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Black Knight (2)

Sack of Rome.

The news that Rome, a large city with a population of 55,000, could not hold out for even a day before being occupied and plundered was shocking.

Even as Charles V’s Habsburg army marched toward Rome, I thought, “Surely it can’t be that bad,” but the outcome was a clear lesson on how naive that thinking was.

City-states in Italy, having heard from the citizens of Rome who managed to escape with their lives, were on high alert, fearing they could be the next target.

However, the Habsburg army, having seized Rome, was not in a position to divert their attention elsewhere.

“Damn it!”

Philibert, who had taken command in place of the deceased Duke of Bourbon, grabbed his head as he was overwhelmed by the incessant screams from the women.

“It’s horrific. Just horrific! When the hell will this plundering stop?!”

“I’m sorry, Commander.”

“…Enough.”

Having ordered the halt of looting after the usual three-day period, he soon realized that only a minuscule fraction of soldiers had heard his command.

It was impractical to confront the officers about it, so Philibert sighed deeply.

‘If I die, I’ll be going to hell.’

With cathedrals being looted and St. Peter’s Basilica turned into a stable, dreaming of heaven was just plain funny.

Given the Habsburgs’ concerns about whether they could even pay their mercenaries on time after occupying Rome, the most realistic hope was that the soldiers wouldn’t revolt.

“Act as mediators so that soldiers don’t fight over the spoils.”

“Understood.”

That was all he could think of doing.

Feeling exhausted, Philibert slumped into a chair, closing his eyes and desperately trying to ignore the screams from outside. Suddenly, urgent footsteps echoed in his ears.

Without even asking for permission, a commander barged in, and Philibert jumped up from his seat.

“What’s going on?! Has a riot broken out?!”

“O, the Ottoman Army has appeared!”

“…The Ottoman Army?”

Caught off guard by the mention of the Ottomans, Philibert questioned if he had misheard.

It was one thing if all the city-states of the Italian Peninsula had joined forces to invade, but the arrival of the Ottomans was utterly absurd.

“It’s the Ottoman Army! They are advancing into Rome via the Tiber River!”

But that ridiculous notion had just become a reality.

*

Rome was built along the 406 km long Tiber River, which had played a significant role in Roman trade since ancient times.

As Murad navigated upstream toward Rome, he twisted his mouth.

“Looks like they’ve finally noticed.”

A reconnaissance cavalryman, galloping hurriedly along the riverbank, indicated just how terrible the situation was in Rome.

The troops were in utter disarray, signaling that their discipline had completely fallen apart. They had gotten much farther than expected due to their negligence in scouting.

Uruji laughed in response to Murad’s comment.

“Did they really think the Empire wouldn’t come? Let alone travel along this river.”

“Thanks to the bishop of Ostia’s cooperation. Much appreciated.”

Alessandro Farnese, the bishop of Ostia, grimaced in response to Murad’s gratitude.

How many would refuse to join a fleet that aimed to seize the harbor with over a hundred ships and armed forces brandishing guns and swords?

Instead of the speechless bishop, the Archbishop of Constantinople spoke up.

“How could the bishop hinder such a difficult pilgrimage to save the important city of Rome? Isn’t that right?”

“…Indeed.”

The bishop swallowed the bitter taste of betrayal.

Although he had long ago fallen to the role of a pagan’s accomplice, he could still think of himself as part of the same faith, yet here he was, listening to such words and feeling dizzy.

Nevertheless, without caring about the bishop’s internal struggles, Murad issued his orders.

“Give the command. We disembark.”

If they were to be ambushed while attempting to ascend the river, they wouldn’t even be able to disembark and would end up falling into the waters.

No matter how shallow or narrow the river was, it remained a river, and there was no need to push their luck.

Once Murad’s command was given, the sound of horns resonated, signaling the flags to wave, and the ships began to disembark in an orderly fashion.

“Quickly! Move faster! We must finish disembarking before the enemy arrives!”

“If you don’t want to die, move it!”

As the commander urged, soldiers splashed into the water as they disembarked, preparing for enemy ambush.

The time it took to unload troops, supplies, and cannons was not a matter of mere hours, and a normal enemy would surely take advantage of such an opportunity.

After waiting behind a barricade of bayonets for a long while, Murad tilted his head.

“It’s too late.”

Considering the time of detection, cavalry should have arrived long ago, yet not a single enemy was in sight.

They had even built a temporary dock with planks on the sandy riverbank, and they hadn’t encountered the enemy even as they completed all unloading and prepared to advance.

“Prince Murad, everything is ready.”

“Uruji, stay in Ostia as planned.”

“Understood.”

Their role was complete, and now all they had to do was wait for news of Rome’s occupation.

“We advance!”

With Murad’s command, the Ottoman army began their march toward Rome.

*

The Habsburg army in occupation of Rome could scarcely fantasize about intercepting the Ottomans.

The shouts announcing the appearance of the Ottoman army along with drums and bell chimes reverberated through Rome, causing chaos as soldiers spilled out from buildings.

Their condition was less than ideal, just merely grabbing weapons would have been fortunate.

It was a lucky draw if they could even stumble out in proper pants, given how many were so inebriated they rolled about on the ground.

After prolonged looting, discipline had disappeared, and the army had devolved into a ragtag group, incapable of organizing themselves into anything resembling order—an irreparable state that would stretch all the way to the day the Ottomans arrived at Rome.

“…Seeing it with my own eyes drives me insane.”

Philibert stared at the enemy with trembling eyes.

The red flag that symbolized the Ottomans fluttered ominously, and their marching formations, unbroken, highlighted just how elite they were.

‘Meanwhile, we are beset with deserters, and the walls are in shambles. It’s hopeless.’

He hadn’t uttered a word to avoid further depressing the already fragile morale among the few remaining soldiers, but the situation remained dire.

No way the Habsburg army, lost in a frenzy of looting, had repaired the damaged walls they occupied, and the breakages they inflicted had returned to haunt them.

Moreover, as soldiers suddenly enriched by spoils sensed the unfavorable climate of battle, many fled, and those still assigned to the walls were uncertain when they’d turn tail.

“Let’s send an envoy for now.”

Having made it this far, he never expected to retreat. He would settle for buying whatever time he could.

As he gave the order, the gate that was essentially irrelevant due to the breached wall opened, revealing a cavalryman waving a white flag and a man on horseback from the Ottomans.

“This is land that infidels must not tread upon! If you do not wish to incur the wrath of all Christians, it is not too late to withdraw now!”

“Does the god you believe in permit such atrocities?”

Upon hearing the envoy’s words, Murad gazed upon Rome.

He had never been there personally, but he had heard rumors. However, it was hard to believe that the scenery before him was wrought by a Western nation.

The walls bore corpses impaled, and even after so much time had elapsed since the occupation, black smoke still billowed from within the city.

If this was what could be seen from the outside, one could only imagine the horrors inside.

The envoy, taken aback by the words of the infidel, found himself speechless, while Murad pulled a pistol from his cloak.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself if they will forgive you?”

With a thunderous bang, a bullet pierced the envoy’s head, and as the body fell to the ground, Murad took a deep breath and shouted,

“Save Rome!”

With Murad’s resounding cry, the drums split the sky.

– Save Rome!

– Kill the enemy and save it!

Thus began the strangest war in the long history of conflict between Islam and Christianity.

Matching their steps to the rhythm of the drums, the Ottoman army advanced, and the first shots fired came from the cannons of the defending soldiers atop the walls.

Leveraging their superior range due to the height difference, the cannonballs fell, yet they managed to inflict only a minor amount of damage on the scattered soldiers below.

The Ottoman army, closing in quickly, began firing back, and Philibert, seeing a nearby soldier reduced to a bloody pulp, cursed under his breath.

“Crazy bastards! Are those projectiles really made from precious metals?!”

He had heard tales of artillery made from valuable metals, but witnessing it firsthand brought involuntary curses to his lips.

While the shock wasn’t particularly great, it underscored the disparity between the two forces.

Cannonballs rained down on the heaps of stones and wooden stakes raised to block the breaches in the wall, and as he observed the barricades tumble down under the bombardment, Philibert squeezed his eyes shut.

– Save Rome!

It was nearly impossible to stick his head outside from behind the protective cover due to the thick gray smoke and hail of bullets, and while the soldiers were huddling down, the Ottoman forces swarmed through the breached walls.

As the momentum suddenly swung, seeing his troops scatter like grains of sand, Philibert gave a hollow laughter.

“Isn’t it ironic?”

Those who shared his faith were treated like Satan, while the infidels were regarded as saviors.

Philbert looked on as the Ottoman army slaughtered the fleeing Habsburg soldiers, and a moment later, a giant blood-stained sword was thrust to his neck.

“Are you the commander?”

“That I am. I am Philibert de Chalon, Duke of Orange. And you are?”

“Murad.”

Realizing the man before him was a prince, Philibert could only lower his head.

In the face of such a devastating defeat, there was no need for any more words.

*

The siege of Rome ended anticlimactically.

Fleeing for their lives while still clutching the spoils, the Habsburg soldiers found it no challenge to breach the walls, which were already unable to perform their duty.

In fact, it was even more difficult to locate the scattered remnants of battle hidden throughout the city.

Of course, thanks to the citizens’ reports, who had borne deep grudges from the brutal looting, they managed to quickly round up the deserters.

“Is this really Rome? I can’t tell who shares the same faith. They’re just repulsive.”

The bodies of men who had been tortured to death lay abandoned in the streets, emitting a foul stench, and women, driven half-mad from their torment, were in abundance.

Marvelous Renaissance buildings burned, and rubble blanketed the streets, making the cathedrals appear like grotesque ruins.

Spitting at a captured enemy, Murad spoke.

“…So you claim to have taken Rome according to plan, but what are your intentions now? Do you plan to govern this place?”

The cardinal, born in Rome, could not hide the anguish in his heart, looking upon the ruins with a dazed expression.

It wasn’t mere empty words when he had previously declared to save Rome; the Ottoman troops who entered did not loot at all.

They cleared away the dead from the city with the cooperation of both the captives and citizens and provided food to the concealed citizens who had resisted.

The chaos in Rome quickly subsided, yet for the cardinal of the Papal States, the scene itself was nothing but alarming.

“Occupation…”

Trailing off, Murad spoke in a firm voice.

“I follow only the orders I’ve received. It seems this content isn’t part of that mandate.”

There was only one person capable of issuing orders to a prince.

As he recalled the dark-hearted Ottoman Padishah, the cardinal felt a sense of unease.

*

“Hasna, do you know what to be careful of when dealing with Christians?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Doing a half-hearted persecution is worse than not doing it at all.”

Perhaps due to their bloodlust, it seemed that the more they persecuted, the more Christianity grew.

While many religions have overcome persecution, Christianity was particularly notorious for this.

Just look at the Reformation that began with Luther—it endured all sorts of persecution but only managed to grow in force.

Religion is a dangerous entity that can swell even more if tampered with carelessly.

“If we occupy Rome, it may seem good in the short term, but the West will surely perceive it as Christian persecution. That’ll merely create further headaches.”

It would constantly try to find ways to trip the Empire up for decades or even centuries.

He had no intention of creating a situation akin to zombies clinging on. No matter how special Rome was, the costs wouldn’t match the benefits.

“Thus, the goal of this operation is to sow religious confusion in the West.”

Could it be that Islamic nations are fewer than their Christian counterparts?

Are Lutherans involved in the recent looting in Rome actually better than Muslims?

The aim is to instill such religious doubt.

“To accomplish this, we must assist in the restoration of Rome and shake their long-held beliefs.”

It’s a form of image laundering.

One might say it’s the only chance to do so at the heart of Christianity.

Hearing Yusuf’s words, Hasna slightly furrowed her brows.

“But it feels like a loss to help when this isn’t even an imperial city.”

At Hasna’s remark, Yusuf smiled broadly.

“What do you mean a loss? Would I do something that would incur losses?”

What reason does a person have to shower money upon the city of the Papal States?

“Carlos’s soldiers will have to loot diligently. So, after we defeat them, who owns the spoils?”

“Oh.”

Of course, there’s no way they could take all the plunder back to the Ottoman Empire. Thus, to the citizens of Rome, there would be no difference whether it was the Habsburgs or the Ottomans.

“Instead, using that plunder to help rebuild the city is entirely up to us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

After all, the best way to take credit is to do it with someone else’s money.

The Ottoman fleet, laden with resources, including cement, crossed the Mediterranean Sea.

These were items that would fetch a high price tailored to meet local needs.