Chapter 197: 192: Crocodile's Tear

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once."

-        'Julius Caesar' Act 2 Scene 2, by Shakespeare

John Hunyadi woke up feeling heavy headed on his horse, massaging the side of his head as he struggled to get up in a semi awake state trying to figure out where is he now. 

"Your Grace!" His personal guard, seeing his master has awaken, screamed in delight but did not stop moving. "You are awake! Your Grace, we are now in… a place called Staropatitsa."

"Staropatitsae…" John Hunyadi opened his dried tearing lips and re iterated the word thinking about this location inside his head. "I have never heard of this place."

"It is around 15 Roman miles from the battle field, your Grace." 

John Hunyadi rubbed his eyes keeping himself awake taking a look at his surroundings, among the mountain roads only a few hundred of what is remaining of his twenty thousand strong force, carrying their weapons some with armour missing, or flag missing. They walk alongside the King Regent with their heads lowered covered in dirt, mud and blood making them look an image totally different from when they marched inside this piece of land. 

"I am sorry, your Grace." The guard added on. "I am sorry, but we need to get the hell out of this place as soon as we can, the Ottomans are still on our tails." 

"The Ottomans!" The reluctant blobbing head of John Hunyadi suddenly came to realisation. "I last recall I am right in the central of the battle field wielding my blade left and right, why am I here?" 

"You fainted your Grace." Answered the guard. "You fainted after receiving a smack on your back, and we fought our way out escorting you here." 

"The Ottomans should not be able to find us as most of them went chasing the bulk of us and the Serbians, thus we are safe for now." 

"Or really?" John Hunyadi gave a cold smirk. "If you can think of it, I bet the commander of the Ottomans, that Zaganos Pasha, can think of it too, you understand?" 

"…"

The hundreds of defeated demoralised soldiers continued marching up North along the mountain ranges, starved, ill equipped, severely exhausted and dehydrated, there are still many uncertainties whether they can successfully make it out of the area still standing on two legs as one after other collapses on the mountain paths unable to continue walking. 

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Meanwhile, back on the battle field, the bulk of the Ottoman forces are busy cleaning up the area savaging all the scattered swords, armours and other valuables, and some others are supervising the slaves and captured local Bulgarian residents with whips and Kilij blades cleaning up the dead bodies and blood in the premise to prevent any possible plagues from going on. 

Zaganos Pasha, and Selim Pasha walks to the Serbian Despot's tent with his guards, where they supposedly heard a vague crying noise coming inside and the whole tent is decorated as if it is having a funeral or something. 

And indeed, he is not wrong. 

There is a funeral being held inside the Despot's tent as he seats kneeling down towards a quite lavishly decorated coffin, a thing that is extraordinarily rare considering where they are right now. It turns out that the man lying inside is the Despot's secretary of state Stefan Ratković, who caught himself in a dilemma of questions, a debate inside his mind about his morale dimensions. Knowing that the two most important creed of his life, with one being having absolute loyalty towards his sovereign, and another being absolutely faithful towards God. However, when the two creeds with utmost priority conflicts with each other, meaning if he chooses to be absolutely loyal to his sovereign, then he cannot be faithful towards God. And if he is a hundred percent faithful to God, then he cannot be loyal to his sovereign.

So, he chose an easy way out to escape from this situation evading the need to make this choice, after getting what the Despot means by 'making a deal with the demon', he said nothing and went back to the camp thinking it through in his tent, then finally chose to end his life with a dagger in the feeling of sorrow, distress and hopelessness.

Zaganos Pasha walked into the tent, and instantly acquired every Serbian officer's attention with some staring at him with hatred in their eyes, some took a peek and continued praying for the dead, some almost bolted up pulling out his blade, while some looked and smiled at him in fawn.

Zaganos Pasha did not care about these folks, instead the minute he entered the tent he kneeled down crawling towards the coffin weeping and howling like he is really in pain in his heart from seeing this person dead, real tears literally flew out from the corners of his eyes as he approached under the sight of everyone and spitting out a series of memorial words. 

"Ah! Lord Stephan! Why has the mighty Allah be so cruel, to descend death upon you before we could even meet! Ah! What a misfortune! I have long heard of your fame despite not meeting you in face! Ah! My dear friend…" 

Zaganos Pasha, and followed by Selim Pasha, moved forward kneeling down hugging the coffin of Stephan while crying. The Serbian officers who bolted up wishing to draw their blade sighed and sat back down, and those whole kept staring at them now stared the floor, but the Despot of Serbia Durad Branković still maintained in that same posture through out closing his eyes without giving the two Pashas a look.

After the coffin is carried out of the tent for burial, the Despot finally stood up, patted on his thigh coming forward asking. "Zaganos Pasha…"

Zaganos Pasha replied with a smile. "Your majesty…"

The Despot stared coldly at him for a while and gave a freezing sneer. "What a sly, cunning, tricky old fox you are and you." He pointed to Selim Pasha. "You little piece of prick…"

"I am honoured." Bowed Selim Pasha.

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