August 2, 1446 AD, North Africa, Port of Sirte.
A month had passed, and the place had become even more desolate than before the Byzantine occupation.
This had always been a hub for tribal trade. When the nomadic tribes stopped coming, the floating population naturally disappeared, and the town fell into silence.
The re-baptism campaign in Sirte was off to an unsuccessful start.
The four thousand residents of Sirte and its surrounding areas mainly relied on dryland farming and pastoralism, with farmland concentrated in the semi-arid zone within ten kilometers of the coast.
Isaac initially invited the sheikhs of subordinate villages and nearby tribes to a gathering, but only a few responded.
Most nomadic tribes had a natural distrust of the Eastern Roman Empire, which had just taken control of the port.
Though the initial invading tribes were easily defeated, they were not convinced. These stubborn groups still hoped that stronger tribes would lead a counteroffensive to expel the infidels.
Only a handful of minor tribes responded to Isaac's call. They came to Sirte to feast and drink, but dodged the matter of religious conversion.
Within the port, Isaac decided to strike hard.
"Andersen, summon the tribal chiefs and wealthy merchants in the city."
"Have Mehmet prepare."
These Berbers had always been fickle, swaying with the wind. The stronger your stance, the more submissive they became.
Soon, the tribal chiefs, dressed in burlap and headscarves, barged in noisily and offered rough salutes to Isaac, who sat at the head of the hall.
Their weapons had been confiscated at the door by the guards, much to their displeasure.
They shouted in coarse dialects. Isaac, who knew only a little Arabic, could barely understand them.
Sitting to the side, Mehmet and Maruna glared at them. Albert sipped his wine, eyes steady, while Abu Shahir stood by Isaac with a sympathetic gaze, watching the chiefs who mistakenly believed they'd found an easy target.
Isaac pretended not to notice the chiefs' insolence.
"Your Highness, the city's largest merchant has arrived," Andersen said, returning from his errand.
Moments later, a young man entered the governor's residence, kneeling in respectful greeting.
"Honorable Highness, ruler of Sirte, your loyal servant, Urda, greets you."
He spoke fluent Greek.
"I represent all the city's merchants in pledging loyalty to you and have brought gifts befitting your status."
The young merchant named Urda presented Isaac with a finely crafted scepter.
"In addition, we have brought provisions for your army."
Isaac followed his pointing finger. Three fully loaded carts were parked outside the governor's residence, stacked with wheat and dates.
Isaac studied the meticulous merchant.
Unlike the local Muslims, he did not wear plain garments or a white headscarf. Instead, he was clad in luxurious silks, impeccably dressed.
Of medium build, he wore a constant smile. His skin was sun-kissed, and his beard was meticulously groomed and glossy.
He looked less like an Arab itinerant trader and more like a stylish Italian merchant.
As soon as Urda entered, the tribal chiefs glared at him.
"You're not a local, are you?"
"Your Highness, I'm of mixed heritage. My father was a Greek Orthodox Christian from Naples. My mother was the daughter of a local chieftain."
"I was born and raised here."
Isaac gestured toward the disgruntled tribal chiefs.
"Why do they all dislike you?"
Urda smirked with disdain.
"They're unhappy with our grain prices but can do nothing about it."
Isaac played with the scepter Urda had brought.
Made of ebony, it was polished to perfection, with a metal base and a large gold inlay at the top.
Greek inscriptions spiraled around it: Urda Lardu, Bonoman Ali...
"These are the names of all the major merchants in the city and its affiliated villages, symbolizing our submission to you," Urda explained.
"You had this engraved so quickly?"
Urda smiled but did not answer.
Damn, he probably had a stockpile of such things ready.
"A valuable gift. I'll accept it. Now, what is it you want from me?"
Urda spoke.
"I heard you wish to spread Christ's gospel on this land?"
Isaac nodded.
"I can personally follow my father's path and convert to Orthodoxy, but some merchants and citizens are reluctant. Might they be allowed to..."
Isaac cut him off immediately.
"That's out of the question."
"If you wish to return to the Lord's embrace, then you must help lead others out of the abyss."
"I will not allow infidels to live on the Lord's land."
Muslim countries might allow dhimmi classes, but Isaac would never permit Muslims to live under his nose.
"Then what do you plan to do?"
Isaac thought.
In general, the merchant class did not care much about religion; their faith lay in profit and gold.
They were merely concerned that the Islamized world would isolate Sirte once it was converted to Christianity.
Traders and tribes that once came to Sirte might avoid it, reducing its economic value.
This outcome was inevitable.
Ceuta, once a major North African trade center, had been abandoned by Muslim traders after it was occupied by the Portuguese, who then rerouted trade to Tangier.
Portugal's long preparations failed to yield expected results.
How did the Portuguese solve this?
"Urda, think long-term. My enterprise doesn't end here. Brega, Misrata, even distant Tripoli—all shall one day be filled with crosses. Then, you may take over the trade shares left behind by local merchants. Isn't that ideal?"
Yes, keep expanding.
I take Ceuta, you go to Tangier?
What if I take the entire route?
But clearly, Urda wasn't sold on the plan.
Understandable. Isaac hadn't yet secured his foothold. No one would believe such grand talk.
Still, Urda knew Isaac's determination wasn't to be questioned.
"Since you insist, I'll go make preparations."
Isaac called after him.
"I plan to form a commercial guild in the port, to draft trading rules and set prices for basic goods. If you can persuade most people to convert, the guild leadership is yours."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Urda finally showed a smile.
Being the first local force to side with Isaac, polite and tactful, he had to be rewarded.
It seemed like Isaac was handing over pricing power, but in reality, he retained control.
What counts as a basic good? He would decide.
After Urda left, Isaac turned to the nervous, squirming tribal chiefs.
"Abu! Tell them, three days from now, they are to be baptized in full public view."
Abu shouted the translation.
The chiefs erupted in protest.
Isaac gave Mehmet a glance.
The Purple Guard soldiers hidden behind curtains burst out and knocked the chiefs to the ground in a few swift moves.
"Tell them to send their heirs to Morea, or forfeit their lives."
"If they cause trouble in three days, there will be no mercy."
The soldiers grinned as they dragged the wailing chiefs away.
August 5, 1446 AD, Sirte.
The former mosque had been converted into an Orthodox church. Ersht, a priest from Dobruja, volunteered to serve as bishop here.
As bells tolled, Abu Shahir and Urda, representatives of the tribes and merchants, were baptized by the clergy.
Over four thousand people in the city watched.
Guards stood alert, ready to apprehend any troublemakers.
Prior to the ceremony, the two had already received anointing from the bishop.
The priest then sprinkled holy water over Abu and Urda. They closed their eyes as if hearing divine hymns.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the servant of God receives baptism," Bishop Ersht murmured.
Other clergy began sprinkling holy water on the crowd, whether they resisted or not.
Then, Bishop Ersht led the entire city in prayer, asking for God's protection.
Suddenly, a disturbance broke out in the crowd.
Several ulama disguised as commoners pulled hidden daggers and lunged at the Orthodox priests.
Moments later, the chaos was subdued. Purple Guard soldiers severed the attackers' hamstrings and dragged them before Isaac.
"Take them away," Isaac said without even glancing.
Everyone resumed praying.
"Amen!"
The ceremony ended.
From that moment on, the city's population was nominally made up of followers of God.
Some were intrigued. Some were fearful. Some ground their teeth in anger.
Over the following days, military and intelligence forces jointly dismantled several radical religious groups plotting rebellion.
Isaac decreed that newly baptized slaves would be freed, and newly baptized freemen would be exempt from taxes for one year—excluding commercial taxes.
Albert mobilized the public to monitor one another. Reporting hidden groups earned three years of tax exemption and a 50 groschen reward.
Within a week, over five hundred Muslims who refused to convert were sold into slavery.
Meanwhile, the first group of Orthodox slaves from Theodoro arrived in Sirte.
Three hundred in total—both men and women. One hundred Goths, two hundred Slavs.
They were settled in agricultural plots near water sources outside the city.
The freshly liberated slaves were enthusiastic, immediately beginning to till the land.
Isaac shook his head at their clumsy techniques.
They clearly weren't used to water-conserving agriculture in semi-arid regions. Productivity was low.
Never mind. As long as they could feed themselves, that would do.
They would adapt in time.
Agricultural reform could wait until survival was ensured.
Later, Isaac planned to relocate some Greeks and South Slavs to the port to engage in services and fishing, gradually transforming the culture of Sirte.
A few days later, Isaac's reinforcements finally arrived.
Knight Conti brought 200 cavalry to Sirte.
Currently, Isaac had 400 men from the Purple Guard, 200 from the Black Regiment, and 200 cavalry from the Oak Battalion.
Barely enough to launch a sweep against the surrounding disobedient tribes.
He didn't bring more troops simply because supplies were insufficient.
For this campaign, the Montferrat trading fleet had suspended its other routes, transporting grain from Genoa to Sirte and returning with full loads of slaves.
The profits were modest, and some northern Italian merchants were already expressing dissatisfaction.
Sirte was still far from being self-sufficient in food.
For a long time, its income would rely on Captain Fidel's raiding expeditions.
"Conti, inform the army commanders, Lord Albert, and Minister Lancelot. Tell them to convene."
"Also, gather the cooperative tribal chiefs and Dobrujan leaders. Let them know that part of the newly captured land will become their new pastures."
Andersen and Isoult were preparing the migration. Conti temporarily served as the messenger.
Soon, all the key figures were seated in the meeting hall, awaiting Isaac's orders.
After being disciplined, the tribal chiefs were much more subdued.
Now, their reputation in the Islamic world was on par with Judas in the Christian world.
They had abandoned their former arrogance and now flattered Isaac in freshly learned Greek phrases.
Isaac ignored them, fully focused on the map.
He circled several points with a pen.
"Our main task this time is to occupy key water sources and oases outside the city and eliminate tribes that refuse submission."
"Captured prisoners and livestock will be distributed based on merit. Pastures will be officially divided after the war."
Gazi and the other tribal chiefs beamed with joy.
"In return, you all,"—Isaac pointed to several chiefs led by Abu—"must provide retainers and livestock."
They pulled long faces and agreed.
"We won't go deep into the desert this time. You won't lose too much."
The points Isaac had marked were all drylands near Sirte—major water sources or oases.
Combat on semi-arid plains had very distinctive features.
The enemy wouldn't play cat and mouse or gather in large formations for long. Instead, they would remain in tribal units, guarding large water sources.
War became not a two-dimensional front but a battle of points and lines.
So really, it was quite simple.
Just concentrate superior forces and strike at the water sources.