give it a try; with the right dosage, and considering the ingredients and the 'moldy bread' theory, it should at least pose no deadly side-effects, or so I hope."
"Besides, my intuition has proven reliable, and my judgment sound—at least, that's what I believe."
Even John's uncertainties were evident, as he repeated the phrase 'at least' in his attempts to reassure, adding to Fatah's restlessness.
In response to the young man's discomfort, John chuckled.
"Well then, gentlemen, if we may proceed, let's meet Princess Anna. Let's hope for the best and pray that this concoction works as intended,"
Father Thomas beckoned, as he finishes his preparation.
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[Anna's wardroom]
"Shall we begin?" Father Andreas inquired, keenly observing the reactions of the present spectators.
Fatah, ever restless despite his earlier confident demeanor in the lab, stood in stark contrast to John and Ivar, who exuded tension rather than restlessness. This marked a noticeable difference in their current levels of confidence.
Witnessing this, the elder physician sighed beneath his mask, shaking his head.
"While it goes against my moral judgment to allow anyone to experiment on my patient, Your Highness, I believe I must grant you the opportunity to administer the medicine yourself. I'm not well-acquainted with the procedure or this peculiar instrument you call a 'syringe.'"
Father Thomas's statement prompted a gulp from John, acknowledging the gravity of the responsibility placed upon him.
Despite the incredulity of an untrained medical practitioner handling such a sophisticated matter, John recognized the necessity of the task. He understood what needed to be done, relying on his knowledge even if he lacked practical experience.
In the realm of modern medicine, a saying prevailed:
"Even if you've performed the procedure a hundred times, possessing expertise doesn't immunize you from errors. Concentration is the key—without it, you risk becoming nothing more than a murderer and facing the revocation of your medical license."
Reminded of that saying, John took comfort that even if a professional were to do it and not him, they will not entirely be able to do it right either.
Much like common people who didn't acquaint themselves with such procedure, since, how then drug addict able to be doctor of their own demise?
Thus, John summoned all the concentration within him, directing it towards this singular task. His focus was unwavering, undistracted by anything else—his sole attention fixed on the syringe and Anna's condition.
With meticulous care and deliberate movements, he lifted the syringe filled with the antibiotic, approaching Anna's bedside where she lay in unconscious repose.
Beads of sweat formed on John's forehead as he stepped closer, only the veil and the bed acting as the final dividers between them.
Ivar clenched his fist tightly, Fatah's legs trembled uncontrollably, and Father Andreas observed with keen attention, anticipating the co-emperor's actions.
It must be acknowledged that the elder physician was quite unfamiliar with the concept of 'jabbing.' The moment he heard the word from John, confusion set in. Not to mention, a 'syringe'? What was that?
Why did the young co-emperor consistently introduce such unfamiliar concepts? Rumors circulated that John had been this way since childhood—innovative and unconventional.
Graeco-Roman Football, Imperial Marine, 'hwacha', and now, 'syringe'.
This instrument featured a thin needle attached to a cylindrical tube. Remarkably, it could draw liquids through the needle, filling the attached tube.
The complexity of such a device was undeniable, unique and practical. The question lingered—how was it crafted? A needle so delicate, riddled with tiny holes, seemingly fragile but paradoxically resilient.
Who was the ingenious individual behind the creation of such a remarkable device?
Yet, Father Andreas had no time to delve deeper into his contemplation as he fixed his gaze on the co-emperor's actions.
It would be dishonest to claim that he wasn't nervous himself.
After all, he held the responsibility for the well-being of the patient in question, and granting John permission added an additional layer of worry.
As John finally stood beside Anna, he took a deep breath, flickered the needle on the syringe a few times, and prepared to insert it into Anna's left arm.
While doing so, he couldn't help but be mesmerized by the appearance of the sleeping beauty.
Despite being covered in black spots almost reaching her neck, her face remained pristine, much like the first time they met.
Realizing that he had spent too much time gazing at her face, John pinched himself, forcibly pulling his senses back to the task at hand.
Slowly but surely, the needle pricked the outer skin of Anna's arm, eventually reaching the inner skin.
Despite her unconscious state, Anna's body retained its nerve function, flinching for a moment, and her face winced with subtle pain.
Recognizing this, John momentarily faltered but maintained his focus.
Pushing the syringe's plunger slowly, he exerted pressure, allowing the liquid to flow downward, eventually entering the bloodstream.
Although the process seemed simple, John's condition suggested otherwise. He was, in fact, sweating profusely throughout the procedure.
It wasn't until it was all over that he noticed beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, dampening the cloth mask he wore.
"Indeed, it is done," John declared.
With half the battle behind them, the next phase would now begin: observation.