“As soon as you return from your mission,” Mahomet said.
“My mission, O Padishah?”
“It is time for me to prepare my stroke against Constantinople. I can be under no illusions, young Hawk. Those walls have stood a thousand years; they have resisted a thousand attacks. Constantine’s small army has undoubtedly grown. Your father may be right, and my fleet may be able to take the Golden Horn, to permit me to attack the city from every direction, yet it will be the greatest undertaking in history. And were I to be defeated…” He brooded for several seconds. “This cannot happen, so there are other steps which must be taken before I ever launch my assault. I am telling you my own most secret thoughts, young Hawk, because I know you will never betray me.”
Anthony bowed his head. He could never betray the Emir now, he knew, without sacrificing both his mother and father, and no doubt Laila as well. But he doubted he would, anyway, even if those three could somehow miraculously be transported to safety. Mahomet might be as cold-blooded as any snake, as bloodthirsty as any hungry tiger, but he was no more than a typical representative of his people. And he had the aura of greatness about him. Besides, he was going to take Constantinople.
“To give the guns your father is making for me the maximum support he needs,” Mahomet said, “I must establish a base on the European side of the Bosphorus.”
“But you already have vast territories in Europe, O Padishah,” Anthony ventured.
“Territories which are vulnerable to sudden attacks by the Christian princes of Serbia and Transylvania, should I ever become fully committed to a siege of Constantinople. That is one of the matters I wish to discuss with you… But the vulnerability will remain: all Christians are treacherous, when it comes to dealing with us. All they require is some priest to tell them that a treaty with a Muslim has no importance in the sight of God, and they will break it. I must therefore look to myself, and myself alone, for security. And that means Anatolia. But to attempt to sustain my armies from Anatolia would be too dangerous. I am doubling the size of my fleet, but my people are not sailors by instinct; they are horsemen. I know that should a Genoese fleet arrive in these waters, and there are constant rumours of them sending one, my communications would be cut in an hour.”
“Can you not obtain a fleet of practised seamen from Venice? They would be happy to fight against the Genoese, who are their deadly rivals in trade, and they are also the sworn enemies of Byzantium.”
“Are not the Venetians also Christian? Will they not promise aid at one moment, and prevaricate at the next? Allah knows they have been delaying the delivery of those handguns which your father considers essential to the success of our enterprise. No, while I will endeavour to set all of these things in motion, my ultimate strength can only derive from myself. I need to create a castle, a fortified post, on the European shore of the Bosphorus. This I will do, north of Constantinople. But the moment I start this, Constantine will suspect my purpose. None of my ancestors has ever done such a thing before. He may well have it in his power to rush out and destroy my works before they are sufficiently advanced to repel him. So this must be prevented.”
Anthony waited, his heart pounding. The Emir would not be confiding in him without a purpose.
“I must allay all suspicions on the part of the Byzantines,” Mahomet said. “I wish you to do this for me, young Hawk.”
“I, O Padishah?”
“You know them. You have learned their tongue. You have lived amongst them. So far, Constantine and I have done nothing more than exchange courtesies. Now you will go to him as my ambassador, and convince him that I and my people wish only peace with him and his; that building a castle on the European shores of the Bosphorus is for our mutual protection against the ambitions of Prince Drakul of Transylvania. You have heard of the man?”
“Only the name.”
“Well, I hear he is a ferocious monster.” Mahomet paused, and Anthony wondered if he was considering how any man could be more ferocious than himself.
“May I remind you, O Padishah,” he said, “that I was expelled from Constantinople on pain of death.”
Mahomet gazed at him. “Are you afraid to go back as my ambassador? You will travel under my protection. Should a hair of your head be harmed, I will impale a hundred children for each one. Tell them that. But succeed in your mission, and aid me to take that accursed city, and I will tell you this; you may ask of me anything found within those walls, and it shall be yours.”
Anthony swallowed. To imagine anything or, more important, anyone in Constantinople being his to seize was a delicious thought — but it would be dangerous to let his dreams run ahead of reality. “I will undertake your mission.”
“Which begins at Constantinople. From there you will go to Prince George Brankovich of Serbia.” He paused, his gaze on Anthony. “You have heard of him too?”
Anthony licked his lips. Not for the first time he had the uneasy feeling that Mahomet was aware of his liaison with the Emir Valideh; in the six months he had been married to Laila he had been summoned to Mara’s bedchamber on six occasions, and fallen more deeply in love than ever. “I have heard of him, O Padishah.”
“You will visit him also as my ambassador. I need his assurance that no Serbian armies will be raised against me in the course of this great undertaking, and that no armies from the West will be permitted to pass through his territories.”
“I understand,” Anthony said, his brain spinning at the concept that one so young could place so much of Europe within his undertaking.
“From the Serb I would have you seek a conference with John Hunyadi himself.”
“Hunyadi?” Anthony frowned. “He is our enemy. All Hungary is our enemy.”
“He is old, young Hawk. He has fought against the sons of Othman for too long. You will offer him peace, in my name, between our peoples. He will accept my offer.”
Anthony bowed his head. He had to assume the Emir was right.
“There is yet a third prince you must visit on my behalf, young Hawk,” Mahomet said. “Drakul.”
Anthony’s head came up sharply.
“He guards the approaches from the north, through the Transylvanian passes. He too must assure me of his neutrality. Young Hawk, that is a dangerous man. I sent him an embassy but six months ago, and still no man of it has returned. I do not even know if my people reached the prince. But you must reach him and convince him of my greatness, of the power of my people. You can do this, where my pashas may fail. You speak the languages of these people.”
“Of Transylvania?”
“Drakul will speak Latin. You will converse with him, and tell him of me. Not of my plans — only that I demand his neutrality, or else my Janissaries will storm through his kingdom one of these days and hurl him captive at my feet.” Mahomet smiled. “They will do so anyway, once Constantinople is mine. But you need not tell him that.”
“I understand, O Padishah.”
“You will be accompanied by two of my pashas, Halim and Mahmun.” Mahomet smiled. “You do not mind travelling with your father-in-law?”
“I will enjoy it.”
“You will command the embassy. They will accept this, though you are very young, young Hawk. What was your age on your last birthday?”
“Twenty, O Padishah.”
“I was but a year older when, last year, I had to grasp my inheritance. You will grasp this opportunity to serve me, and rise to greatness.”
“I will endeavour to do so.” Anthony bowed.
5
Constantinople
Byzantine guards stood to attention; the cannon fired a salute of blank shot. Beneath the helmets and the flowing robes it was not possible for any man on the wall to discern that the entire embassy was not composed solely of Ottomans.
It was an imposing embassy. Sixty horsemen walked their mounts over the flat countryside, their green and crimson banners with the insignia of the crescent fluttering in the breeze. Above them the walls and the
ir towers reached upwards. They too were marked by fluttering banners.
Once Anthony had looked on those flags as symbols beneath which he would fight. Now they were symbols he would destroy. Nearly two years ago he had crept away from this city in the dead of night, with despair in his heart. Now he was returned to betray it.
He felt no remorse. Somewhere inside those walls were the bones of his brother.
Equally, somewhere within those walls were the living bones of his sister. He hoped and prayed.
*
John Hawkwood and Mary had been appalled at the mission he had been given.
“Notaras will take one look at you and demand your execution,” John had warned.
“Not if I travel as the Emir’s ambassador,” Anthony assured him with more confidence than he actually felt. “He would not dare.”
“You are our last remaining child,” Mary had sobbed.
“No, Mother. You have another child — and I will bring you news of her,” Anthony promised.
I may even bring her back to you, he thought. That was his dream. In the Ottoman empire all things were possible, providing one had the favour of the Emir. What he really wanted to do was return to Constantinople in triumph, and reveal that triumph to his once-loved sister.
And to the Notaras family. Every one of them.
Laila could not understand his parents’ remonstrances, as they had been conducted in English. Neither could she understand why her husband would not travel, as a true Muslim lord, complete with harem — nor permit his two associates to take a vast retinue of camp followers.
“We have a long and dangerous journey ahead of us,” he insisted. “We will take only our bodyguard of sipahis.”
Laila was nonetheless proud. “You are employed upon the Emir’s business, husband,” she said. “You will become a pasha, like my father. With him at your side, you cannot fail.”
*
The Emir Valideh had also been upset, when she summoned Anthony to her the night before he left. “It is his power to use men,” she observed. “Now he sends you from my side.”
“Sometimes I feel he knows about us, Mara.”
Mara gazed at him in thought for several seconds. Then she smiled. “That is impossible, young Hawk. Or you would no longer retain a head, much less a penis. But I would have you come back to me. Be sure of that.”
“When I come back, Mara, I must go to war. Along with the Emir.”
“I know. But I will see you nevertheless before you go.” She pressed an emerald ring into his hand. “That is my favourite stone — as is well known. Place it in the hand of my nephew, and tell him of me.” Another roguish smile. “And of my power here.”
*
But now the time for dreams and fears was past. The members of the embassy were walking their horses through the streets of the great city, and the crowds were out to gaze at them. Nothing much had changed there, so far as Anthony could discern. He studied everything with the greatest attention. The walls stood as strong as ever; the cannon were placed as his father had left them. The great chain still barred the entrance of the Golden Horn to all except peaceful ships.
And the people seemed just the same: brilliantly dressed and noisy, ill-disciplined and clamorous. No doubt there had been many a chariot race, and many an evening riot, since the one that had brought him and his family to disaster.
Anthony had never before entered the reception hall of the Imperial Palace. Now he strode up its centre aisle, hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar, green silk cape floating from his shoulders, as light drifted through the stained-glass windows to reflect from his cuirass and the steel of his helmet. Halim Pasha and Mahmun Pasha walked on either side, but slightly behind him. Though each was old enough to be his father, neither man had shown the least resentment at being placed in an inferior position to a gaiour and a boy.
Hawkwood had never stood face to face with the Emperor either; nor, as he bowed, had he time to scan the faces of the men behind the throne.
“My lord,” he began, “the Emir Mahomet, the second of that immortal name, Lord of Sivas and Karaman, Anatolia and Jandar, Roumelia and Greece, sends greetings to His Most Serene Highness, Constantine, the eleventh of that name, Emperor of Byzantium.”
“Your Emir’s greeting has been long delayed,” Constantine remarked mildly. “All we hear from Brusa and Ankara is talk of arms and armour, of vast armies being raised against us.”
Anthony straightened. “Not against you, I assure Your Grace. But the Emir has many enemies in Europe as well as Asia. He has much to defend.”
Constantine was frowning at him in puzzlement. Though Anthony’s hair was concealed beneath his helmet, there was no disguising either his height or his ruddy complexion, through the overlay of sunburn.
“By God!” suddenly shouted the Grand Duke Lukas Notaras, standing as ever behind the throne. ‘“That is Hawkwood’s son.”
Anthony bowed. “I have that privilege, my lord.”
“Seize the fellow,” Notaras bellowed. “He is a proscribed traitor!”
Guards hurried forward, and the Ottomans reached for their scimitars.
Anthony did not flinch. “I am sent as ambassador from the Emir, Your Grace,” he reminded Constantine.
The Emperor hastily gestured his soldiers to fall back. “Then you are doubly traitor,” he growled.
“How so, Your Grace? My father came here loyally determined to serve Your Grace’s cause. But we were expelled, and my brother murdered… But I did not come here to speak of things past.” He raised his voice as the Byzantine nobles began to chatter amongst themselves. “What is done is done. Instead I come as an emissary for my new master, the Emir Mahomet, lord of all the Ottomans.”
The muttering slowly died.
“And I come in peace,” Anthony continued in a lower voice. “The Emir Mahomet seeks only peace with Byzantium. He has sent me here to tell you this. Moreover, he has sent me here to convey to you his plans, so that you may understand them. The Emir has information that Prince Drakul of Wallachia plans a campaign towards the south…”
“I have heard of this man,” Constantine muttered. “His deeds make even the veriest heathen seem like a saint.”
“Then you will understand that the Emir must protect his territories against these savages.”
“The Emir’s territories south of the Danube are extensive,” Constantine remarked.
“But scantily held with men, Your Grace. The Emir plans to build a great castle on the shores of the Bosphorus, some miles north of Galata.”
There was a fresh outbreak of muttered comment.
“Such a castle would protect Constantinople equally with the Emir’s possessions,’ Anthony said loudly.
“Or could equally be used against Constantinople,” Notaras broke in.
“Why should our Emir seek to destroy Constantinople?” Anthony asked. “The castle will be built to restrain the ambitions of this Drakul. That is the word of the Emir Mahomet. Therefore the Emir extends the hand of friendship to the Byzantines, and invites them to join with him in a pact of peace between our two peoples.”
“To such a pact would we happily adhere,” Constantine agreed thoughtfully. “You have risen far in the service of your new master, Hawkwood, to have been entrusted with such a valuable mission.”
“I am fortunate, Your Grace,” Anthony acknowledged.
“You will dine with me, and tell me more of this Emir of yours,” Constantine commanded.
*
Halim was jubilant. “They are fools who accepted your every word, young Hawk,” he said. “They are like lambs ripe for slaughter. Our master will be pleased.”
“It is sad,” Mahmun commented, “for an emissary of the Emir thus to lie.”
Halim snapped his fingers. “But that is why a gaiour was chosen, Mahmun. Can you not understand that? Lying is second nature to the Franks. Or to the Byzantines,” he added.
Anthony decided not to take offence. The three of the
m had a long way to travel together. Besides, was the man not right? He had lied more convincingly than he had ever supposed he could. And Constantine had clearly believed him.
*
“Tell me of your father,” the Emperor began, as Anthony sat beside him in the Imperial banqueting hall, looking in awe across the table at the assembled Byzantine nobility.
Anthony thought: did I ever expect to be seated here at the right hand of Constantine Paleologus?…to be drinking wine — for the first time in over a year — from a golden goblet, and eating from a golden plate, and being served by these obsequious Greek flunkey? There was no such wealth in Mahomet’s palace.
He wondered what the Emir’s reactions would be to such unbridled splendour.
“My father is well,” he answered the Emperor. “And he prospers.”
“That is good. He was done a great injustice, perhaps.” Constantine glanced at him. “You understand that I would have saved your brother’s life if only I could.”
“I believe that, Your Grace.”
“I certainly did not intend that you or your father should take service with the Ottoman,” Constantine said somewhat ingenuously. “Tell me this: does Hawkwood teach the Turks the arts of gunnery?”
“The Turks are nomads from the steppes of Asia. For all their successes and their fine airs, they remain nothing more. How may nomads understand gunnery?”
Constantine stared at him so hard that Anthony blurted out the truth. Then the Emperor sighed. “I believe you, young Hawkwood, because I must. Your master can march against the walls of my city whenever he chooses. But tell him this: Constantinople will be defended, and will survive.”
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