The martial pride of the Ottoman never made a more imposing
demonstration than when his armies deployed upon the plain of
Pharsalia[107] in Thessaly, and threatened the southern frontier of
Albania. Nor had Jove, who, according to the mythologic conception,
held his court upon the summit of the not distant Olympus--looked down
upon such a display of earthly power since, fifteen centuries before,
the armies of Pompey and Cæsar there contended for the domination of
the Roman world. For Mahomet II. had sworn his mightiest oath, that,
by one blow, he would now sweep all the Arnaout rebels into the sea;
and that the waves of the Adriatic over against Italy, and those of
the Mediterranean which washed the Greek peninsula, and the Euxine
that stayed the steps of the Muscovite, should sing with their
confluent waves the glories of the European Empire of the Ottoman
which lay between them.
The menace to Scanderbeg's domain was not chiefly in the numbers of
men whom the redoubtable Isaac Pasha now commanded in the name of the
Sultan; but in the fact that the mighty host was accompanied by Amesa,
the new "King of Albania."
The defection of the Voivode had sent consternation through the hearts
of the patriots. Their leaders looked with suspicion into one
another's faces as they gathered in council; for no one knew but that
his comrade was in secret league with the enemy. Wearied with trials,
the soldiers whispered in the camps that Amesa was a Castriot as well
as Scanderbeg. Italians of rank, who had loaned their swords to the
great chieftain, were returning to their homes, saying that it was not
worth while to risk their lives and fortunes in defending a people who
were no longer agreed in defending themselves. Scanderbeg, apparently
unwilling or unable to cope with this double danger,--the power of the
Ottoman without, and a civil war within his land--retired to
Lyssa,[108] far away to the north.
The Turks determined to inaugurate their final conquest, by the formal
coronation of their ally, so that, heralded by King Amesa's
proclamations, they might advance more readily to the occupation of
the land. The day was set for the ceremony of the royal investiture.
As their scouts, ranging far and wide, reported no enemy to be near,
the attention of the army was given to preparation for the splendid
pageants, the very story of which should awe the simple peasant
population into submission, or seduce their hearts with the hope of
having so magnificent a patron.
The day before that appointed for this glorious dawn of the new
royalty, was one of intense heat, in the middle of July. The snows had
melted even from the summit of the Thessalian Olympus, though its bare
pinnacle yonder pierced the sky nearly ten thousand feet above the
sea. Armor was heaped in the tents. Horses unsaddled were gathered in
stockades, or tethered far out on the glassy plain. Soldiers
stretched themselves under the shadow of the trees, or wandered in
groups through the deserted gardens and orchards of the neighboring
country, feasting upon the early ripened fruits. Only the eagles that
circled the air high above the vast encampment, or perched upon the
crags of distant hills, seemed to have any alarm; for now and then
they darted off with a shrill cry.
But an eye, like that of a mysterious retributive Providence, was
peering through the thicket that crested a high hill. Scanderbeg,
presumed to be far away, had studied the plain long and intently;
when, turning to Constantine, who was at his side, he said:
"Now plan me a raid through that flock of silly sheep. Where would you
strike, my boy?"
Constantine replied, "There is but one point at which we could enter
the plain,--through yonder depression. The hills on either side would
conceal the advance until well upon them. Besides, the narrowness of
the valley, and the growth of trees would prevent their meeting us
with more than man for man."
Scanderbeg shook his head.
"The Turks know that place invites attack as well as we do, and have
ranged so as to prevent surprise there. But yonder line of trees and
copse leads almost to the centre of their camp."
"But it is exposed to view on either side," replied Constantine.
"So much the better," said Castriot, "and therefore it is not guarded
even in Isaac Pasha's thought. It would take longer after the alarm to
range against us there than in the ravine. Their cavalry is all on
this side the trees. They could not cut through the bushes before we
were by the horse-tails yonder, there by the Pasha's tent."
"But is it not too open?" said Constantine, almost incredulous.
"Yes, at any other time than this, when the Turks are not dreaming of
our being within a dozen leagues of them. The very boldness of such an
attack as this at high noon-tide will be better for us than any
scheming. And, if I mistake not, and our beasts are not too jaded by
the long march, we shall have the souls out of a thousand or so of the
Turks before they can get their bodies into armor. And I give to you,
my boy, the care of our nephew, Amesa. Be diverted by no side play,
but cut your way straight to him. If possible, spare his life, but he
must never get a crown upon his head."
As silently as the summer's fleecy clouds gather into the storm, the
band of patriots, summoned from their various quarters, gathered
behind the spur of the hill. The Turks were startled as with a sudden
rising tempest. Beys and Pashas and Agas had scarcely emerged from
their tents, when five thousand Albanian cavalrymen were already
turning the line of the woods. On they came with the celerity of a
flock of birds just skimming the ground. The sentry flew as the leaves
before the wind. The very multitude of the Turks, driven toward the
centre, but fed the dripping swords of the assailants. Among the tents
wound the compact array of Albanian riders, like a huge serpent. On
and on it rolled, scarcely pausing to repel attack. Dividing, one
part crushed the headquarters of Isaac, while the other wrapped in its
crunching folds the splendid camp of Amesa.
Bravely did this young Absalom defend his unfledged royalty.
Surrounded by a group of Albanian renegades like himself, he fought
desperately, well knowing the dire vengeance which should follow his
capture. But one by one they fell. Amesa remained almost alone, as yet
unharmed. The captain of the Albanian troops commanded a halt, and,
dismounting, he demanded Amesa's surrender.
"To none but a Castriot will a Castriot surrender!" cried the
infuriate man, making a lunge at the challenger. The thrust was
avoided.
"You shall surrender to another," cried the Albanian officer. "Stand
back, men, he shall yield to me alone."
"Who are you?" growled the challenged man.
"One who has the right to avenge the wrong done to Mara de Streeses,"
was the reply.
Quick as a panther Amesa leaped upon him. But the tremendous blow he
aimed, might as well have been delivered against a rock, as against
the sword of Constantine. The effort threw him off his balance; and
before he could recover himself, the tremendous slash of his opponent,
though warded, brought him to the ground. In an instant Constantine's
knee was upon his breast, and his sword at his throat.
"Do you surrender?"
"Yes!" groaned the helpless man.
He was instantly disarmed, and bound by the girth to a horse.
FOOTNOTES:
[107] Vide Knowles, History of the Turks, and Albanian Chronicles.
[108] Modern Alessio.