Chapter 51: FROM NICAEA TO ANKARA

They did not remain in Nicaea. Remy saw no reason to stay longer than necessary. The city had already given what it could, and nothing more would be gained by lingering. Supplies had been secured, the men had rested, and the horses had recovered enough strength to continue. That was sufficient.

They departed at first light and followed the road toward Yenişehir.

The town announced itself before it came into view. Dust rose into the air from constant movement, stirred by passing caravans and mounted travelers. By the time they arrived, the ground beneath their horses was dry and loose, each step sending fine particles upward to cling to cloth and skin. Yenişehir was a market town built on trade, particularly horses. Animals were tethered in rows, inspected, bought, and sold with little ceremony. The streets were filled with noises of merchants calling out, handlers arguing over prices, and wagons creaking under weight.

Remy rode through without interest. There was nothing remarkable in the town beyond its function. It existed for trade, and it served that purpose efficiently.

They stopped only to water the horses and allow them to recover. The animals were tended first, as always. Saddles were loosened, hooves checked, and water distributed carefully. The men rested where they could, though Remy did not allow it to stretch into idleness. Fatigue was beginning to show in the company, but it was not yet severe.

Once the horses were ready, he gave the order to move. No one argued.

They left Yenişehir behind and continued toward İnegöl.

The change was noticeable as they approached. The air carried a different scent, one that stood apart from the dry roads they had traveled. It was the smell of fresh timber, clean and sharp, drawn from the nearby forest. İnegöl was smaller, quieter, and shaped by its surroundings. Wooden structures defined the village, and the presence of craftsmen was clear in the tools and materials scattered throughout.

The forest stood close enough to influence the air but not so close as to threaten the settlement. It gave the place a sense of calm that the road lacked.

They paused briefly. Water was taken, and the horses were allowed a short rest. The men spoke less here, as if the quieter environment demanded it. Even so, Remy did not allow the calm to dull his awareness.

Their next destination required more consideration.

Bursa.

It was not a place they could enter without scrutiny. Ottoman presence there was strong, and a group of their size would not pass unnoticed. Fifty people moving together, with wagons and armed knights among them, could easily be mistaken for something else. Pilgrims did not usually travel in such numbers or with such protection.

Remy understood how they would be seen.

So he made adjustments.

When they left İnegöl, he allowed Sir Gaston to take the lead. The formation shifted slightly, presenting a more controlled appearance. Remy remained behind with Jehan at his side, observing rather than drawing attention.

They rode at a steady pace, covering ground quickly. The terrain allowed it, and Remy preferred not to linger in areas where they might be watched without control.

They did not reach Bursa unchallenged.

An Ottoman patrol stopped them before they came within range of the city. The riders positioned themselves across the road with discipline, leaving no room for ambiguity. They were armed and alert, their posture making it clear that passage would not be granted without question.

Remy rode forward to meet them.

When he spoke, he used their language. He did not enjoy it, but it was necessary.

“We seek passage,” he said. “We are pilgrims bound for the Holy Land. We ask only to rest and continue.”

The patrol leader studied him carefully, then looked beyond him at the company. The numbers, the horses, the armored knights—it all worked against them.

Remy presented the letters he carried.

They were taken and examined. The leader said nothing for a moment before giving his response.

“You will wait.”

Two men remained with them while the rest of the patrol rode off with the letters.

Remy did not object. He knew this was inevitable.

Time passed slowly under the sun. The company held its position, though discomfort became visible. Some shifted in place, others murmured quietly. The waiting tested them in ways that movement did not.

Remy ignored it. Waiting was part of the journey.

Two hours passed before a rider returned.

Permission was granted, though not without condition.

Remy acknowledged it with a slight nod. He turned to Jehan and told her to return to the others, then remained where he was. Morgan shifted beneath him, pawing lightly at the ground, but remained steady.

Another half hour passed before the rest of the company arrived.

Sir Gaston led them forward, and the knights made no effort to conceal their armor. The patrol noticed immediately.

“Why are they armed?” the leader demanded.

“For safety,” Remy replied. “Yours and ours.”

The man did not seem convinced.

“In the name of my God, and yours,” Remy continued evenly, “we will not draw unless forced.”

There was a moment of tension. No one moved. Then, at last, the patrol relented.

They were allowed to proceed, though not freely. They would be escorted.

Bursa came into view soon after.

It was a large and active city, far more structured than the places they had passed through. Trade moved constantly through its streets. Bathhouses stood among the buildings, and mosques rose above them, marking the city clearly as Ottoman. Silk trade was prominent, with merchants handling fine materials that passed from hand to hand with practiced familiarity.

Remy observed everything as they entered.

The Ottomans watched them just as closely.

There was no welcome in it, but there was no immediate hostility either. The presence of the escort and the banner they followed ensured that no one interfered.

They were brought before the city’s lord.

Remy dismounted and entered without display. Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Cushions replaced the rough ground, and shade offered relief from the heat. The air carried the scent of spices and fabric, controlled and deliberate.

He greeted the lord with a measured nod and presented himself clearly. He gave thanks for the permission to enter and explained their purpose without embellishment. They were pilgrims, nothing more.

He offered what he had brought.

Medicine.

It drew interest. Not because it was a gift, but because it held value.

He was invited to sit, and he accepted. The conversation remained controlled, each word weighed carefully. Nothing was said without purpose.

Then the offer came.

Women.

It was presented as a natural extension of hospitality, without hesitation or suggestion of impropriety.

Remy declined.

“I cannot accept,” he said calmly. “It would violate my vows at this time.”

The refusal was accepted without argument. The moment passed without tension.

Remy remained aware of the difference in customs, but he did not dwell on it. It was simply another detail to navigate, no more significant than language or terrain.

The meeting concluded shortly after.

There was nothing to gain from staying longer than necessary. Prolonged presence in a place like Bursa only increased the chance of complication.

When he left, the city remained as it had been.

For now, they had passed through without incident.

That was enough.

***

They left Bursa without delay.

Remy did not consider the city a place to linger. It had granted them passage, nothing more. The longer they remained within its reach, the greater the chance that permission would turn into scrutiny, and scrutiny into obstruction. So they departed as soon as their supplies were in order and the horses were ready to move.

The road carried them outward, away from the structure and control of the city, and back into open land.

Kestel came first.

It was a small village, barely more than a quiet interruption along the road. Fields surrounded it on all sides, worked by people who paid little attention to those passing through. The land was fertile enough, and the labor steady. Nothing about the place suggested ambition beyond survival.

Remy observed it without slowing.

Travelers did not linger there, and he saw no reason to change that pattern. They watered the horses briefly and moved on. The villagers watched them with mild curiosity, but no one approached. There was no tension, no invitation, and no reason to remain.

The road stretched forward again.

Bozüyük followed.

The difference was immediate. Where Kestel had been quiet and inward, Bozüyük faced outward. The movement of caravans was constant, and the presence of guards made that clear. Men stood at intervals, armed and attentive, their purpose not concealed.

Remy noted their positions as they entered.

Caravans passed in both directions, carrying goods that spoke of longer routes and deeper trade. The noise was heavier here, less chaotic than Yenişehir, but more deliberate. This was a place where movement was expected and managed.

Their company drew attention.

It always did.

Remy did not alter their pace, but he remained aware of the eyes that followed them. Guards watched with interest, though none stepped forward to challenge them. The presence of order here worked in their favor. A place accustomed to caravans did not react as quickly to numbers alone.

They stopped only long enough to secure water and confirm their direction.

Nothing more was required.

They moved on.

The land began to open as they approached Eskişehir.

The change came gradually. The terrain flattened, stretching outward into wide plains that carried the eye further than before. The sense of enclosure that had lingered near forests and hills faded, replaced by distance and exposure.

Eskişehir itself bore signs of importance.

It was not a city in the same sense as Bursa, but it held weight as a place of rest. Travelers gathered there not out of necessity alone, but because it offered something beyond the road. Thermal springs marked the area, and their presence drew people from different paths.

Remy noticed the shift in language immediately.

Turkish dominated here.

Greek lingered only faintly, carried by a minority rather than shared broadly. The conversations around them followed different rhythms, different patterns of tone and gesture.

It did not trouble him.

He listened, adjusted, and spoke when required.

They remained longer than usual.

The horses needed it. The men needed it more.

Water was plentiful, and the springs offered a kind of recovery that simple rest did not. Muscles eased. Tension lessened. Even the followers, who had grown increasingly strained by the journey, showed signs of improvement.

Remy allowed it.

But only to a point.

He moved among them as he always did, watching for signs that rest was turning into comfort. It did not take long for that shift to begin. Laughter returned too easily. Movements slowed beyond necessity.

He ended it before it settled.

“We leave at first light,” he said, and no one argued.

Sivrihisar came next.

The land changed again as they approached. The plains gave way to rock and elevation, the ground rising into a formation that forced the town into a defensive posture. It clung to the hillside, its structures shaped by necessity rather than design.

Wind moved constantly through the area.

Dry. Unforgiving.

It carried dust in a different way than before, sharper against the skin, less forgiving in its persistence.

Remy felt it as they entered.

This was not a place that welcomed without question.

The structure of the town made that clear. Narrow paths. Elevated positions. Sightlines that favored those who lived there. It was not heavily fortified, but it did not need to be. The terrain itself served that purpose.

They were watched.

Not with curiosity.

With calculation.

Remy did not slow more than necessary. He answered questions when they were asked, his tone even, his words direct. There was no benefit in appearing uncertain here.

They were allowed to pass.

Water was given, though not freely. Nothing in Sivrihisar was offered without measure.

They did not remain long.

The road beyond it led back into open land.

The plains near Polatlı stretched wider than any they had crossed before.

Villages existed, but they were sparse and scattered, separated by long distances that tested both patience and endurance. Shepherds dominated the land more than farmers. Flocks moved across the terrain in slow, deliberate patterns, guided by men who seemed shaped by the same harsh conditions as the land itself.

Water became less certain.

Remy adjusted their movement accordingly.

They traveled earlier. Stopped more deliberately. Every source of water was noted, measured, and used with care. There was no excess here, no margin for waste.

Fatigue returned.

More heavily this time.

The followers struggled. The distance between settlements wore on them in a way that towns and villages had previously masked. Without regular interruption, the journey revealed its true weight.

Remy saw it in their posture.

In the way they dismounted more slowly. In the silence that replaced conversation. Even Jehan, though she did not complain, carried it on the set of her shoulders.

“They will not all endure this,” he said quietly.

She did not answer immediately.

“They will,” she replied after a moment.

He did not challenge her.

The road continued.

Days passed in a rhythm that did not change. Ride. Stop. Water. Rest. Move again. The plains did not offer variation, only distance.

When Ankara finally rose before them, it did so with a presence that broke that pattern.

The city stood with clear defensive intent. Its position, its structure, and the walls that defined it all spoke of control. This was not a place shaped solely by trade or rest. It held authority.

Remy studied it as they approached.

Ottoman influence was strong here.

Stronger than in the places they had passed through since Bursa.

Their arrival did not go unnoticed.

Guards were present before they reached the gates, their posture making it clear that entry would not be granted without scrutiny. The company slowed as one, the weight of their number becoming evident once again.

Remy moved forward.

He had no interest in allowing uncertainty to form before action.

When he spoke, he did so in the same measured tone he had used before.

“Pilgrims,” he said. “Passing through.”

The guards did not respond immediately.

Their eyes moved across the company, taking in the numbers, the wagons, the knights.

Remy presented the letters again.

He felt the repetition of it, but it was necessary.

Authority recognized authority.

Nothing else held equal weight.

The documents were taken.

Considered.

Returned.

They were allowed to enter.

Ankara differed from the other places they had passed through.

Trade existed, but it did not define the city entirely. Wool dominated much of it. Angora, soft and valuable, moved through markets that balanced local function with broader exchange. The people carried themselves with a different awareness, one shaped by the presence of authority that was not distant.

Remy observed it all as they entered.

The mix of languages. The structure of the market. The placement of guards.

Nothing was random.

Nothing was left unattended.

Their company moved carefully through the streets, maintaining formation without appearing rigid. It was a balance Remy enforced without needing to speak it aloud.

They would rest here.

But not without caution.