The Tunisian Guard left a trail of corpses as they retreated. The Rebel Army immediately launched a counterattack under the command of a French officer.
Seeing this, Zemir drew his curved sword and charged onto the battlefield, leading his soldiers in pursuit of the fleeing Ottoman People, shouting orders.
Although the tens of thousands of Rebel Army soldiers surged forward in disarray, with no semblance of formation or order, the Imperial Guard had completely lost their will to fight at this point, merely trying to flee headlong, which meant the battle quickly turned into a one-sided massacre.
More than two hours later, nearly all of the Tunisian Guards had been driven to a small area to the north of the city. Koja saw that the situation was hopeless and had no choice but to order his men to lay down their weapons and surrender.
The Rebel soldiers, bloodthirsty from their fighting, showed no mercy to the Imperial Guard officers shouting “surrender,” until Zemir personally intervened to stop the carnage.
By this time, of the tens of thousands of Imperial Guard, only about 7,000 remained, including Koja and other senior officers who were hacked to death.
Zemir left some soldiers to guard the prisoners and led the main force to storm into Tunis City.
The flourishing capital of Tunisia was quickly taken by the Rebel Army. The Imperial Guard inside the city had long fled. The native inhabitants ran out into the streets, loudly cheering and celebrating the Rebel Army.
Soon, thousands of Rebel soldiers had Ksar Hellal Palace completely surrounded. Zemir, with his officers and the high-ranking members of the native tribes, marched straight into the palace.
Under the protection of the Police Affairs Department operatives from Prusper, a trembling Haji came to the palace entrance. Before he could say anything, the rowdy shouts of the Rebel soldiers erupted around him:
“Execute him!”
“Kill that Ottoman!”
“Kill him, he’s part of the Imperial Guard too!”
“Decapitate…”
Haji turned ashen with fear. He never expected that he would face the prospect of death before he had even settled into the role of Bey.
Zemir and the high-ranking natives exchanged silent glances, each giving a slight nod.
He drew his curved sword, adjusted his headscarf, and walked toward Haji:
“You Ottoman dog, your blood must pay for the sins you’ve committed!”
Haji watched the blood-stained blade with terror, staggering backward, but Zemir closed the distance in a few steps, lifting his sword high.
At the critical moment, a loud call came from the back of the crowd:
“Spare him under the sword!”
Zemir and others turned to see the French consul in Tunisia, Joan, accompanied by Elder Aly, scholars including Xilada, and several French officers, pushing their way through the native soldiers.
Zemir and the tribal leaders quickly bowed respectfully to the group of more than ten, and then heard Joan speaking fluent Arabic:
“Honorable General Zemir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Ah? What are you saying?”
Joan bowed to Haji:
“The Bey is the Bey, he is neither part of the Imperial Guard nor an Ottoman.”
The natives looked at each other, puzzled. They remembered the first Bey Hussein had been an officer of the Ottoman Imperial Guard who had ousted the previous leader of the Guard and then seized control over Tunisia, didn’t they?
How could he not be one now?
Joan immediately explained, following the orders of the Crown Prince:
“The Bey is the ruler of Tunisia; he belongs only to Tunisia, not to the Ottoman Empire. Strictly speaking, it was the Imperial Guard who betrayed him by secretly conspiring with the Ottomans and persecuting the Roman Descendants of Tunisia!”
He gestured to Haji again:
“Haji Bey’s grandmother was Genoese, and his mother was a Toucouleur. Even if there is some Ottoman blood in him, it is very diluted by now.”
Upon hearing this, Haji wiped his brow secretly, relieved that his grandfather and father had not strictly followed the tradition of the Guard for the sake of lust; otherwise, he would have certainly been doomed today.
Joan looked at Haji again, loudly saying:
“Is that not so, esteemed Bey?”
Haji snapped to attention, seizing this last chance to save his life, nodding vigorously:
“Yes, yes! I am forever a Tunisian, a… oh, a proud Roman Descendant! I have nothing to do with those damned Ottomans!”
A clan leader frowned and voiced an objection:
“But the Bey is also a Pasha, conferred by the Ottomans.”
Joan immediately waved his hand:
“That was under the threat of the Ottomans. Moreover, Haji Bey has never accepted the conferment.”
Haji kept nodding:
“Yes, yes! I will never be a Pasha for the Ottomans!”
Zemir and the clan leaders exchanged puzzled looks again. Seeing this, Joan covertly signaled Elder Aly.
The latter stepped forward and spoke in a melodious tone:
“Gentlemen, the Bey was a ruler recognized and served by all tribes. He is not an Ottoman, nor should he be subjected to your betrayal.”
Isaac stepped forward from behind Zemir, bowing respectfully to Haji:
“I will always be loyal to you, great Bey.”
Seeing the Rebel leader set a precedent, the clan leaders hurriedly followed suit in pledging their loyalty to Haji, quickly followed by the officers.
Finally, including Zemir, the thousands of natives present bowed to Haji. The latter finally breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Joan and the others who had saved his life with immense gratitude.
Southern Bizerte.
In a villa guarded by the Swiss Guards in their red uniforms, Joseph yawned and moved the “knight” on his hand, taking a black “pawn” off the chessboard.
Having promised the queen to “stay on the ship,” he couldn’t go anywhere and had to spend his time in the “wooden ship” of this house, playing chess to pass time.