"Damn Romans!" That afternoon, upon learning that the enemy had prepared a group of suicide bombers to detonate the entire earthwork fortress, causing a small collapse of the Palantoken Mountain and instantly crushing a large number of his soldiers, Kara Osman, who was over seventy, was both furious and alarmed, stomping his feet and cursing in the military camp.
His two good sons, Hamza and Mahmoud, knelt weakly before him, too scared to even breathe. Because although they had successfully taken the Bosporus's Palantoken Mountain defense line this time, they had lost over a thousand men due to the collapse caused by the explosion. Even without a clear battle report, they knew they had lost a large number of soldiers who shouldn't have been lost. Moreover, if they hadn't heeded their father's warning and intentionally retreated to a place far from the mountain and the earthwork, they would likely not have escaped the disaster.
While Kara Osman was continuously cursing the enemy's treachery and ruthlessness, a guard stationed outside the military camp suddenly rushed inside, bowing fearfully and reporting, "Reporting, reporting to the Sultan, there are, there are…"
"For Allah's sake, speak quickly!" The White Sheep Sultan, in a terrible mood due to heavy losses, was already agitated and had no patience for the guard who was incoherent with tension and panic.
"Yes, Sultan! A large number of tribal representatives are requesting an audience with you, it seems to be because of today's battle…"
"A bunch of scoundrels!" The experienced Sultan immediately guessed the purpose of these tribal representatives. At this moment, he finally understood the predicament he was in today. Undoubtedly, they must have come to demand an explanation for the Ghazi Warriors who had died so ignominiously this time. Although he was experienced in dealing with these tribes, the plan to retake Erzurum would inevitably be delayed again. No, in the worst case, Erzurum might truly fall into the hands of the Romans.
"A bunch of swine, vile sheep!" At this point, he could only curse these enemies in his heart to vent his emotions.
While Kara Osman tried his best to leave the camp and appease his various subordinate tribes, Manuel, who was garrisoned in the suburbs of Erzurum, had also received news of the fall of Palantoken Mountain and the explosion and subsequent mountain collapse that caused heavy casualties to the White Sheep Army. To celebrate the achievement of his strategic objective, he specially summoned the officers and generals who participated in the defense of the area, planning a simple celebration banquet and intending to reward them.
That evening, after simple preparations, the small banquet was held as scheduled. Although all the attendees were some of Bosporus's military and political key figures, they were all dressed in military uniforms, indicating that they were still at war and would not show any slack.
Nevertheless, as one of the few moments during wartime when nerves could be relaxed, the banquet still created a peaceful atmosphere.
After half an hour of clinking glasses, Manuel, seemingly slightly tipsy but actually sober, stood at the head table, raised his glass, and loudly informed the attendees that the enemy had suffered heavy casualties in their attempt to capture Palantoken Mountain. "According to reliable intelligence, the Aq Qoyunlu Dynasty lost at least a thousand men this time, many of whom were their elite soldiers and generals. If the Holy Father blesses us, their momentum in attacking Erzurum will surely be greatly weakened."
At this, many people raised their glasses in agreement with their Caesar. However, the two generals who had deeply participated in the defense of the Palantoken Mountain earthwork were noticeably a few moments slower in raising their glasses.
Manuel, however, was completely unaware of this at the moment, immersed in this not-quite-a-failure failure. He then promised the two generals who commanded the defending army against the enemy one reasonable request, and then looked at Dungar and Posadas, hoping they would say something for this evening's banquet to respond to his generosity.
To his surprise, after a long period of contemplation, Dungar finally spoke up, uneasily suggesting:
"Sultan, regarding this operation, the soldiers who remained in the earthwork at the end actually did not know that they were facing a certain death. Although this speculation might be a bit presumptuous, it is very likely that when they ignited the fuse, they were still thinking about their future lives. Although the deceased are gone, most of their families are still alive. Therefore, we hope that you, Sultan, can properly appease the families of these soldiers, demonstrating your benevolence and piety, in your name."
Upon hearing this, Manuel's mind raced. History is the victory of ruthlessness over mindlessness, he had originally wanted to comfort them with such arrogant words. But he opened his mouth halfway and involuntarily swallowed the words back. Even if such words were correct, they would be too cruel to these soldiers who had fought for him, and even for the currently distant goal of 'restoring Rome'.
"Sultan?" Seeing their respected Sultan deep in thought, and not knowing his inner thoughts, the two of them became a little worried.
Just as they were about to retract their earlier words, Manuel suddenly spoke, agreeing to their request, "That makes sense. Yes, at least, we have an obligation to make our soldiers understand: fighting for me, and even for all of Bosporus, is not something to regret."
With that, he summoned Badars, his Commander of the Guard, and dictated a draft plan for the settlement of the families of the fallen soldiers on the spot, instructing his Commander of the Guard to record it. The content was quite simple: basically, the parents, wives, and children of these two hundred and fifty fallen soldiers would each receive a monthly pension of 7 ducats for 10 years, as a subsidy for this desperate battle; it also stipulated that if their descendants wished to join the army later, they would be given priority to be assigned as farmer-soldiers.
From Manuel's modern perspective in his previous life, this amount of money seemed overly meager. But in the glorious Middle Ages, under normal circumstances, a commoner dying in battle was a commonplace event in the eyes of nobles. As for compensation or sympathy? Wasn't dying for a noble lord the supreme glory bestowed by the Lord upon the common people? What else could be needed?
In contrast, a regime like Bosporus, which was willing to appropriately appease the fallen, was like the Archangel Gabriel, if one excluded some Catholic knightly orders. It was precisely because of this that in the subsequent bloody battles, his soldiers were mostly willing to sacrifice themselves and fight to the death.
And at this moment, at this banquet, the attendees were all discussing their monarch's actions. Some were captivated by it, while others considered it merely a show, but they all concluded in their hearts that this young Caesar's political acumen far surpassed most monarchs in the Mediterranean at that time.
The Palantoken Mountain camp was filled with wailing, while a banquet was being held in the suburbs of Erzurum. A thousand miles away, in Tabriz, the capital of the Black Sheep Dynasty, Jahan, the heir to the dynasty who was left to oversee the country, received a handwritten letter from his distant relative whom he had never met.