Upon hearing the news that Sirte had been secured, Isaac immediately led his fleet to Dobruja.
At present, the governor of Dobruja had no usable forces; all his elite troops had been conscripted by Murad II to battle Skanderbeg. This was the perfect opportunity for the migration.
Moreover, having helped the governor solve such a major problem, the man should be more than grateful.
Isaac was in the midst of assigning tasks to Isoult and Andersen.
"Isoult, you'll temporarily reside in Theodoro and oversee the route from Dobruja to Constantinople. I've already informed His Majesty that the capital will provide grain supplies."
"Also, keep an eye out—if you find cheap Gothic or Slavic slaves in Theodoro's slave markets, feel free to purchase them in bulk and load them onto the ships."
Theodoro was the main hub of the Black Sea white slave trade, so prices shouldn't be too high.
"Andersen, you'll be in charge of the route from Constantinople to Sirte. You can resupply in Athens and Morea on the way."
"Albert has done a preliminary survey. Sirte can support about 8,000 people. The entire region houses around 70,000 nomads. We'll gradually drive them out and settle our own people."
"Your immediate task is to fully occupy the most fertile lands surrounding Sirte Port."
Both nodded affirmatively.
"Your Highness!"
On the beach, Guhuz's eldest son, Lazi, knelt before Isaac.
Behind him stood the first batch of migrants—one thousand people.
They too followed Lazi's lead and knelt.
"Stand up. The Lord does not forsake His lambs."
Isaac swept his gaze across them. All he saw was poverty and hunger.
The men wore tattered leather coats, and the women simple linen garments of their own weaving.
The children had matured early, already helping to manage sheep and horses.
With a wave of his hand, sailors carried food and firewood from the ships and lit fires right there on the beach.
"People of Rome, I won't let you continue suffering under infidel oppression. I will lead you to lands bathed in sunlight."
"Now, eat!"
Cheers erupted. They didn't fully grasp what "Rome" meant, but the aroma of food was undeniably real.
Sailors from the Saint Nicholas and the transport fleet sat in circles around the fire with the Dobrujan Seljuks, enjoying the hearty meal.
Isaac, Gazi, and others gathered in one circle, occasionally entertained by young women dancing for the noble guests.
After the feast, the tribesmen began loading their belongings onto the transport ships.
"Your Highness, what about our livestock?" Gazi approached Isaac.
Isaac looked over—there were few cattle, mostly native white goats, poor in both milk and meat.
"Sell or trade the goats locally, or we'll sell them in Theodoro. The horses must be loaded and taken."
Isaac clapped Gazi on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. Once you're there, the infidels' cattle, horses, and camels will all be yours."
Ultimately, Isaac bought the goats at slightly above market price and sold them locally.
With a sailor's horn, the fleet set sail.
The transport fleet headed to open waters and rendezvoused with an escort squadron patrolling offshore.
This time, Isaac had brought 15 transport ships and four warships as escorts.
A few weeks later, they would arrive at their new home.
…
"Charge!"
Mehmet roared. The Purple Guard soldiers slung their bows and drew sabers, galloping in pursuit.
The enemy had poor equipment—no armor, a few on horses, some on camels, mostly ragtag infantry.
These were hastily gathered tribal levies with no real command or tactics. Initially, their arrows gave the Purple Guard trouble, but once their supply ran dry, the tide turned.
These desperate Turkic warriors far outmatched the Berber nomads in combat prowess and physique.
This was the third time local nomadic tribes had attacked Sirte Port.
After Albert had crushed Sirte's resistance with a lightning strike, the Black Legion was urgently transferred from Morea to reinforce the defense.
With Sirte lacking city walls, Mehmet ordered makeshift fortifications from torn-down houses.
Albert even dismantled a few ship cannons and mounted them to enhance defense firepower.
The camels and desert horses, terrified by the unfamiliar cannon blasts, reared up wildly, throwing riders from their backs.
At that moment, the Black Legion's arquebusiers and the Purple Guard's archers began firing volleys. Lacking shields and more arrows, the enemy quickly faltered.
Soon, the Purple Guard cavalry countercharged and cut them down one by one.
These small-scale raids posed no real threat.
By the time the tribes realized this was a war, not a trade dispute, and attempted to alert Fezzan or Tunis, the Romans would be more than ready.
After the battle, the Purple Guard returned, chatting and laughing, dragging livestock and dejected prisoners behind them.
"Captain Mehmet! His Highness has arrived—he's in the governor's mansion. You'd better hurry!"
Mehmet acknowledged the message and rode hard toward the mansion.
The Islamic-style decor was still evident in the residence. Mehmet pushed open the audience hall doors and headed for the end of the table.
"Come! Sit by me!"
Isaac warmly beckoned, pulling Mehmet to his left side.
"You all did well, especially Albert and the Purple Guard."
"I'm proud of you."
Applause filled the room.
Then Isaac announced the decisions he'd made on the voyage.
First, Chief Engineer Lancelot was ordered to construct walls around Sirte Port, with a budget of 5,000 ducats. They could use stone from dismantled Muslim homes.
Second, all 4,000 Muslims in the city were to be forced to convert to Orthodox Christianity. Converts would be tax-exempt for a year; those who refused would be enslaved to make room for incoming Christians.
Third, the surrounding nomadic tribes would first be ordered to submit and contribute warriors. If they refused, the army would deal with them later.
Fourth, strategic water sources and major oases would be secured swiftly once reinforcements arrived.
Fifth, the first group of Dobrujan settlers would be allocated pastures and given initial tools and livestock.
"Those are my ideas. Any other suggestions?"
Isaac looked around encouragingly.
"Your Highness, can my tribe go back now?"
Abusheh, having recently reclaimed leadership of his tribe, had been delighted—until he realized these Christians weren't leaving.
Compared to Isaac's powerful army and fleet, his 2,000-man tribe was nothing.
If they meant to kill him, so be it.
"Abu, would you return to the Lord and embrace Orthodoxy?"
"Your Highness, I…"
Abu hesitated.
At his side, Maruna had already half-drawn his blade.
"I would be honored!"
Isaac nodded with satisfaction.
"You'll be the first to be baptized in front of the whole city. And you must convince your tribe to be the first to convert collectively."
"Yes, Your Highness…"
Abu said through gritted teeth.
If he did this, there would be no return to the Islamic world. The tribes forced to convert would be watching closely, and only Isaac could now guarantee his position.
"From the 500 captured nomads today, 200 will be added to your tribe."
"Thank you, Your Highness!"
Abu finally smiled.
"Fidel, work with Lancelot to expand the port. It will serve as our Mediterranean fleet's supply base."
"You'll sail from here, raiding the coast. Also coordinate with Albert's spy network to infiltrate Tunis and the Mamluks."
"I don't expect major secrets, but keep me informed of any major developments."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Fidel's excitement was palpable.
"Norwich."
Isaac turned to rouse the daydreaming Bulgarian captain.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
"Your trade fleet will be busy. Sirte can't yet feed itself, so deliver as much grain as possible. The city will pay in slaves."
Norwich nodded.
"Mehmet, Maruna—stay on the defensive for now. Once reinforcements arrive, begin clearing the surroundings."
Both saluted.
"Albert, step forward!"
Albert, half-dozing, snapped to attention and rushed over.
Isaac took a badge from his attendant.
"You've earned this. I hereby make you a lord."
He personally pinned the badge to Albert's chest.
"Your Highness…"
Then Isaac handed him a fine bottle of Bordeaux wine.
"Lay off the hard liquor from now on."
Everyone laughed.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Albert's face turned red.
That night, Isaac stood at the governor's mansion window, gazing out at his first piece of land.
The city was under military rule; key wells were guarded by soldiers.
Lights still shone at the port where dockworkers repaired damaged ships.
Commander Fidel couldn't wait to go raiding.
It wasn't yet curfew, but the streets were mostly empty. Nervous Muslims avoided the Orthodox guards, uncertain of what lay ahead.
In Isaac's plan, this would be a pirate port and military base. Fidel would raid infidel shipping, while Sirte slowly swallowed surrounding territory.
The city would be purely Orthodox. The best grazing lands would go to the Dobrujan Seljuks, lesser ones to converted Berbers and Bedouins. The remaining Muslim tribes would be driven deep into the desert.
They'd also build fortresses near major oases to serve as trading hubs and defensive outposts.
Berbers were known for cowardice, and Bedouins lived too far into the desert to be a threat.
Historically, when Spain and the Knights Hospitaller occupied Tripoli, there was little resistance—until the Ottomans backed the Barbary pirates.
Currently, the North African states lagged in shipbuilding. The Ottoman-backed Barbary pirates hadn't yet risen. Isaac planned to use this window to rake in Mediterranean trade wealth.
If Barbarossa Hayreddin could dominate the sea for decades as a Turk-Greek pirate captain, there was no reason Isaac couldn't do the same.
Of course, enemies wouldn't sit idly by—Fezzan, Tunis, even Venice and Genoa might eventually act.
Wooo—
The curfew horn sounded.
As the guards detained wandering Muslims, a faint smile crept onto Isaac's lips.
Very well, then. Let them come.