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Fortune
Favors the Bold
The
Ottoman Invasion of Italy
Introduction:
In the year 1480, the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II invaded Apulia, and
captured the city of Otranto. For the next thirteen months the Ottomans
held the city, and it was a flourishing slave market. Mehmet II raised an
army, and prepared to march into Naples in 1481. He was killed suddenly,
perhaps by poison, perhaps by a heart attack.
Let us
assume that he had avoided that fate. What may have happened?
March, 1481
Ferrante,
King of Naples, swore. If only his damn nobles hadn’t betrayed him. If
only his brother in Aragon had sent more men. If only…
These
were his last thoughts, as a Turkish sword swung through his neck. His
body would be found amongst the other corpses several days later.
May, 1481
Mehmed
strode into Naples. The inhabitants of the city had wisely chosen to
surrender to his army, doubtless having heard what happened when Otranto
had resisted. A garrison of Janissaries would be put in place, but the
rest of his army had other goals. One of the messengers came up to him,
and showed him the latest reports.
So,
he thought. The other princes may join them. He knew Latin; after
all, it was always good to know one’s enemies; and the call against him
had not been heard yet. Many of the inhabitants were fleeing, but they
would doubtless return in due time. He winced for a moment, feeling the
pain in his leg [1]. Time, unfortunately, was not what Allah had given
him.
Rome
Pope
Sixtus continued writing.
“The
call “Go!” was unheeded. Perhaps the call “Come!” will evoke a
heartier response. I do not intend to fight. I shall imitate Moses, who
prayed on the mountain while Israel fought against Amalek. On the ship’s
prow or on the mountain top, we shall entreat of our lord Jesus Christ
victory for our soldiers in battle. In the service of God we leave our See
and the Roman Church, committing our grey hairs and feeble body to his
mercy. He shall not forget us, and if he does not grant us safe return he
will receive us into heaven and will preserve his See of Rome and his
bride the Church in safety.”
Sixtus was interrupted by one of the cardinals. He knew what it was about.
“Has the treasury been moved to Avignon?”
”Yes. The Genoese tried to rob us to carry it, to guarantee it’s
protection from pirates, but it has set sail.”
Pope
Sixtus set down the pen and sighed. All his work for the Church in
Italy… and God sent the Signor Turco against him. What had the Church
done to deserve this? The Crusade had not yet been responded to, but it
was in God’s hands now, not his.
The
Legate left on May 4, barely a month before Mehmed’s approach to the
city.
Florence
Lorenzo
glared at the Papal Legate. “You are saying, in other words, that
you have left a token force in Rome.”
Cardinal Raffaele Riario, nephew of Sixtus, spread his hands. “The Pope
has offered full plenary indulgence to all who crusade for the Holy
See.”
“But
he has not offered money for mercenaries. Surely the Papacy can afford to
defend its realm, as it has against ourselves?” Lorenzo smiled for a
moment at the Venetian ambassador.
“Of
course, and he has raised a great host. Sadly, it will take some time to
assemble, and the Pope fears that the city will not hold.”
The two might have argued longer still, but Giovanni Gonella, the
ambassador from Venice, cut in. “This is pointless. The Most Holy League
was created to defend Italy against the Turk, and to preserve peace in
Italy. The Senate has agreed, and Venice shall join the war against the
Turk.” Gonella smiled, and then continued, “of course, we have a
treaty with the Turk, and it would be most dishonorable to violate it.”
Then the real haggling began.
July 1481
Mehmed
stepped off his horse, slowly but with a walk that his closest friends had
not seen in a long time. “Did I not say that I would stable my horse in
St. Peter’s?”
Mehmed’s
ibashi-bazouks [2] had taken the city last night, and the sack was still
ongoing. A whore was now sitting in the Papacy, although some would refer
to her as the Queen of Babylon.
Mehmed’s
closest advisors were silent. Much of the army had been destroyed in the
march to Rome, and plague had broken out in the army itself. One of his
advisors spoke hesitantly. “We have taken much. Perhaps we should
withdraw to Naples, and fortify. Why risk what we have gained?”
Mehmed stood silent for a moment. He had been thinking about this for a
while. “We cannot. Withdrawal now will indicate weakness to the
Venetians and Genoese. How long will it be before a Crusading Armada shows
up in the Golden Horn? We will advance.”
”As you wish, Padishah.”
Unspoken were the attacks on their supply lines by the peasants; the
“Ten Thousand Martyrs” proclaimed by the Pope in Avignon, and the
ominous reports of galleys off of Ortranto bearing the banner of the Bride
of the Sea. If the Padishah willed it, who were they to argue? The
officers bowed and left.
August
24th, 1481
“You
Mohammedans, it is certain, are very wrong to disturb the peace of other
states, rather than to rest content with the splendid city of Byzantium.
If you knew how you are universally hated, your hair would stand on end.
Do
you believe that these powers in Italy, now in league together, are truly
friends among themselves? Of course not;; it is only necessity, and the
fear they for for you and your power, that has bound them in this way…
You are alone, with all Christendom against you, not just in Italy but
beyond the Alps also. Know then that your enemies do not sleep. Depart
now, or leave a corpse on the fields before you. Take this good counsel,
for, by God, you will need it.”
Mehmed
looked up from the herald’s message. “These Italians do not lack for
confidence, certainly.” He was still surprised that they had all joined
against him. Normally, from what he had learned, they would quarrel
amongst one another. He had been told by one of his slaves that his power
was so great that it was a threat to all of them, but he doubted it. Did
they expect him to march into the land of the Franks? He would be content
with Naples, and with sealing the Adriatic. His sons were another matter,
of course.
He looked ahead of him, at the banners of the Italian cities. The Lion of
St. Mark, the Serpent of Milan, and even the Florentines had showed up. He
was most disturbed by the fact that his scouts, who had penetrated as far
as Ravenna, reported the banner of Venice flying from Rimini, Ravenna, and
that of Florence from Ancona. These cities were once lands of the Pope,
and the idea that the Italians were so confident of victory as to claim
them for themselves was… presumptuous.
The
battle began some time in the morning as dawn rose, and the armies fought
long and hard. Mehmet was trapped in a position so that he had a ravine at
his back; there was no way to retreat as an intact force through the
woods. His army, aware of it, fought harder than it had since 1453.
But the
Italians were ready too. Mehmet was quite unaware of how seriously the
Christians took the concept of the crusade, and should have remembered
that they once threatened Mecca. If his left wing broke, then the right
wing might be able to treat. If the right wing broke, however, then they
would be trapped.
There
were several thousand pikes, feudal cavalry from as far afield as Swabia
[3], The Sultan’s light cavalry met fire from the Italian bombards;
charges that he led personally, hoping to break their infantry on the
flanks, were repulsed by clumps of pikes and halberds. Under the onslaught
of heavy cavalry, the ibash-bazouks
failed, and even the Janissaries faced great difficulty.
The
battle raged for hours; Charge and countercharge, a flanking maneuver that
almost broke the Italians. The superior Italian artillery began tearing
holes in the Ottoman line.
Bayezid
prepared a counter charge. The battle would be decided in the next half
hour. If he could break their right flank, his army could withdraw. “To
me, Timars [4]!.” The very earth trembled beneath the feet of Mehmed’s
conquering army, and they closed upon the Italians.
A
bombard shot landed next to him, throwing him off his horse. How odd,
he thought. There’s a crescent in the sky.
The moon was a crescent, but it was not nightfall yet. Darkness
fell upon the sultan, as it had on so many others on the fields of Ancona.
The
Ottoman army, seeing the Crescent Banner of the Sultan fall, broke and
ran. Italian condotierre and Swiss pursued them, like “foxes after the
rabbits”. The disordered mass before them
fled, and the field ran with blood. The Ten Thousand Martyrs had
been avenged.
October, 1481
Across
Christendom, the Churchbells rang in celebration of Bologna. In Florence,
Giovanni had to struggle to pass by the crowds for Carnival, which had
broken out amidst the prayers of Thanksgiving. Fireworks, masquerades,
licentious acts which would normally elicit horror were, he supposed, the
natural reactions of an ecstatic people. But tonight he would not be
joining the festivities.
He
walked, circumspectly, into the Medici palace via the door for servants.
He was informed by a man who appeared to be a servant that Lorenzo had
been waiting for him. Passing past the guards, Giovanni
bowed. “Please, sir, do not bow. I am but one of many of the
citizens of Florence.”
Giovanni
kept a straight face. “Indeed, and the Sultan is another Turk.”
“You
mean was, presumably.” With no servants present, for purposes of
secrecy, Lorenzo poured the
wine himself. Gionna noticed the third cup, but stayed silent.
Soon
enough, another man soon entered the room. “Ah, the ambassador of
Ludovico Sforza, the Duke of Milan. I hope are you enjoying the humble
hospitality of the Republic of Florence.” Giovanni smiled inwardly. So
this was the Duke. He always had a penchant for intrigue.
The man
nodded. “The Duke is always pleased to meet with the fellow Champions of
Christ. I am,” he paused, and then continued, “given to understand we
are here to negotiate the Most Holy League.”
Giovanni decided now was the time for the truth, as radical as the notion
was for a diplomat. “The Turk will be back. The Pope will not be pleased
at the events in Italy since his departure. Already there are reports from
Avignon that he has considered excommunication for us.” He looked at the
Duke of Milan, and nodded. “Oh yes, he is most distressed about the
“enslavement of Genoa.”
Lorenzo
looked at the wine glass. “What
do you propose?”
”We are the most powerful cities in Italy. And,” he added, grinning.
“Does not God delight in the Trinity?”
The men
looked out the window at the fireworks, and drank.
1482
White
founts falling in the Courts of sun,
And the Sultan of Byzantium lays dead as they run;
There is laughter like the fountains at the face
all men feared,
Gone is the forest darkness,, the darkness of his beard;
No more is the blood-red crescent, oozing down his lips;
For the inmost sea of all the earth is cleared of all his ships.
They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,
They have lost the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,
And the Pope has fled abroad in agony and loss,
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross.
Vivat
Italia!
Domino Gloria!
The Most Holy Trinity
Has set its people free!
“At
Negroponte, the Sultan cut off our beard. At Ancona, we cut off his arm.
The beard will grow back.”-Venetian ambassador in Paris.
Amaysa
Bayezid
listened to the case before him. Peasants were accused of failing to pay
their tribute to their timar. He sighed, and reached the verdict. “They
are innocent. It is unreasonable to expect them to pay their full share,
with the husband in Italy, fighting with the Padishah.”
”For disturbing the court, and harassing the family and sons of a Ghazi,
they are to be exempted from their tribute in crops to you for one
year.” The timar looked as if he was to burst out of his seat, but he
constrained himself.
It
was not wise, after all, to argue with the Sultan’s heir.
Bayezid noticed the messenger and realized it was important. “We
hear the petitions at another time.”
He
listened to the message, frowned, and began giving orders. They had best
act quickly.
Karaman
Jem
listened to the poet. It was not a bad piece, although he suspected that
the music was derived from another work. Still, he needed to take his mind
off the events to the West. The reports from Italy were not going well.
One of his slaves came running up. “My Padishah, Mehmed Pasha has sent a
servant with news.” Jem’s eyes rose as he noticed the title the slave
had given him.
Constantinople
Mehmed
Pasha got on his mule quickly. The nishanji had given him a warning that
he could not ignore; the Janissaries in the city were contriving against
him and Jem. “A pity,” he murmured, “that Mehmet could not bring
more of them to Italy.” He fled the city on December 27, bringing with
him a substantial amount of the treasury.
Paris,
1482
The
cries of Te Deum echoed through Notre Dame. Louis sighed, and listened to
the priests droll on. He was already thinking of what must be done in
Italy.
The King left as soon as was decently possible, and met with his advisor,
“Tell me, Duc de Bourbon, what you think of the news from
Italy?”
The
Duc looked at the cathedral. “Certainly, it is a dark time. I believe
that the infidel should soon feel the knights of France, as we drive them
from the Kingdom of Naples.”
Louis smiled. He had chosen well for his daughter. “And of course, young
Charles does have a legal claim to Naples, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem
[5].”
“We
would need a regent there, of course,” said Pierre. “It would give
Francis something to do, aside from pester us. At the worst case, he will
be gone for years, if not until he dies.
And,
should he fall,” said the king, “at least he will ascend to heaven.”
Constantinople,
January 1482
Bayezid
walked into the Seraglio, content. The Janissaries had gained control of
the city, and the head of the nishanji [6] was carried through the streets
on a lance. He had much work to do, if he was to win over his subjects
[7]. He had already promised to end the devaluation of currency, and to
restore lands to their owners and to religious scholars.
His
mood darkened when he saw the news from Karaman.
Bursa,
March, 1482
The
Padishah of the Ottoman Empire wrinkled his nose. “By Allah and the
prophet,” he thought. The tribes of Karaman were useful warriors, but
their hygiene left much to be desired, especially for one brought up in
Constantinople.
“Then
your tribe shall join my revolt, and honor my father’s memory?”
”Aye,” said Mustafa. “Your father was a true Ghazi. How can we not
honor his memory, and help his true son join the revolt?” Mustafa,
perhaps slightly drunk from the wine, grinned a toothless smile.
“We’ll reach Rome again, with you as Sultan.”
Jem’s thoughts were
elsewhere. He had begun minting currency, and he had the prayer recited in
his name. His brother had refused the offer to partition the Empire,
however, and his army was already on the march. He needed another source
of funds.
Which
was, of course, the whole reason the Venetian Gonella was here. The man
entered, and looked every bit a Venetian; swaggering, supremely
self-confident, yet betraying nothing. Gonella made the bows of
supplication, and sat before the Sultan.
“So,
we are given to understand that you are opposed by a rebel to your
rightful rule,” said Gonella.
“We?
The Senate of Venice, or the League?”
Gonella
took a careful sip from the glass in front of him. It didn’t appear to
be drugged, and the Turk would be offended if he didn’t drink. “Both,
of course. Were I you, I would study the history of Italy, and learn what
happens when one power becomes too powerful.” Gonella put the glass
down. “But I am not here to discuss that. I am here, rather, to treat
with the Sultan in regards to the term of the peace treaty that he will
offer us.”
Jem
glared at the Venetian. “If you think we shall bow before you, because
you won a mere battle, you are gravely mistaken.”
Gonella
stood up. “If that is all then, we must see if your brother will be more
accommodating.” It was a risky game he was playing; a Florentine
ambassador was in Constantinople as well, talking with Bayezid. He stood,
bowed, and made to depart.
“Wait.”
Jem held up his hand. “Perhaps we could make the treaty less harsh for
you.”
Gonella paused. “Perhaps we should consider the cession of Brindisi,
Tranit, and Otranto to the League.”
”Done.” Those were a lost cause anyway.
”Furthermore, you will end all tariffs on Florentine cloth within the
Empire, and all products from Milan. Venice is to receive Ithaca,
Negroponte, and Lemnos. The payment of ten thousand ducats for the
privilege of a Bailo is to be suspended.”
“And
this is for your help?”
”No my friend, this is for our neutrality.”
Naples,
June 1482
Naples
had fallen. The Turkish garrison had been driven out, and Louis now
claimed his prize. The crown had been lost in the sack, of course, but
Louis had commissioned a new crown, made in Milan. He’d considered it
having made of iron [8], but it seemed a bit foolish.
The
players in Italy had all sent representatives to congratulate him on the
success of the Crusade, and on his capture of the crown. One of them
approached him now; a Florentine, although he could not remember the name.
“Truly, the armies of Christ are ever victorious. Perhaps,” said the
Florentine, “Your son shall bear your title in truth as well as name.”
Louis
thought for a moment. “A bold move. And I hear that the Castillians are
on the march against the infidel there as well. Certainly, Prester John
himself should be at war soon.”
“Truly,
though, it is most grievous that Pope Sixtus is ailing.”
Louis nodded. “The prayers for Christ’s triumph have strained him
greatly. It is doubtful if he will live long.”
“Of
course, one wonders if the Papacy will return to Rome. Surely, with it on
the front lines in the war against the infidel, he would be far safer
elsewhere.”
”Avignon will always have the protection of the French crown, of that
you may be assured.”
Avignon
June 1482
Sixtus
sat with the sacred college. “What are we to do in Italy?”
Rodrigo, the Dean of the Sacred College, gave the predictable reply [9[.
“They have refused our demands to withdraw, citing that the cities have
the right to give themselves to whomever they choose. We must show them
that the Patrimony of St. Peter is not to be a pawn in their intrigues.”
”Interdict them.”
The
Cardinals were silent. Finally, Sixtus nodded. “They have given us no
other choice. If they refuse to obey the will of Christ’s vicar, then
their souls must suffer the fate.
Avignon,
June 1483
The
College assembled in a much blacker mood. A year had passed since the
interdict, and, quite simply, no one could believe the response of the
League members.
“They
still await a response to their letter nailed to S. Celso in. They demand
a council. And in the meantime, all church functions are being carried out
as usual. Our allies in Siena and Ferrara have both fallen. Ludvocio has
usurped power in the Duchy, and has taken Modena, on the pretext of
preserving peace in Italy. Louis refuses to go to war with them, arguing
that God surely favors them and their actions.”
The
men looked around the table and sighed. The Pope spoke for the first time
in the meeting. “The Papacy shall remain in Avignon, then. Renounce the
interdicts.” The Caridnals agreed, and towed the Papal line. It was best
not to argue with Pope Balue I [10].
[1] The
Sultan still suffers from a tumor in his leg in this timeline.
[2]
Irregulars, basically .
[3]
Southwest Germany.
[4]
Heavy cavalry.
[5]
Basically, in 1481, Charles of Anjou kicked the bucket. The French crown
inherited Maine, Provence, and the title to Naples. The other claimant to
the throne of Naples, with Ferrante dead in Apulia, would be Alfonso II,
who did manage to escape.
[6]
Basically Lord Chancellor
[7] OTL
the janissaries were able to prop him up, but here this not the case. The
flower of the janissaries (think praetorian guard/elite fighters) are dead
in Italy. This is why Mehmed Pasha is able to escape, for instance.
[8] A
reference to the Iron crown of Lombardy, which the King of Italy reputedly
wore
[9]
This would be Alexander VI, of the Borgias.
[10].
Highly controversial, I agree. Balue was imprisoned by Louis XI for
joining Charles the Bold against him. However, Charles VIII requested that
he come to France, and he was there as a Papal Legate. With his eye on the
main chance, I think this is quite probable.
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