Kapitel 23: Bloody Easter In Tarnovo

[31st March 1414AD, Tarnovo, Bulgaria Millet.]

Tarnovo, a city steeped in history and holding immense significance for the Bulgarians, earned the prestigious titles of 'City of Tsars' or 'City of Kings.' This distinction wasn't solely attributable to its role as the historical capital during the Second Bulgarian Empire; it also owed its acclaim to housing the revered Patriarchate.

Despite its profound importance to the people, the passage of countless centuries marked by conflicts and conquests took a toll on this once-thriving city. Many of its distinctive landmarks succumbed to erosion or were razed by successive waves of invaders.

Throughout their history, the Bulgarians have epitomized unwavering devotion, pride, and courage. Originating from the vast steppes of Central Asia, the forebears of these people were semi-nomadic tribes that navigated and adapted to diverse terrains across generations.

The foundation of Old Great Bulgaria signified a crucial turning point, uniting these tribes into a cohesive political entity. Thriving within regions such as the Pontic Steppe and Crimea, they progressively expanded their reach across the territories encompassing Moesia, sections of Macedonia, Transylvania, Wallachia, and Serbia. This vast stretch of land would eventually earn the designation of the First Bulgarian Empire.

The gradual Slavicization of these once-nomadic people, along with their Christianization, began to set them apart from their Central Asian ancestors. They adopted aspects of Slavic culture while preserving some Central Asian traditions, forging a distinct identity.

Emerging as an Exarchate under Byzantine suzerainty, evolving into the autonomous entity of the Second Bulgarian Empire, weathering a storm of political intrigues, and ultimately succumbing to Ottoman conquest, this nation exemplifies unwavering resilience in the midst of relentless adversity.

Nevertheless, their freedoms remained safeguarded, allowing them to uphold their cultural practices and religious observances. Regrettably, this state of affairs did not endure for an extended time.

Following the Ottoman defeat by the Timurids and the subsequent Interregnum among the heirs of Beyezid I, the Bulgarians discerned a prime opportunity to declare their independence in the midst of this tumultuous period.

Having endured more than a decades of occupation by the eastern forces following the disastrous Crusades of the Ottoman by the Catholic West at Nicopolis, the Bulgarians fervently yearned for the resurgence of their sovereign nation.

With the waning of Byzantine influence and the ascent of the Second Bulgarian Empire as the heir to the fading Roman authority, they boldly assumed the mantle of the 'Third Rome,' firmly anchoring their religious and political legitimacy.

Embracing the identity of the 'Third Rome,' they held aspirations of nurturing the growth of Eastern Orthodoxy and Christianity as a whole within their realm, a responsibility that had dwindled within the declining Roman dominion.

Yet, this prestigious title would eventually become a subject of contention, contested by other Eastern Orthodox nations and even the Holy Roman Empire. Tragically, this once-proud realm would eventually succumb to complete annihilation under the weight of eastern incursions, led by the Muslim Turks.

These incursions dismantled their sovereignty and extinguished their aspirations of assuming the mantle of the 'Third Rome' from its predecessor, the 'Second Rome' – the Byzantine Empire.

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[Patriarchal Cathedral of the Holy Ascension of the Lord, Tarnovo, Bulgaria 'Millet'.]

On this solemn day, history converged as the Lord met His crucifixion upon the Golgotha Cavalry in Jerusalem.

Streets thronged with thousands of Bulgarian congregants, forming a solemn procession that traversed toward the cathedral, where the venerable patriarch delivered his sermon to the gathered multitude.

Men, women, and children, hailing from every corner of Bulgaria, alongside those who embraced the Orthodox faith from diverse origins, came together harmoniously. United by their shared beliefs, they converged peacefully, their collective presence a testament to the sanctity of the Holy Week.

Among those assembled, a figure of particular note was the highly sought-after insurgent, Stefan Stoyanov. A fervent zealot of Orthodoxy and a staunch nationalist, his heart seethed with an intense abhorrence for the oppressive Ottoman occupation.

Tragedy had darkened his early years when, as a mere boy, he bore witness to the brutal slaying of his father during an Ottoman incursion into their home.

That fateful day claimed thousands of lives, with his mother vanishing forever into the abyss of captivity. The survivors were those who chose not to defy the invaders, lurking beneath the concealment of their own homes.

Bereft of kin and companion, the young Stefan found solace in the embrace of Bulgaria's Patriarch, who extended his sheltering care to orphaned souls sharing the same woeful destiny.

Stefan's eyes blazed with a smoldering desire for retribution as he observed the Ottoman figures, cloaked in armor, casting their shadows across the thoroughfares of Tarnovo during his formative years. He forged an unswerving oath within himself – a solemn vow to dismantle and annihilate each and every one of his oppressors.

His sentiments extended even beyond, harboring a profound animosity for any who identified themselves as Turkish, regardless of age, gender, or intentions. His aversion knew no bounds for those who bore the label of infidel and occupier.

However, he is not undertaking this endeavor alone; countless others who have experienced the same fate as him, growing up as orphans, also carry a deep-seated resentment towards the Ottomans.

United by shared experiences and kindred sentiments, they now stand together, bound by a common dream—a dream of restoring Bulgaria to its rightful place, a land truly belonging to Bulgarians.

Over the span of a year, following the Ottomans' weakened state due to the Timurid onslaught and the ensuing turmoil among the heirs of the captured Sultan, he found himself joining forces with a growing faction of insurgents.

Their shared goal: to unite as a formidable rebel alliance and reclaim their land from the grasp of the infidels.

During this time, acts of insurgency proliferated – raids, plundering of settlements, and the fiery destruction of Ottoman colonies became regular occurrences.

Even the gallows claimed the lives of unsuspecting Turkish inhabitants.

While the majority of Bulgarians rallied behind his cause, a contingent criticized these actions as excessive brutality, fearing the potential repercussions they could invite upon their own people.

Motivated by the unwavering support and undeterred by the criticism, he forged ahead at the forefront of the insurgency. Throughout the cities spanning Bulgaria, there were always individuals poised to sacrifice their lives for the righteous cause.

Stefan was lavish in his commendation of those who gallantly fought for their cherished freedom, while harboring disdain for those who meekly submitted to the tyranny of their oppressors.

Despite harboring enmity towards his enemies, he never wavered in his steadfast commitment to his deeply held faith.

In a demonstration of reverence for his religious observances, he momentarily suspended his campaigns of plunder, choosing instead to devote time to his wife and their young child and celebrate the sacrifice of their Lord.

However, an unforeseen disruption occurred during his 'off time' with the unexpected arrival of uninvited guests – Ottoman authorities. Regrettably, this occurrence brought the entire celebration to an abrupt halt.

Draped in regal armor, an embodiment of authority, a man stood amidst his retinue of guards, encircling the expanse of the cathedral square. Contempt danced openly in his gaze as he surveyed the gathered throng.

"Esteemed citizens of Bulgaria," his voice carried with the weight of command, "I am Ozbek Ertugrul, the appointed Pasha of this city, acting upon the revered orders of His Magnanimous Sultan. It is my solemn duty to present to you the mercy of His Majesty, Sultan Mehmed I the Magnificent."

With a heavy heart, he continued,

"By my decree, and with profound regret, I hereby pronounce a revocation of the privileges and safeguards previously extended to the diverse 'Millet' of Bulgaria, a tapestry of Bulgarians and others who have enjoyed the protection granted by my predecessors."

"It has come to my attention that certain individuals within this 'Millet' have taken up arms against me—a grievous act that not only offends my person but also besmirches the honor of those who have come before me."

"Our lineage has been marked by benevolence, showering upon you the mercy and grace befitting subjects who have sworn allegiance."

A somber pause hung in the air, a tangible moment of sorrow and resolution.

"Therefore, in the face of this grievance, I must reluctantly declare that a comprehensive investigation shall be undertaken across the entirety of Bulgaria. Its purpose: to unearth and swiftly quell the seeds of rebellion that threaten our cherished peace."

His tone softened, bearing a pledge of reconciliation.

"But hear this, my compatriots, my solemn promise to you: Upon the peaceful resolution of this trying ordeal, the privileges you have temporarily relinquished shall be reinstated. This, however, hinges upon your diligent cooperation with your local authorities, a pledge of respect and unity."

As the weight of his words settled over the crowd, the Pasha's presence cast a commanding aura, an embodiment of authority, both unyielding and softened by a veneer of compassion, although the expressions among the gathered masses told a different story.

Stefan, who had keenly absorbed the proclamation, narrowed his gaze.

"It seems more a threat than compassion," he quietly mused within his heart. His sentiments resonated through the collective consciousness of those assembled.

Surveying the sea of faces before him, Stefan discerned a shared undercurrent of fear and trepidation.

"What is the intent of this? Do you accuse us of sowing the seeds of rebellion?"

A voice, tinged with anger, erupted from the crowd. The same question rippled through the assembly in a chorus of murmurs, a manifestation of their perplexity and rising alarm.

They grasped the Pasha's and Sultan's declaration for what it was – a veiled menace.

The Pasha, who had earlier worn a smile upon reading the edict now clasped within his grasp, retorted with a thunderous command,

"Hush, you curs! Is this how you show respect to your superiors?" With a subtle gesture, he signaled his guards to level their weapons at the agitated crowd.

Stefan's heart tightened, an ominous sensation crawling up his spine.

Clasping the hands of his wife and child, their gazes interlocked.

"Stefan," his wife's voice quivered, "Father," echoed his child.

Amidst the shared gaze, regret briefly clouded his thoughts, only to be swiftly replaced by a surge of determination.

"Fear not, we shall weather this storm, and if need be, find a swift escape." He sought to reassure his family, his voice a steadfast anchor amid the tempest of uncertainty.

Amidst the throng, a solitary figure emerged, urgently weaving through the crowd toward the mounted Pasha. Arriving as swiftly as his determination propelled him, he knelt before the imposing figure, his voice carrying a blend of urgency and reverence.

"Great Pasha, I beseech you to stay your hand and pardon our outspokenness. Your decree carries a specter of doom, yet I implore you to reconsider. I beg of you, there is no necessity for bloodshed on this day, a day sacred to my people's beliefs,"

The speaker was none other than Bulgaria's revered Patriarch. His words bore the weight of peace, not born of trepidation for the Pasha, but of deep concern for his people.

"Hmmphh, your 'beliefs' hold no sway over me, infidel dog. I am but the vessel of my Sultan's edict. Whether it pleases you matters little; if you so desire, seek an audience with the Sultan himself," the Pasha retorted with growing disdain. His hostility burgeoned, fueled by an unflinching commitment to carry out his sovereign's commands.

The Pasha then commanded one of his escorts to forcefully push aside the kneeling Patriarch, callously treating him as an insignificant obstacle.

However, this callous act ignited the fury of the gathered masses, who reacted with a collective outcry of "Your Holiness!" Their voices rang out in unified protest as they witnessed the venerable Patriarch's undignified treatment at the hands of the Pasha's escort.

"Unthinkable! People, let us stand and resist! It is evident that these aggressors will not heed reason! Na orŭzhie bŭlgari! Svoboda!" A voice charged with fervor rang out, rallying the crowd to take a stand against the escalating injustice.

This impassioned plea ignited a swift and violent clash between the indignant Bulgarians and the Ottoman forces, igniting the flames of rebellion.

Amidst the chaos, the Patriarch, still reeling from the forceful encounter, weakly extended his hand in a gesture of sorrowful disbelief.

"No! Please, let there be no more bloodshed. Oh Lord, how did it come to this?" His voice quivered with a profound lament, his elderly countenance now adorned with a cascade of tears streaming down his cheeks.

The harmonious observance of the Holy Week of Easter had tragically transformed into a day of bloodshed and anguish, a somber occasion where countless lives, irrespective of age or gender, were lost.

This indiscriminate massacre would forever be etched into the annals of Bulgaria's history as the 'Bloody Easter' – a haunting event that would echo through the ages.

What was meant to be a day of immense joy and celebration for the sacrifice of the Lord and His subsequent Resurrection had transformed into a somber observance. Yet, even as they lay in rest, their resurrection awaited the culmination of time.

Amidst the carnage, countless individuals emerged as nameless saints, their sacrifices woven into the tapestry of the nation's memory.

Amidst the unfolding chaos, a small family of three managed to evade the torrent of brutality. Among them was Stefan, along with his wife and child, who swiftly navigated away from the tumultuous cathedral square, their steps guided toward an inconspicuous alley nestled deep within the heart of Tarnovo. Here, Stefan unveiled a concealed passage, a tunnel meticulously crafted by his group of insurgents, offering them a covert escape route from the city's grasp.

"Quickly, both of you, enter!" Stefan's urgency resonated in his voice as he implored his wife and child to step into the secret passage.

His instructions were clear: find a hiding spot near the exit and await his imminent arrival. "We mustn't hesitate, time is of the essence. Go!"

With a resolute purpose, he guided his family into the tunnel, his words a soothing balm to their frayed nerves, a promise that he would swiftly join them.

Amidst the tumultuous uncertainty, their survival depended on deftness and exactitude.

The wife's gaze met Stefan's, a mixture of reluctance and trepidation, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

Observing his wife's distress, Stefan's heart weighed heavily within him.

He enveloped her in a reassuring embrace, his whispered assurances a steady rhythm against the cacophony of fear. Reluctantly, he released her, her eyes a mirror of the emotions that surged within his own.

Turning his attention to their child, Stefan faced a visage of innocence framed by a radiant smile, each dimple etching deeper into his heart.

He held his child's gaze, a bittersweet exchange that resonated with unspoken words and shared understanding.

It was a silence pregnant with the echoes of his past, a reflection of the same look his father had bestowed upon him years ago.

In the hush that enveloped them, he refrained from making promises he might be unable to fulfill, a conscious echo of the pledge once left unfulfilled to him—a testament to his sincerity and a shield against potential disillusionment.

With a lingering glance at the place where the concealed passage awaited, Stefan briskly departed, his gaze fixed on the retreating figures of his family making their way through the tunnel.

The moment was ripe for him to neutralize as many Ottoman soldiers as possible before his own escape. With unyielding determination, he fortified his resolve.

Amidst the action, he remained steadfastly committed to securing the safety of as many people as he could, including his comrades, facilitating their passage through the secret tunnel as they embarked on their flight to freedom.

Yet before embarking on this task, he recognized the necessity of locating his fellow insurgents.

As Stefan reentered the Cathedral square, the unrelenting conflict had already spilled across various sectors of Tarnovo, its tumult progressively infiltrating every nook and cranny of the city.

His grip on his sword tightened as he surged forward, drawn toward a skirmish where an Ottoman soldier was ensnared in combat with a defenseless civilian.

Among the chaos, Stefan's keen gaze discerned a familiar figure—it was none other than his comrade-in-arms and fellow insurgent, Dmitriv.

"Dmitriv!" Stefan's voice boomed as he swiftly dispatched the soldier, and the two men embraced in a moment of shared relief before seamlessly plunging back into the fray.

"Where are the others?" Stefan inquired, his gaze locked onto Dmitriv, who now brandished a weapon wrested from their fallen foe.

"I'm uncertain at the moment. Amidst the chaos, I lost my bearings, but I caught sight of Petar earlier. He fought alongside me but vanished in the tumult. The fervor of battle likely propelled him elsewhere,"

Dmitriv responded, his blood-smeared visage a testament to the ferocious combat that had raged, the crimson on his face now merging with the blood of the defeated Ottoman soldier Stefan had just overcome.

"Your task is to locate him, while I'll search for Simeon. The four of us must rendezvous at the secret passageway; our priority is to swiftly exit this city. If you have kin, ensure their presence. Once we're away, we'll make our way to the hideout. Our cache remains secure there, correct?"

Stefan commanded Dmitriv, his voice a blend of instruction and inquiry, seeking confirmation on vital details.

"Indeed, all remains intact." Dmitriv affirmed with a nod, prompting a sigh of relief to escape Stefan's lips. "Now, let us proceed on our path. And, Dmitriv," Stefan interjected, a note of caution in his voice, "Stay vigilant."

He continued, his words a watchful counsel to his comrade. Dmitriv solemnly acknowledged the advice with a nod, swiftly departing from their current position to retrace his steps to where he had last encountered Petar.

As Stefan pressed forward, he encountered a grim tableau of lifeless forms, some hauntingly familiar. Among them, the elderly woman who had often vended flowers in the cathedral square, her warm smiles now forever stilled.

Then, the city's blacksmith, who had bestowed upon him the sword he now brandished, accompanied by words of encouragement that had kindled Stefan's resolve.

And there, amidst the somber scene, lay the patriarch. Lifeless and cradling the form of a child, he had become an inseparable part of the sea of fallen bodies.

His eyes, still wide open, exuded not shock or fear, but an overwhelming sense of compassion and benevolence.

Stefan approached the lifeless patriarch, his hand gently closing the patriarch's eyes as a final gesture of reverence. He offered a silent prayer, a last farewell to a figure who had been a source of guidance and solace.

Amidst this poignant moment, Stefan's thoughts wandered back to a time when the patriarch, not yet bearing the esteemed title, had extended heartfelt smiles to the orphaned children.

Laughter had intertwined with their days, shared jokes forming the tapestry of precious memories. It was a cherished recollection, a glimmer of light amid the shadow cast by the loss of his parents.

"Stefan, my dear boy, do not be consumed by sorrow. Your father, were he here, would surely smile upon your survival through these tribulations.

"Yet, remember, a life consumed by vengeance will not resurrect him. Do not squander your existence solely to become a hero in the eyes of others."

"Live on, and thrive. Let not hatred be your guide, but embrace the love for your enemies, as the Lord's teachings enjoin us."

Those had been the patriarch's parting words, etched into Stefan's memory from his time at the orphanage.

With a solemn tone, Stefan addressed the lifeless patriarch, the weight of his words carrying a mixture of gratitude and reflection.

"Your Holiness, how profoundly your counsel has shaped me. I stand here now, a testament to your wisdom. But look at me now, I am standing whilst you body become cold."

Without further ado, he pressed on with his mission, redirecting his gaze towards the motionless patriarch for a final fleeting moment. His resolve surged, and the seed of vengeance within his heart sprouted into a sinister tree of retribution.

Navigating the city with lethal determination, he dispatched every Ottoman soldier who dared to obstruct his path, leaving no foe unchallenged. At last, amidst the fray, he caught sight of the figure he sought – his fellow comrade, Simeon.

However, his reunion was nearly thwarted when an Ottoman soldier, bellowing a battle cry, lunged toward Stefan. Sword raised high, the soldier aimed to deliver a crushing blow, but Stefan's reflexes were as quick as lightning.

He deftly evaded the attack, causing the soldier to stumble and falter. In a seamless motion, Stefan seized the opportunity to launch a swift counter-offensive, his own blade cutting a lethal arc through the air.

The Ottoman soldier's fate was sealed, his head separated from his body in a single decisive strike.

"Stefan!" The bloodied Simeon's voice rang out, reaching Stefan's ears amidst the chaos. "Simeon, you still possess a vigor about you! I had begun to fear you met your end." Stefan's voice carried a lightness as he beheld his friend's battered form.

"Nay, my friend, unless the Ottomans are entirely eradicated from the surface of this earth, I shall draw breath from the air the Lord graciously bestows." Simeon retorted, his own chuckle woven with a haunting edge.

"Quickly, we need to flee the city. Dmitriv and Petar must have been anxiously anticipating our arrival!" Stefan urged his friend, a sense of urgency lacing his words.

Simeon raised an eyebrow, his surprise evident. "Petar, the one with the booming voice, is still among the living? Now that is truly unexpected."

Stefan shrugged, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I can't confirm that yet, but Dmitriv mentioned that Petar managed to draw the attention of a group of soldiers all by himself. If he's managed to survive that, perhaps there's a divine hand at play, granting him an extra lease on life."

Thus, the pair promptly entered the concealed passage that Stefan had led his family through. Skillfully navigating the chaos-ridden city unscathed, they at last reached their destination. Dmitriv and Petar had been there waiting, their expectant figures poised for Stefan and Simeon's arrival.

"Well, well, I was beginning to think you two had embarked on a journey to the depths of Hades without us. I was almost ready to recite a somber prayer on your behalf,"

Dmitriv quipped, a playful smile gracing his lips as the approaching duo closed the distance.

"I must admit, the thought did cross my mind as well, both for you, Dmitriv, and especially for our big friend here," Simeon chuckled, his gaze directed toward the imposing figure beside Dmitriv.

Petar's laughter rumbled like thunder, his towering presence making the jest even more potent, eliciting good-natured ribbing from his companions.

"Enough with the jesting, my friends. We're on a tight schedule, and I'd rather not rely on Petar's laughter to keep our hideout a secret forever," Stefan interjected, urgency tingeing his voice.

The trio exchanged determined nods, their shared understanding propelling them forward as they united within the confines of the concealed passage.

"Let's move swiftly. Time is of the essence," Dmitriv concurred, his tone mirroring Stefan's concern.

In unison, the trio entered the secret passageway, embarking on a path to escape the doomed city. The tunnel embraced them, its dark embrace promising both sanctuary and uncertainty as they ventured toward an uncertain future.