The gambling board (3)

The commander of Spain gazed upon the Aurelian Walls, stained with blood and flesh.

Any sane person would be haunted by nightmares just from witnessing the horrific scene around the walls.

With the remains of those who couldn’t leave behind a single belonging mixed with the crude weapons used by the soldiers and the wreckage of destroyed siege machines, there was nothing resembling human dignity to be found.

The soldiers climbing the walls trampled over the remains of their comrades like obstacles, clinging to the structure like moths to a flame.

“Those wretched infidels. Damned nuisances.”

It had already been nearly a month of siege warfare, yet the morale of the Ottoman Army defending the walls showed no signs of waning.

Of course, we never thought capturing Rome would be easy, but facing the Ottoman Army, famous for being a powerful military force, left us utterly intimidated.

“What kind of fools let such walls fall in just one day?”

It was hard to believe they were the same city that was sacked after holding out for only a day just a few years ago.

At this, the commander of Milan smiled bitterly.

“I haven’t felt anything great in a month. What’s truly remarkable is not the walls but those who defend it.”

The other commanders nodded in silence.

Among the 70,000 troops, it had long been over 30,000 casualties, with many of the injured left unable to receive proper care due to overwhelming numbers.

The supply situation was no different. While constantly broken ladders weren’t a major concern, the Ottoman artillery, with their significantly superior range, put us in a dreadful situation.

Had it not been for the reinforcements from Naples and the supplies coming from Genoa, our situation would have looked dire by now, yet the commanders still wore faces of composure.

“The Ottoman forces are impressive, but if those walls can’t hold out for much longer, we shall not last either.”

“Recently, the Republic of Siena has expressed interest in joining us. It means they have some sense.”

“What do you mean, they finally want to join in now? Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

Ercole d’Este, the son of the Duke of Ferrara and leading the Ferrara troops, scoffed.

If he could capture the Ottoman Padishah, the profits from this venture would far outweigh the costs incurred so far, so he had no patience for anyone trying to sneak in at the last minute to take credit.

Other commanders had looks of avarice, similar to those who had captured Yusuf, yet only the Spanish commander uttered something positive.

“We must not forget that the current Pope is from the Medici Family. If the Republic of Siena can restrain any potential supporting troops from Florence, that alone would be a significant help.”

“If that is the case, then just toss in some favors instead of expecting canals.”

“Anything but the canals does sound like a decent idea.”

While it was somewhat exasperating to hear people speak as if the canals were already in their hands, the Spanish commander merely kept quiet.

With the possibility of capturing Rome becoming more tangible each day, there were two key things to be cautious about.

‘Just watch for the support from Florence and the Ottoman navy that has conquered Tunisia.’

Florence would be protected by the Republic of Siena, which stood between Rome and Florence, and if the Ottoman navy consisted only of the Spanish, Genoese mercenary fleet, and the recently joined Portuguese fleet, they could easily be held back.

Just as I felt a sense of relief at having eliminated those variables—

“Urgent news!”

“What is it?! Has a portion of the wall collapsed?!”

The only news worthy of urgency at that moment would be something like this, yet seeing the pale face of the scout covered in sweat and dust, the commanders sensed it wasn’t good news.

“The Ottoman cavalry has appeared! They are coming from the east!”

“What are you talking about?! Are you sure it’s really the Ottoman forces?!”

“They are flying the Ottoman flag and heading this way right now!”

Looking directly at the Roman walls, the fluttering Ottoman flag could not be mistaken.

While it was puzzling why they came from the east, there was no time to contemplate causes.

“How many enemies are there?!”

“Estimating at least 20,000… over 20,000!”

The mention of 20,000 caused the commanders to turn pale.

Even facing 20,000 infantry would be a stretch, let alone cavalry, and their minds became a jumble.

“Shouldn’t we verify this situation first?! How can 20,000 cavalry suddenly emerge from the east?!”

“We need to retreat at once! At this rate, we’ll be annihilated!”

With Ercole’s shout, the other commanders snapped to attention.

If enemy cavalry were rushing in during a siege, it was clear they wouldn’t be able to resist and would be slaughtered, prompting them to shout urgently.

“Announce a retreat! Right now!”

At the commander’s order, the drums signaling retreat echoed across the battlefield.

“What, what?! A retreat?!”

“It’s a retreat! Get down now, you bastards!”

With the sun high in the sky, the sound of the retreat drums sent soldiers clinging to the ladders into a frenzy.

The reason wasn’t important. What mattered was that retreating meant survival.

As a soldier anxiously swept a glance around before hurriedly pushing his comrade down from the ladder, he suddenly froze. An odd sight unfolded before him.

In the distance, a massive cloud of dust was rising, and he felt a different kind of vibration from the drumbeats.

Seeing the red flags racing through the swiftly approaching dust, the coalition soldiers gasped in horror.

“O- Ottoman forces! The Ottoman reinforcements have arrived!”

Seeing their intended prey fleeing in a panic, the Rumelian cavalry only quickened their pace.

Seemingly not anticipating an ambush, they charged toward the enemy lines, which had no makeshift defenses whatsoever, with lances raised.

– Glory to the Padishah! Death to the enemy!

Within the limited view through their iron helmets, all that could be seen were the terrified enemy soldiers, and the Sipahi rushed in like a tide against opponents unable to set up a proper defense.

Those caught by the lance assault turned into mere splatters of flesh and blood, while the trembling enemies fleeing were mercilessly slaughtered.

“You arrived just in time.”

Yusuf revealed a bloodthirsty grin.

Playing the frustrating role of silently enduring enemy attacks never suited him.

When facing an enemy foolish enough to target him, it was more in line with his temperament to rip them apart, and now, the time had come.

“Open the gates!”

As the promised sound of a horn rang out loudly, the gates that had stubbornly held out for the past month creaked open.

The coalition forces, who had sacrificed countless lives to open those gates, watched in horror as the dreaded sight unfolded before them.

The Janissaries, brandishing bloodstained bayonets, rushed out of the gates with eyes gleaming with murderous intent.

“Oh God!”

Ercole, the commander of the Ferrara troops, called out to the heavens.

Just a short while ago, he had expressed hopes of capturing Rome, but what lay before his eyes was hell itself.

The Ottoman cavalry slaughtered soldiers like wolves released among sheep, and the Janissaries pouring out from the gates unleashed a torrent of gunfire.

Blocked by the Tiber River, which spanned about 80 meters, those soldiers who couldn’t even put up a decent resistance were unable to escape.

“Don’t push! Don’t come near!”

The Aurelian Walls were built alongside the Tiber River, and the river flowing to the west of the walls became a vast grave.

While the width was merely 80 meters, many drowned without even being able to swim due to being pushed back by their own comrades.

The bodies of those who drowned became obstacles for the newcomers, quickly covering the river in corpses.

“Oh…”

The commanders who had already retreated were struck speechless as they watched the Ottoman forces surging in like a bloody tide through the struggling soldiers trapped behind them by the river.

There was no defeat as disgraceful as this, and they couldn’t even think of surviving if they remained here, prompting their hasty escape.

Although the fleeing figures of those who seemed like commanders were clearly visible from atop the walls, Yusuf didn’t care in the slightest.

Whether he caught them or not bore little significance.

“Your Holiness, it seems the river won’t be safe to drink from for a while.”

With such words spoken against the backdrop of this scene, the Pope’s face turned pale.

Even after over a month together, he found humanity utterly unmanageable.

No matter how well things unfolded according to plan, he had achieved a resounding victory, so one would expect to see some semblance of joy on Yusuf’s face; instead, his eyes glinted with an ominous spark.

He appeared unsatisfied, not with the enemy’s annihilation but rather with something greater, causing the Pope to swallow hard.

“With our victory at the gambling table, all that remains is to collect our dues.”

Even though most of the annihilated troops were mercenaries, it wasn’t without consequence.

The pool of hireable mercenaries would have run dry, and now was the time to pay the price.

In the Principality of Ferrara, neighboring the recently war-stricken Venice, aggression would have already begun.

Having moved cavalry directly, they likely sensed the Ottoman victory first.

“Carlos, why didn’t you just hold onto what you have?”

Had he done that, he wouldn’t have been playing the fool at a gambling table with a predetermined outcome.

Yusuf smiled coldly.

*

“Your Majesty. It’s not too late. I suggest you reconsider.”

“I have no intention of changing my decision!”

At the words of François II, king of France, the nobility sighed heavily.

“Though they may be allies, we cannot just launch an attack on Milan based on the Ottomans’ vague promises of gain!”

“Could it be because of the letter from the Ottoman princess?”

Holding the letter from Hasna close to him, François appeared slightly flustered by the remark but yelled in frustration.

“This is merely a letter of goodwill! Why shouldn’t I believe it?!”

“Attacking Milan would mean breaking the agreement made with Charles V. At this stage, we should focus on maintaining internal stability and avoid large-scale wars, correct?”

“Your argument assumes that the Ottomans would face a great setback, doesn’t it?”

Faced with the sharp questioning, the speaker hesitated, and François irritably replied.

“Once the Ottomans collapse, that treaty wouldn’t mean a thing. I’d have to live in dread forever eyeing my father’s enemy! Is that not true?!”

“That is…”

It would be odd for one to harbor good feelings towards the House of Habsburg, who had killed King François I.

It was also a deeply humiliating incident that had severely damaged French pride.

“The Ottoman Padishah is said to possess prophetic abilities, right? Such a person wouldn’t willingly enter Rome to die. I shall say no more. Your armies must have already set out by now.”

François firmly rejected his final opportunity for reversal, and the French forces advanced once again to seize Milan.

*

Andrea Doria, leading the combined fleet of Spain, Portugal, and his own mercenary fleet, wore a worried expression.

Tunis, without any assistance, had already fallen to the Ottomans, and he had confirmed that the fleet from Algiers had already returned to replenish their depleted forces.

‘But why are they not coming?’

No matter how unorthodox the Ottomans were in their military operations, they wouldn’t abandon their master as mere fodder.

To save their leader, they should have come long ago; the absence only increased his anxiety.

“Should I send a scouting ship to Algiers?”

Sending a scout to the pirate-infested waters near Algiers was a significant burden, yet ignoring the instincts pinging in alarm would bode ill.

Upon deciding to send a scouting vessel, Andrea stood up, only to hear a familiar voice urgently knocking on the door.

– Admiral! Admiral, you must come out immediately!

Responding to the familiar voice of his subordinate officer, Andrea stepped outside.

“Has the Ottoman fleet appeared?”

“Not that! The ones attacking Rome have appeared as remnants of the defeated!”

Upon hearing those words, Andrea hurriedly ascended to the deck, where a swarm of vessels was hastily making its way to the harbor, with many people gathered there.

“What exactly is happening?!”

“They say Ottoman cavalry suddenly appeared from the east! The coalition forces fled, and the siege of Rome has failed!”

“Cavalry from the east?”

Upon hearing that, Andrea gritted his teeth.

“The Venetians have betrayed us! They have never been a trustworthy clan since ancient times!”

There was no other explanation possible.

Genoa and Venice had a long-standing rivalry, and Andrea, a noble of Genoese lineage, cursed the betrayal of Venice before it struck him.

The current situation was a trap laid out by the Ottoman Padishah, who had infiltrated Rome, and the cavalry’s arrival supported by Venice was certainly in their calculations.

Then, it meant that the Ottoman fleet, which had earlier captured Tunis, had no intention of coming to Rome.

‘So where have they gone?’

As he quickly narrowed down his options, Andrea felt a sinking sensation in his heart.

A strategic point which would be hard to lose while the fleet gathered in Rome to offer swift assistance was fast approaching.

*

“Is that Málaga over there?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

Looking at the increasingly visible harbor, Murad sank his heavy sword onto the deck.

“We shall capture Málaga before any others reach Gibraltar!”

The two ports in southern Spain were under the threat of the Ottoman fleet.