EMPIRE REWRITTEN

CHAPTER 44: Murad's march

Early spring dawned cold and clear outside the walls of Edirne, where the Ottoman army gathered in sprawling barracks and training fields. In the crisp morning light, a deceptive calm clung to the land—only the distant clang of metal and the low rumble of voices hinted at the storm of war that brewed. Despite the chill, excitement pulsed through the encampment. Thousands of Sipahis from Anatolia had arrived over the past several days, their columns winding through city gates and fanning out across the plain. Clad in layered mail and distinctive turbans, they led sleek warhorses shimmering in bronze-plated harnesses. Dozens of large tents and rough wooden structures stretched into the distance. The scents of horse sweat, leather, and hot stew mingled in the brisk air. Grooms darted between rows of steeds, offering water and handfuls of oats to calm the animals after the trek. Blacksmiths toiled by roaring forges, hammering dents from breastplates and sharpening swords. Soldiers, some stripped to the waist in the early morning chill, practiced sword drills under the watchful eyes of their officers.

Beyond the Sipahis, rows of infantry—Janissaries in disciplined formation—rehearsed maneuvers, their ranks punctuated by the flash of steel helmets and the embroidered patches on their robes. Azabs, serving as lighter infantry, set up makeshift archery ranges near the edges of camp. Anywhere one looked, men readied themselves for the rigors of the coming campaign: sharpening daggers, fletching arrows, mending leather straps.

High on the city walls, Sultan Murad II took in the spectacle with a calculating gaze. From this distance, the barracks spread out like a miniature city—tents, corrals, and cooking fires dotted the open plain. The rattle of harnesses and the clank of pikes drifted up on the breeze. Everywhere, officers barked orders that carried on the wind. Though the day was bright and clear, a sense of urgency filled the air, each soldier eager for the new campaign. In their eyes, one saw not fear but a steadfast willingness to follow their Sultan into whatever trials awaited.

Council in Edirne

Inside the grand chamber of the Edirne Palace, the air was fragrant with sandalwood and incense. Murad, though of unremarkable stature, commanded the room with a presence that demanded respect. Around him, his closest advisors gathered. Rich carpets absorbed their footsteps; the soft rustle of fabric and low voices gave way to solemn deliberation.

Halil Pasha, the Grand Vizier, spoke first. His voice was measured, his words carefully chosen.
"My Sultan," he began, inclining his head, "we have assembled a force worthy of your ambitions. Thousands of seasoned soldiers, the cavalry from Anatolia, and our cannons and bombards stand ready. We are prepared to take the Morea and tear down the Hexamilion Wall."

A murmur of assent rippled among the council. Near Halil Pasha stood Turahan Bey, the seasoned general who bore the shame of his recent defeat at Constantine's hands. His jaw tightened at the mention of Morea. He was eager for redemption.

"Give me command of the vanguard, my Sultan, and I will redeem myself in battle and crush that printing press of his before he can spread another word of Byzantine defiance."

Ali Beg, a lean commander renowned for his brutal efficiency, crossed his arms.
"We must crush them before his influence seeps beyond the Morea," he said. "Strike quickly and with overwhelming force."

A provincial governor in emerald-green robes shifted uncomfortably.
"I worry about the intrigues from afar," he said. "Rumors abound that the Venetian Pope is stirring trouble for us. If word of any weakness on our part reaches Europe, we may face coalitions that threaten our holdings."

Mehmet, a young advisor noted for his intelligence-gathering, spoke next, recounting how the Morea had improved its fortifications since Turahan Bey's defeat.
"Constantine invests heavily in siege defenses. If we are delayed, he will be even better prepared."