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Chapter 5: The tragedy of the loser

<<\'\'Vae victis \'\'trouble for the losers\'\'>>

--Titus Livio in Ad Urbe candita

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The day after his victorious ascent to the throne, Charles awoke to a starkly different scene than what he was accustomed to. Rather than the peaceful sounds of nature, his slumber was disturbed by the coarse and unruly voices of his low-ranking soldiers. Normally, such a disturbance might have irritated him, but on this significant day, the beginning of his reign, Charles chose not to let irritation cloud his mood.

With purposeful resolve, he rose from his bed and summoned his servants to bring him a meal. In a matter of moments, a procession of servants entered his tent, setting up tables for the king\'s repast. Charles dined swiftly, fueled by the anticipation of the momentous day ahead.

Exiting the tent, he made his way toward the area designated for strategic discussions. Upon arrival, Charles surveyed the assembled vassals, noticing that the majority wore contented expressions. They understood that by serving the monarch, they stood to gain lands and titles—opportunities they might never have received in France. Most were second and third sons, driven by ambition to seek their fortunes abroad.

"My lords," Charles addressed them, "today, there shall be no formal meeting. As we discussed yesterday, I am here to instruct you to begin preparations in your newly acquired lands. Rally your warriors, for today marks the commencement of our rule in Naples. We shall march into the capital and establish our court there."

The nobles erupted in cheers and jubilation, for at last, the titles they had long coveted would be within their grasp. Amid the celebratory atmosphere, they exchanged congratulations and speculations about the size of the fiefs they might earn based on their contributions to the recent battle.

Amid these moments of elation, the nobility exited the tent, each tasked with directing their levies to prepare for the forthcoming march. In the hours that followed, the victorious troops departed from the battlefield, their sights set on the capital.

As the aristocracy daydreamed about the fiefs awaiting them, the foot soldiers harbored their own fantasies of the spoils they would claim upon entering Naples. As victors, they believed it was their right to invade and pillage as they saw fit.

As Charles and his army approached the outskirts of Naples, a sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air. The landscape had gradually transitioned from the rugged terrain of the countryside to the more settled and developed environs surrounding the city. The city\'s outskirts came into view, and Charles, mounted on his steed at the head of his forces, took in the sight before him.

The first thing that caught his eye was the sprawling farmland that stretched out around the city. Fields of golden wheat swayed in the gentle breeze, their rippling waves offering a stark contrast to the tumultuous events that had led him here. Lush vineyards and olive groves dotted the landscape, a testament to the fertile lands of Naples.

The simple stone cottages and farmhouses of the local peasants, with their terracotta roofs and whitewashed walls, clustered in small hamlets that speckled the countryside. Smoke curled from their chimneys, a sign of life continuing despite the looming presence of the approaching army.

Beyond the farmlands, the imposing walls of Naples came into view. The city\'s fortifications stood tall and resolute, a formidable barrier guarding the treasures and secrets within. Charles could see the flags of his own forces fluttering in the wind, contrasting with the banners of the city, symbols of the authority he aimed to usurp.

As Charles rode closer to the city, he could hear the faint murmur of voices and the bustling of daily life within its walls. Naples was a city of history and culture, its streets filled with merchants, craftsmen, and residents going about their daily routines, unaware of the impending change that would soon grip their lives.

For Charles, this moment on the outskirts of Naples was a culmination of his ambitions, a symbolic step toward claiming the throne that had long eluded him. The city\'s walls, its fields, and its people all held the promise of power and prosperity, but they also bore witness to the weight of responsibility and the challenges that lay ahead in his quest for dominion.

For an entire week, the unified forces marched with purpose until they reached the gates of the capital. Charles summoned his interpreter, bellowing orders in French, while the translator relayed his commands to the soldiers at the head of the column. The stage was set for the next chapter of Charles\' reign.

Amidst the ancient walls of Naples, Charles of Anjou stood tall, his presence commanding the attention of the city\'s beleaguered inhabitants. With his translator by his side, he addressed the people of Naples, his voice echoing through the air, carrying a proclamation of both conquest and divine righteousness.

"Neapolitans," he declared, his words filled with fervor, "your devil-spawned monarch Manfred has been vanquished by God\'s faithful servants. The Pope himself has entrusted us with the mission to liberate you from the clutches of the devil." He paused, allowing his proclamation to hang in the stillness that followed.

"As a reward for my devotion to God," Charles continued, "the Pope has raised me to the throne of Sicily. By failing to open your gates upon my arrival, you stand as rebels and heretics. By the laws of conquest, your fate should be death, yet I am gracious. I offer you a chance to make amends by permitting my soldiers to enter the city and exercise their rights as victors. I pledge that the plundering will be restrained, that there shall be no rape, and that no fires will be ignited. My soldiers shall merely take control of your immediate possessions. The choice, Neapolitans, is yours, but understand that no aid shall come to your rescue; you stand alone."

As the translator echoed Charles\'s message, a heavy silence fell upon the city. Behind the fortified walls, discussions commenced, and after a few hours, the city gate creaked open, allowing the French soldiers to enter.

True to his word, only minor looting ensued, yet this failed to quell the simmering discontent of the city\'s citizens, who held their fury in check out of fear for their own safety and that of their families.

The pillaging continued into the evening, culminating in a grand feast hosted by the triumphant King to commemorate their conquest. The soldiers reveled in the news, finding solace in a night of feasting and merriment after having narrowly escaped death. For the city\'s residents, however, there was little cause for celebration. Families bolted their doors and kept their daughters hidden away, well aware of the potential horrors that drunken troops might unleash.

Nonetheless, inebriation could not prevent some unruly soldiers from breaking down doors in search of victims. Most houses remained untouched, leaving their occupants unsettled but alive. In a few unfortunate homes, however, terrible events unfolded, yet the residents dared not intervene, paralyzed by the fear of what might transpire should they defy the victorious invaders. Through the night, the ancient city echoed with the anguished cries and pleas of women, their suffering unheard within the palace, where the victorious nobles celebrated their conquest.

Throughout history, this has been the fate of the defeated—those who emerge triumphant spare no city. From time immemorial, the right of the victors has been to sate their base desires upon the weak.

In the annals of history, it is the victors who inscribe their narratives, while the vanquished are left voiceless and forgotten.