Upon seeing Suleiman, Manuel curiously observed him today. Today's Suleiman was slightly different from before; besides his tense expression, the most obvious difference was his gaze, which was completely unlike his usual relaxed or focused demeanor. The deep-colored pupils now revealed an uncharacteristic determination and decisiveness.
Seeing his friend's expression, Manuel couldn't help but stare at him, hoping to find some clue to the reason for his unusual behavior today.
Fortunately, after a few seconds, Suleiman clarified his purpose, "Manuel, I'm leaving?"
"Ah, is there something wrong with your health? I'll find you some famous Arabian doctors."
"No!" Suleiman's tense expression immediately broke at his friend's words, and he almost laughed. After quickly regaining his composure, he immediately told Manuel seriously: "I'm going back to my country."
"Hmm?" After a brief moment of surprise, Manuel immediately understood what he meant. "Is Karaman ready?"
"Yes," the Karaman Bey nodded, "Well, actually, my father's fiefdom and the surrounding area are all contacted. After all, I've received a lot of help from you during this time, and if I don't do something, it would be a waste of this time and so many ducats."
Caesar nodded in great agreement. Ever since he welcomed Suleiman as his honored guest and close friend, he had regularly had people "gift" him more than the allowed amount of dukats. During this period, Manuel had long turned a blind eye to the whereabouts of these gold coins, and even had the Dark Department cooperate with his friend in certain areas. For this, he was even secretly questioned by Arno in a financial report.
Fortunately, now was finally the time for all of this to bear fruit.
"When are you leaving?" Manuel asked calmly.
"In three days," Suleiman bowed humbly, "To avoid drawing attention, I won't take anything with me except for a few close attendants and my wife."
Manuel nodded in agreement, "Then," he made a very serious request to his friend, "the night before you leave, please allow me to host a small farewell banquet for you in the presence of the Holy Father."
"Very well." Suleiman had somewhat the same intention.
After Suleiman left, Manuel slumped in his chair, feeling a bit dazed. Although Suleiman had been by his side more as a guest and a dispensable general, he had stayed with him for five years, and they had forged a rare friendship in this era. Although his departure was inevitable and he had long anticipated it, Manuel still felt a moment of unreality.
If Barbara were here, what would she think of this, Manuel thought with some nostalgia.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" After thinking of something, he sprang from his chair, then immediately sat back down. But unlike before, his right hand now held a quill pen, and he was writing furiously on a blank piece of paper—
"...By the Holy Mother, Barbara... I'm sorry that during this time, due to the isolation of information in West Armenia, it was difficult to communicate with the outside world before the light of our lord shone here again, so I haven't been able to contact you..." He began to write a letter to his beloved wife, a letter he hadn't personally written for her in a long time, intending to briefly inform her of his experiences in Asia Minor through this letter.
After finishing, looking at the somewhat messy explanations in his letter, he couldn't help but smile with a hint of helplessness, "Oh no, such standardized and neat phrasing looks like I'm defending myself. Hmm, she should understand me... she should understand..."
After sending someone to deliver the letter to Bangkok Pu, Manuel thoughtfully sent someone to notify one of his subordinate generals, intending to entrust him with an extremely important task after seeking his opinion. Afterwards, he began to prepare for the farewell dinner three days later.
On the night three days later, the night before Suleiman's departure, in Trabzon Palace, Manuel and Suleiman were sitting in an artfully decorated basement, accompanied by a few trusted confidants, holding their farewell banquet.
"This fermented grape juice really tastes good, doesn't it?" Looking at his friend drinking heartily, Manuel, already slightly tipsy, couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"Yes," Suleiman praised heartily, and called a servant to wipe his wet mustache, "I bet it definitely came from Macedonia."
Manuel nodded vigorously, then half-jokingly asked him, "Have you gotten used to the taste? You're a Muslim."
"Ha," the Karaman Bey frowned slightly, "What's wrong, is faith an inconvenience?"
No, it's not, Manuel thought. Then, under the influence of alcohol, he began to tentatively discuss irrelevant topics with Suleiman. At first, it was just a consideration of the current situation, then it involved a discussion of whether God was a trinity or three separate entities. Later, Manuel, feeling inexplicably bored, proactively brought up his various measures in North Tauris. It was only then that he blurted out a major frustration in his heart:
"Am I a very cruel person?" Manuel asked his close friend in a half-joking, self-deprecating tone.
"I can't say..." Suleiman frowned, unsure how to respond to his friend. After half a minute of thought, he reassured the other party in an offhand tone, "But from a realistic perspective, at least I find it hard to say that you can be a benevolent ruler in your position. If I returned to Konya, perhaps my response to the opposition would be several times more ruthless than yours.
"In other words, Manuel, everything you've done to the rebels, whether it's execution or slaughter, is nothing to feel guilty about. Their fate," at this point, Suleiman emphasized, "is what they deserve. Opponents and the like are not worth pitying."
Facing his friend's comfort, the slightly intoxicated Manuel was quite moved. After consuming a few more glasses of clear wine and roasted suckling pig, the two naturally talked about the succession to the Karaman Bey.
Seizing this good opportunity, and taking advantage of the slightly tipsy atmosphere, Manuel boldly proposed to give his friend more help, "Let me recommend someone under my command to you,"
Hearing this, Suleiman was pleasantly surprised.
"He is skilled in both literature and martial arts, and his appearance is also very handsome," Manuel continued to introduce.
"Oh, is it Tukharovsky or Adian?" Suleiman's face showed an eager, happy smile.
"Uh, no," Manuel felt a little guilty.
"Or that new subordinate of yours, Dungar?"
"Hmm, no."
"Is it your Filakas Guard, Vladimir?"
"Ah, this..."
"Or are you going to transfer someone from Tauris?"
"..."
"What's wrong, Manuel, stop keeping me in suspense."
At this point, Manuel had no choice but to grit his teeth and answer him loudly,
"It's Posadas."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes," Caesar could only put on a serious expression in response, "And if he does anything illegal or immoral in Karaman, you have the right to deal with him according to the law."
"You know as well as I do that for us Turk Muslims, acting according to the law is a luxury."
"My point is, during his assignment, the authority to judge him is in your hands." When he mentioned this, Manuel's expression became serious, "I'm serious." He had discussed this with Posadas a few days ago and had obtained his consent.
Seeing that the other party didn't seem to be joking, Suleiman could only shake his head and accept this "gift" from his friend.
But the Karaman Bey, who found this rather difficult to accept, still retorted to the other party, "Manuel," he sighed helplessly, "You really only think about yourself."
"Ha," hearing this, Caesar Manuel was first stunned, then immediately burst into laughter, "I especially don't want to be told that by you!
"After all, in a sense, we are the same kind, aren't we?"
"To be honest," Suleiman did not deny this in the slightest, but readily accepted the assessment, "Indeed."
"Let's not talk about this," thinking of something, Suleiman waved his hand and had his trusted servant bring a gift he had prepared earlier, "Manuel Gavras, I have something I plan to give you."
"What a coincidence," Manuel smiled calmly, "Suleiman Karamanoglu, I do too." With that, he also waved his hand, asking Serenus, who had been recording behind him, to act as an attendant for once and bring the gift he had also prepared earlier.
After they had each received the other's gift, the two immediately exchanged a smile.
What Suleiman gave to Manuel was a Saracen-style white silk turban. What Manuel gave to Suleiman was an orthodox cross made of lebanon cedar and about half a palm in size.
"It seems we were thinking along the same lines," after putting on the turban given by the other, Manuel, realizing that it was time, reluctantly stood up and sighed with some regret, "Unfortunately, except in heaven, there are no banquets that don't end."
"Then," Suleiman also tidied his clothes with a touch of melancholy, "By Allah, is it time to say goodbye?"
"Hmm," Manuel paused, then waved goodbye,
"Salaamalaikum (May the peace of Allah be upon you)."
"WaalaykumnSsalam (And may Allah also grant you peace)."
Suleiman returned the greeting as a farewell.