Remaining in Edirne would have been lonely with the pashas, pashazadas, Janissaries, and various friends he had made all gone for the siege of Skanderberg’s Albanian holdings. He would have had far too much time to think when denied his daily scheming, spying, and socializing. He would have thought of nothing but Mehmed.
This was not a preferable scenario. He found himself scanning the endless sea of faces constantly—wondering, yearning, hoping for simply a glimpse of his friend.
But Murad’s and Mehmed’s forces were on different ends of the procession, separating Radu and Mehmed by a full day’s march. The sheer logistics of moving this many men and this much equipment was staggering. Supply wagons and trains of animals trailed the soldiers, as did several hundred women who traveled with the men and offered various…services.
Murad had looked pleased when Radu blanched at an offer to take advantage of the women. “You are truly a devout son of God.”
Radu had not known whether to laugh or cry over this praise.
Three days from their target city, Kruje, Radu had ridden ahead with Lazar and the scouts under his command. The rolling, soft green landscape had begun to show signs of civilization. Radu pulled his horse to a stop, patting her long, black neck while he waited for Lazar to catch up.
“What happened here? Is this where they fought before?” Radu looked out across vast, undulating farmland charred beyond use.
Lazar shook his head. “God’s wounds. Skanderberg’s welcoming gift. We will find no supplies from here to the city.”
“He burned his own land?” Radu could scarcely take in the enormity of the destroyed crops. It was prime growing season, meaning Skanderberg would have had to destroy an entire season’s worth of crops, leaving his people with nothing come harvesttime.
“Probably poisoned the wells and ponds for good measure.”
“But what about his people? What will they do when the siege is over?”
Lazar shrugged. “Not our concern.” He rode back toward the main body of the soldiers to report on their findings. Radu guided his horse forward at a slow walk, taking in the ravaged countryside. It would certainly make their work more difficult. They had accounted for taking livestock and supplies to supplement their stores. This would make things tighter and more difficult, splintering their men to guard the now-crucial supply trains. It also raised the cost of the siege to even more astronomical heights.
But it was the image of a stone foundation, charred wood walls drawing the crude blackened outlines of what had once been a home, that stayed with Radu for the remainder of his travels. Their forces would not have burned civilians’ homes down. And, after they took the city, they would have allowed everyone in Skanderberg’s domain to continue to live as they had before, to worship as they had before, giving them security and prosperity.
Radu wondered how much Skanderberg was willing to sacrifice and destroy in the name of protecting his people.
By the time they reached the walls of Kruje, Radu was already saddle-and soul-weary. Setting up and organizing camp took nearly a week. They were within sight of the city but out of cannon’s reach. Radu’s men pitched tent on the outer circle of Murad’s vast pavilion, which was tucked into the center of the camp, buffered by tens of thousands of people around it. The Ottomans now had a larger population than any city within several days’ march, including Kruje.
Radu commanded a frontier force. Their role was to harass and harry lines, not set up for siege. He helped direct where he could, stayed out of the way where he could not, and watched with a mixture of pride and dread as their superior force settled in to besiege the traitor Skanderberg.
And, five times a day, Radu set out his mat and prayed, sending extra hope toward God that the siege would be over quickly.
Radu walked the perimeters of the camp. It had been three weeks since they arrived, with little to show for it. They had sent scouting parties to find the city’s water source and cut it off, to no avail. They had tried to bribe the commander of the city and been rebuffed. The walls loomed, constant and mocking.
“It is a siege,” Lazar would say, shrugging his shoulders. “The game is waiting.”
Radu did not care for the game. His men had been used lightly so far, only escorting one supply train and doing guard duty two nights every seven. He had been frightened to be part of a siege, but now he was bored. All the waiting was liable to make a man mad.
He sighed, walking far enough from the camp that the fires did not impede his ability to see in the dark. He could have stayed in his tent, but if his men were out here, he would be, too. It was only fair.
Nearby, Yazid, a young Janissary, whispered as he walked. “What hangs at a man’s thigh and wants to poke the hole that it has often poked before?”
Someone groaned in annoyance. Lazar hissed for Yazid to shut up. Radu blushed, grateful for being unseen. He already had a reputation for being too delicate about these matters, and wondered what the men said behind his back.