“It cannot be true,” protested one of the bishops. He was aghast at the implications of what he was hearing.
“Of course it is true. Why do you think Theodore kept his army away after promising the Patriarch that his army would attack on the day your supporters rose? It was so your uprising would fail and the Patriarch’s strongest supporters and some of the Orthodox merchants would be killed.
“Theodore sees the Patriarch as a threat to his power and wants to destroy the Church’s strongest supporters. What better way to weaken the church and discredit it than have you call for an uprising and then warning the Empress’s guards that it was coming so they would be ready to kill off the Patriarch’s supporters, eh?”
******
We talked for a while, and then I called it a day and bid them farewell. In the lantern light as I walked with them to a hastily summoned horse cart, the three Orthodox bishops were gobbling intently to each other in Greek. They were still doing so and waving their hands all about as their cart clattered away over the cobblestones.
A strong guard of archers and axe-carriers went with the bishops. They would see them safely to the city’s great Orthodox Cathedral with its massive dome and the grand residence where the current Patriarch’s predecessor lived until he fled the crusaders years ago on a chartered Company galley.
I was tired but satisfied with myself as I bowed to the bishops and their horse cart clattered away surrounded by its guards. What I had told the bishops was in every way a believable story, and I was proud of myself for making it up on such short notice. And best of all, it was supported by the absence of the Greek army, the smoke in the air, the bodies of the rioters in the streets, and the red glow in the sky from the fires in the Orthodox quarter.
What pleased me most, however, was that I was able to mislead the bishops about the French even though they were not involved, at least not so far I knew. As my father always says, an Englishman can never go wrong by confusing the French and helping them make new enemies.
****** George Courtenay
What we had actually learned from the Greek horsemen and the Orthodox bishops was a more than a little different from what I had told the bishops, and had been somewhat of a surprise, a least to me—the Greek army had expected to march over the mountain in time to launch a major attack on the outer wall yesterday. And that was the night when the city’s mostly Greek residents were supposed to rise in revolt in our rear.
The Greeks had assumed that a Sunday attack on the city would cause the Empress’s forces to rush to man the outer wall and, in doing so, leave the city unguarded so their supporters could rise up that night and take it.
Unfortunately for the Greeks, their army’s inexperienced commander, who had been given the post primarily because he was the brother of the would-be emperor, had delayed in getting word to the city’s Orthodox priests that his army’s arrival would be delayed due to its inability to cross the mountains. And then he made things worse by not even sending his cavalry in time to make a demonstration in front of the city walls before the Patriarch’s call for an uprising was announced in the Orthodox churches.
As a result of following the orders they had received from the Patriarch, the city’s Orthodox priests had called for the revolt to begin on the Sunday specified by the Patriarch even though none of the Greek army was had arrived to attack the outer wall.
The hundred or so of Greek riders were all the Greek commander could provide. They had been sent ahead to attack the outer wall in lieu of an attack by the whole army—but they arrived a day late and, when they did, they were not even able reach the wall because all but one of the bridges over the moat had been destroyed and the one remaining bridge had been raised.
Strangely enough, the Greek strategy had worked as intended. Almost all of the city’s available defenders had indeed rushed to the city’s outer wall to defend it when the Greek cavalry appeared. Even so, and only because the Greek cavalry had arrived a day late, most of the city’s defenders did not rush to the wall—they were not available because they had already been sent into the city to help put down the riots.
****** The Empress and William Courtenay
“But why did George let them go? He should have killed them or sold them for slaves, both the Greek cavalrymen he took as prisoners and the bishops as well.”
The Empress was irate when she learnt what my son had done with his prisoners and the bishops—he had freed them. I disagreed and told her as much.
“Letting the prisoners and bishops go was the right thing for my son to do,” I said.
“Right thing to do?” she asked incredulously. “Freeing men so they can once again try to kill me and my family and take the throne?”
“Of course it was the right thing to do. Some of the prisoners George and his men freed will find their way back to the Greek army and the story will come out. The word will spread that they were once again defeated by a handful of English archers.
“Defeats in earlier battles, and the bad prophecies and warnings of the blind fortune tellers you sent out to scare the Greek soldiers, those are the kinds of things that cause mass desertions and fighting men to hold back when an attack is ordered.
“And it is the same for the bishops and the Metropolitan who answers to the Patriarch and leads the bishops and priests here in the city. They will be hesitant to order another rising if they think King Theodore might give some of their churches to the Venetians and prevent the Patriarch returning, and particularly if they think you will not.
“So stop your fretting about my son’s decisions. I did not come out of retirement and sail all the way from England and Cyprus just to listen to your blathers, eh? So come to bed and make yourself useful.
Chapter Twelve
Mopping up the rioters.
No one paid attention to the six lanterns that were hanging down to light the street below us. It was not possible to see what was happening in the darkness at the other end of the street, but I could tell the street was filling up because in the dim light of the lanterns I could see the men assembling below me become more and more packed together.
The sound of the talking and shouting below us grew louder and louder as more and more of men assembled below us. Some of them seemed to be talking overly loud as men often do when they are nervous. If they had been proper soldiers their captains and sergeants would have long ago banged them on the side of their heads and told them to shut their mouths.
We waited nervously in the darkness of the upper rooms as the rioters once again filled the street below us. I was waiting for the men at the market entrance to begin launching their arrows. Surely they could see the mob forming up below me.
But what if Captain White was waiting for me to go first? I finally decided not to delay any longer. The men in the street were just too juicy a target to wait until someone told me what to do.
“ARCHERS ATTENTION.” … “ARCHERS ARE TO GO LONG,” I shouted out of the wall opening in my loudest voice. “ARCHERS, NOCK YOUR ARROWS” … “PUSH LONG” … “PUSH LONG.” And with that I stood on one side of the opening and began pushing out arrows as fast as I could. John stood on the other side and began doing the same.
Across the narrow street at the other two wall openings I could hear the sergeants in the openings on the other side of the street instantly begin repeating my order, and, for a brief moment until it was drowned out by loud shouting and screaming, the familiar sound of archers’ bowstrings hitting their leather wrist protectors.
My order had been expected and the arrows from my little band began flying out of the wall opening where we stood as fast as we could get them off. The mob on the street below me instantly dissolved into chaos with much shouting and screaming, and with everyone running every which way in an effort to save themselves.
The chaos and confusion was to be expected; most of the men on the street did not know what was happening or, if they did, where the arrows were coming from.
A few moments l
ater we began hearing the distinctive whoosh of a flight of incoming arrows. An unknown number of archers at the market’s entrance had joined in with my little band of men who were standing at wall openings and pushing arrows into the mob below us every few seconds.
It was the first time I had ever given an order and had it repeated back to me. It was very thrilling. I decided then and there that I liked being a sergeant so I could tell my mates what to do.
******
The arrows kept coming and the screaming and movement in the street below us went on as long as they did. At some point, when I stopped looking down the street and reached to pluck an arrow from the pile at my feet, I realized that Andy had taken John’s place on the side of the opening facing the market.
Our ability to see what was happening got worse and worse very quickly. Somehow during all the excitement at least half of our candle lanterns had gone out for one reason or another.
Finally, when I realized there was only one more arrow on the floor in front of me, I leaned out of the wall opening and called a halt.
“CEASE PUSHING.” .. “EVERYONE SAVE AT LEAST TWO ARROWS.”
I felt more than a bit foolish as I watched the street by the light of the remaining lanterns. Not much of the street was visible, but that part of the street right under the lanterns was covered with bodies, and a good number of them were moving. That was no surprise. For every man killed immediately by an arrow, three or four are only wounded and are still able to move enough to stagger away by themselves or with the help of their mates.
Before we started I had ordered everyone to save at least two arrows for an emergency. And now, dammit, I had only one arrow left for myself. All I could do was hope the lads in the wall openings across the street had done what I said they should do instead of what I did—and it would be even better if they never found out that I only stopped pushing out arrows when I had only one left.
The archers at the market entrance continued pushing arrows for a while longer, but then they too stopped.
Below us we could hear the familiar sobs and pleas for help from the wounded who had been abandoned on the battlefield when their mates ran. I had heard such sounds before, but not as loud and terrible as this. Or perhaps it just seemed that way because I was so close and the one who started it.
“Wat, what should we do about John?”
The question surprised me.
“What? Where is he?”
******
Captain White and a big party of archers showed up right after my men and I moved out into the street to begin picking up the arrows on the street and pulling and pushing them out of the dead and wounded Greeks. Some of them would be instantly usable and the points and shafts of many of the others could be reworked. As you might imagine, I quickly grabbed a couple that looked as though they were still useful and put them in my quiver.
We were not the first men into the street. Andy had gone out before Captain White arrived to search the dead and badly wounded Greeks and lift their purses. He offered to take the risk of doing so with the two of us splitting most of the takings.
Andy’s takings turned out not to be very much. The men in the other wall opening obeyed my orders and stood ready with arrows nocked in case Andy was challenged. It was understood that the men at each wall opening would each get one share for being ready with five for Andy taking the risk and five for me being the sergeant who gave permission.
John Long’s death took some explaining to Captain White and Lieutenant Evans, but not much.
“He must have been leaning out of the opening to push an arrow when he got hit by one of our incoming arrows, Captain. It took him in the side of his head so he never felt a thing, thank God.”
“Shite happens, Wat. John was a good archer and we will miss him. But his time was up and there was nothing you or anyone else could have done to prevent it, so get over it.”
“Yes, Captain,” I replied. What else could I say, eh? Besides, I agreed with him.
Captain White had no more than arrived when the first of many weeping and distraught women, and a number of old men and boys, showed up to search among the dead and wounded for their friends and family members. Some of them looked familiar so perhaps they were the would-be looters who had also been here yesterday.
The dead and wounded rioters were a sad sight, for sure, but they had gotten what they deserved for trying to attack us. We watched the searchers like hawks with the intention of culling any who appeared to be looting instead of trying to find or help those who were down, not that it mattered because we had already been at the dead and dying ourselves and there was nothing much left for anyone to find.
******
Andy and I wrapped John in some bed linen from the market and lowered him down through the hole in the ceiling into the arms of Sergeant Taylor, who promptly surprised us all by tearing up when he carried John out to the handcart someone had found. I was not exactly unmoved myself, but managed to hide it.
After John was gently laid in the cart, some of the archers gathered around the cart and pulled off their knitted caps as the captain muttered a brief prayer and explained what would happen next.
“We will put him with the others until we can bury them all nice and proper in a churchyard with all the right words. In the meantime the rioting and looting in the city is not over. We will have to bide here for a while in case the looters come again.”
Afterwards, Captain White walked over to me, paused for a moment, and then said something that sent my spirits soaring.
“You and your men did good work, Wat. Lieutenant Evans and I will not forget it. We will try to get more arrows and supplies to you and your men as soon as possible.”
I started to tell the captain that we had already picked up quite a few arrows because of those pushed out by the archers at the market entrance, but then I decided not to bother him by mentioning it.
Chapter Thirteen
George whittles them down.
We could see the dust cloud raised by the approaching Greek army from where we were standing on the top of the wall in front of Enclosure Seventeen. Richard had ridden in yesterday evening with the news that the Greek army brought to Adrianople by the Venetians would probably begin arriving in force the next day. He was right. It was a scorching hot day
All of the Company’s senior men were standing with me on the wall along with our apprentices and Eric, the commander of the Empress’s guards. Also on hand were the commanders of the armies of two of the Empire’s vassal states. We were all tired and red-eyed from staying up all night as a result of the heavy fighting that had occurred throughout the night in several parts of the city.
We had broken our fasts together at the Commandery that morning so we could tell each other what we knew about the state of the riots and the condition of our men. And, because he had just ridden in from a day of scouting, we listened carefully to what Richard had to say about what he had seen whilst watching the Greek army.
After we finished eating flatbreads, cheese, and duck eggs, and washing them down with bowls of surprisingly poor morning ale, we rode out together to examine the current state of the city’s defences.
Our inspection tour stopped for a few moments at Enclosure Seventeen. It was where the road from Adrianople entered the city wall through what was called the “Southern Gate.” The Southern Gate was one of the gates that neither the Greek army nor anyone else would be able to use for some time.
It was no longer usable. Not only had the bridge over the moat in front of the Southern Gate been pulled down, but the gate itself had been blocked with so much rubble and dirt piled up against it that it would probably be easier for the Greeks to break through the wall or try to climb over it than try to force their way through the gate.
Everyone was optimistic and we spent a good deal of time assuring one another that the Greeks did not know the Southern Gate was blocked and were, as a result, likely to waste time and men trying to take it. Or so we initia
lly hoped.
I shared my lieutenants’ hopes, but considered them overly optimistic. That was because much of the work to block the Southern Gate and remove its bridge had been done by the city’s mostly-Greek citizens during their mandatory work mornings. As a result, the Greek spies in the city were almost certain to know about its blockage and the similar blockings of many of the city’s other landward gates.
In fact, all the landward gates in the city’s outer wall had been blocked but one, the Farmers’ Gate, which was the gate nearest the river estuary that flowed alongside one side of the city. Indeed, I was counting on the Greeks knowing the Farmers’ Gate was still open and all the others blocked—because we wanted them to make a major effort to break into the city at the Farmers’ Gate where we and our allies in the states’ forces were prepared to give them an especially warm welcome.
******
My lieutenants and I spent the entire day reviewing the city’s defences and what moves we would make under various circumstances. Whilst we were doing so, the rest of the Venetian-carried Greeks finally began arriving in force and setting up the tents of their siege camp all along the outer defensive wall on the landward side of the city. They had somehow acquired a surprisingly large number of horses, wagons, and camp followers for an army that had travelled part of the way by sea.
After talking it over, my lieutenants and I agreed that our condition was not altogether bleak despite the previous two nights of rioting in the city, and last night’s intense fighting at several of the churches and markets in the Orthodox quarters.
Indeed, some things were quite encouraging. For instance, the Latin Quarter of the city, according to Eric whose axe-men had been deployed there, had been quiet both nights. The Latins in the city’s population were sticking with the Empress, not that they had much choice if they wanted to avoid once again being massacred by the Greeks who constituted a majority of the city’s people.
The Alchemist's Revenge Page 9