"Sail ho!" screamed the Spanish lookout as the Order's fleet made its way out into the Gulf of Satalia.
Henri de Foix jumped to the rail and scanned the horizon in the direction of the lookout's sighting. Sure enough the glimmering specks began to appear on the horizon and quickly enough it became obvious that this was no minor patrol.
"God save us..." Henri murmured to himself as he began to acknowledge what he was seeing for what it was...a massive Ottoman fleet coming from the southern coasts of Anatolia do doubt where the Ottomans had been engaged with the minor entities that stood between them and complete domination of Asia Minor. From their course he could only guess they would be making the cut to slice between Rhodes and Crete and enter the Aegean Sea. Something was brewing but Henri wasn't entirely sure just what yet. The shifting winds brought him out of his thoughts.
"Make sail for that storm! All hands! Move you bastards before we all die!" He screamed across the deck to the crew of mostly Greek sailors forced into their occupation out of necessity. Jobs were not plentiful on Rhodes for the lower classes and while a spot on a galley meant back-breaking work and almost assured combat, it was a reprieve from starving in the alleys.
The Hospitaller Fleet surged forward against the chopping waves and soon the deck was finely washed in the murky sea water being kicked up by the storm they sailed into.
"Sir, these ships...I'm not confident we can weather that storm..." said Marcus Toules, one of the commanders on the galley. "The transports are over-laden as is."
"Marcus, we either fight in that storm or we fight that Ottoman fleet. I'll take my chances with God."
The storm tossed the fleet around like toys in a wash basin for several days before backing down and thankfully the group had suffered minor damage and the troops in the transports had a new appreciation for what the sea could do.
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The journey was a slog and they had to turn back several times around the boot heel of Italy having not received word from the Venetian fort in Albania that the Venetian fleet had sailed into the Adriatic yet to provide some cover.
But now the ships were sitting off the southeastern tip of Ragusan land and the Transports began unloading their cargo of men, arms, supplies, and horses. Ludovicus himself oversaw the landing and once the army had been deposited on terra firma he sent the transports away. There would be no safe retreat for them if this endeavor failed.
The army immediately began marching to the northwest and after some days of fighting through horrible road conditions the city of Ragusa came into sight...and what a sight to behold.
The Venetian army had encircled the city and the conditions of the walls and the fires roaring behind them told him all he needed to know. His army had arrived late but not too late. He rode off with his command group to the Venetian commander's tent, passing by tired soldiers who trodded through mud and muck. The morale however seemed high as even the common soldier saw the writing on the badly beaten walls.
"Grandmaster de la Croix, I am General Violto. It seems your journey was delayed..." The General seemed slightly annoyed in his speech as he tiredly sat down in his chair after exchanging handshakes. On a table beside him a map was laid out depicting the city with markers indicating the defenses and forces engaged on both sides. He quickly caught himself however and changed his tone as to not offend his guest, lest he tarnish relations with their new ally. "No worries however. The city's forces put up a meager fight at first before turning like cowards behind their walls. Thankfully we managed to rout a good number of them and it's safe to say they won't be leaving their precious walls anytime soon."
Ludovicus was caught the initial slight but brushed it off. He had a mind to remark that he was only delayed due to typical Italian sloth and disarray before a battle but thought better of it.
"Very well General. God thanks you and your men for your service. When do we attack?"
The General looked shocked at first before bellowing out a laugh as he began tearing at a greasy piece of chicken with his fingers. "The innards of the beast are broken but his hide is far from it. I will not throw my men away on a foolish mission. But you and your God are free to do so if you'd like."
"You speak blasphemy sir! An army of God serving in his interests will find his divine favor." Ludovicus snarled, his zealousness escaping past his diplomatic nature.
The General smirked and continued gobbling down his meal. "You mistake my humors sir. I mean no offense and I have no doubt of your army's favor. I merely suggest we let the Ragusans defeat themselves. There is no cause for us to send souls early to their maker. Besides...with their fleet having made preparations to sail they will be without supply for sure."
Ludovicus was startled. "Well where is the Venetian fleet?! Are we not to continue to be blockaded? That was the deal we made with the Doge."
"The deal you made with the Doge good sir was for my army to start the siege and eliminate serious defense. As you can see we have done that and MY fleet supported us in that effort. Now that you have arrived we will leave you to it and if you take issue then I suggest you speak with the Doge himself for those are my orders and that is what you paid for...and I assure you we take both very seriously in the Serene Republic for that is what God favors US to do."
Treachery...again. Ludovicus hid his response and merely bowed slightly before exiting the tent and marched off to his own. His aide de camp, Louis Rochefort, quickly tried to keep pace.
"These bastards and their deals...we must get word to Henri as quickly as possible. He's sailing into a trap."
"What of the battle here sir?"
Ludovicus turned and gazed again at the scene before him. Already the Venetians were breaking down their tents.
"What battle? The Venetians will continue to hold off their supplies."
"Shall we send an envoy and ask for surrender sir?"
Ludovicus' cold eyes continued to scan the horizon. "No man surrenders his home willingly. No...ask for an envoy to discuss terms from them. Then lop off his head and send it back. We will take this city and its citizens...with or without their heads. Those are our terms for that is what God favors US to do."
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(See the first preview post to understand this section)
Henri coughed and gasped with an exhausted breath as he turned onto his back on the floating piece of wood. The battle had been decided before it even started. There was no broken Ragusan fleet and there was no Venetian support in the words that now had claimed the lives of his men. Instead they had sailed right into the mouth of a waiting beast that had nothing to lose...a dangerous foe in any light.
His eyes focused on the stars above and he guessed that with the currents, winds, and tides they could make it to Zeta and the Serbian coast.
They of course included the two other Greek sailors he had helped fish out of the sea on their pathetic raft and his prized Spanish lookout Armando.
When they washed upon the shore they looked horrible. Henri's clothes were tattered slightly and a passerby could've mistaken him for a commoner who had stolen some rags from a dead man. His compatriots looked slightly worse having already been in rags before the battle started.
They took stock of what they had and quickly started a fire to dry their clothes while one of the Greeks, Abraxos, went off to find what he could in the way of water, food, or even lodging. Henri quickly took his own inventory to ensure the three most precious items were still on him: His daggar, his pouch of gold, and his cross.
Abraxos thankfully did not return empty handed. With him came a group of Serbian riders and their spears lowered as they kicked Abraxos to the ground in front of the group. Henri unsheathed his daggar while keeping a hand on his gold. Either weapon might be needed in short notice.
"You are on the King's land Frenchman...now you will answer some questions for me..." said the lead Serbian rider as his group trotted in circles around them, their spears still pointed. "How did a Frank wash upon my King's shores? Has the Frank paid for this pleasure? Has the Frank come to harm my King's people?"
"I am Henri de Foix...Chronicler and Lord Admiral of the navy of the Hospitaller Order. We beseech the King and his people to grant us safe passage as Christian brothers to Ragusa. I assure you a fair ransom will be paid upon my return."
"And us?" squeeked Abraxos before receiving a firm elbow to his gut to silence him. Henri was a pragmatist...he would do what he could to save them all but if needed he would only foot the bill for one...himself.
The Serbian riders stopped their movements and the lead one leaned down to examine Henri for a bit with a bemused look. "Perhaps we can do just that Frank. But perhaps you'd like to meet my King? Perhaps there is a way your debt can be paid in other ways..."
Over the next several days they moved with extreme haste and Henri was informed that the order had indeed taken Ragusa but the lands they were riding through were hostile. Bosnian forces were already amidst a hard push down the coast and they were lucky this patrol had found them when they did. Upon arrival to King's war council Henri was ushered forward among and eery silence while his fellows waited outside. Henri was not moved by this. He had been in the presence of powerful men before and he would not allow his order to seem meek before a new neighbor.
"Lord Admiral de Foix...I am Despot Durad Brankovic...you are my guest as are your men. You have no doubt heard by now of our war with the Bosnians. I understand from my advisors that your order seeks to reclaim glory...is this true?"
Henri bowed deeply to honor his host before replying. "Yes my lord...we seek to restore the Kingdom of Jerusalem from her shackles beneath the Muslims and seek to destroy the Ottoman and free the Byzantine people."
The last part was a lie but politics is an art of lying at times. Henri knew it would warm the Despot's attitudes to hear this falsehood given his own wife was a Byzantine Princess and the Serbians had no love for their aggressive neighbor knocking at their borders.
"I see. Well I seek to reclaim my peoples' glory. To reclaim the glory of my Kingdom and return Bosnia to her rightful place, in the bosom of my heart. It is unfortunate her people see differently but such is life in these lands. Tell me...perhaps we can both reclaim something at this time. I do not seek to welcome Croats to a place that is not their home...at least not all of them..."
The council laughed at this jest but Henri remained stoic but slightly unnerved. Did this man think he was going to restore the Serbian Empire? Was he mad enough to think that? But as the Despot himself said...such is life in these lands.
And so the bargain was struck. Henri and his men rode away from the camp towards Ragusa using what roads they knew were safe. They tossed aside their clothes for a commoner look (not hard for them aside from Henri) and rode with haste. Henri checked his inventory again: Daggar, gold, cross, and a new addition...an offer of aid...an offer of expansion.