The story of Alexander I: The Generals aide
I first met the young General Iskand as a prisoner captured as booty from one of the many battles between the Byzantines and the Turks. I was just entering manhood when they fell upon us. Indeed I remember the year of our Lord 1412 well. Their cavalry swept through the camp like a fiery breeze consuming both tent and man in the dead of night. Surprised Phalanxes of infantry tried to repulse them but met with dismal success, their heads often lobbed off their bodies before they could strike a blow. Those that didn’t fight collapsed down into submission begging for mercy and promising anything from gold to conversion to Islam. To these, the armour clad Turkish warriors must have seemed like God’s wrath made real. But they were safe. The General had ordered his soldiers before hand not to kill the surrendered and thus this humiliation was in vain. This struck me greatly. He was a merciful man and commanded great loyalty from his troops. Most other soldiers would not have thought twice at striking defenceless prisoners.
When we were gathered up, he came to inspect us. He had a hansom physique, dark cropped hair and a silk-like moustache that curved upwards. He immediately set free the women and children. The officers were executed but just the officers. The rest became slaves as compensation for Turkish casualties and were sent back to Anatolia.
As he walked to and fro inspecting us he suddenly focused on me as if tying to remember something. He ordered his servants to take me to his tent. I was shaking violently. I had heard stories about the brutal Turks, how they boiled men alive, roasted babies on spits and so forth. He entered soon after me and asked through a translator if I would like to serve as his aide. I was startled and a thousand questions raced through my mine conjuring up a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then I fainted.
I awoke minutes later to find one of his servants applying a cool moist sponge to my forehead. Why me? Why a Greek? These were soon answered. The Turks were accelerating their Westwood expansion against the Old Roman Empire. The Sultan Mehmed I was tired of the Greek stranglehold on trade in the region and wanted to free his occupied brothers. Constantinople was his prize. I was to learn the Turkish language and act as a liaison between the General and these future Turkish lands. I could hardly refuse.
I first met the young General Iskand as a prisoner captured as booty from one of the many battles between the Byzantines and the Turks. I was just entering manhood when they fell upon us. Indeed I remember the year of our Lord 1412 well. Their cavalry swept through the camp like a fiery breeze consuming both tent and man in the dead of night. Surprised Phalanxes of infantry tried to repulse them but met with dismal success, their heads often lobbed off their bodies before they could strike a blow. Those that didn’t fight collapsed down into submission begging for mercy and promising anything from gold to conversion to Islam. To these, the armour clad Turkish warriors must have seemed like God’s wrath made real. But they were safe. The General had ordered his soldiers before hand not to kill the surrendered and thus this humiliation was in vain. This struck me greatly. He was a merciful man and commanded great loyalty from his troops. Most other soldiers would not have thought twice at striking defenceless prisoners.
When we were gathered up, he came to inspect us. He had a hansom physique, dark cropped hair and a silk-like moustache that curved upwards. He immediately set free the women and children. The officers were executed but just the officers. The rest became slaves as compensation for Turkish casualties and were sent back to Anatolia.
As he walked to and fro inspecting us he suddenly focused on me as if tying to remember something. He ordered his servants to take me to his tent. I was shaking violently. I had heard stories about the brutal Turks, how they boiled men alive, roasted babies on spits and so forth. He entered soon after me and asked through a translator if I would like to serve as his aide. I was startled and a thousand questions raced through my mine conjuring up a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then I fainted.
I awoke minutes later to find one of his servants applying a cool moist sponge to my forehead. Why me? Why a Greek? These were soon answered. The Turks were accelerating their Westwood expansion against the Old Roman Empire. The Sultan Mehmed I was tired of the Greek stranglehold on trade in the region and wanted to free his occupied brothers. Constantinople was his prize. I was to learn the Turkish language and act as a liaison between the General and these future Turkish lands. I could hardly refuse.
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