The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set 2

by Dan Davis

  “Can it be true?” I asked Eva.

  Stephen answered, flicking the letter in his hands. “It is Constantinople herself that calls for aid. Letters have been sent to every Christian kingdom, begging for help before the Turks arrive.”

  “Then that is what we shall do,” I said. “Prepare the men. We leave for Constantinople.”

  5. Constantinople

  1453

  The Turks had long sought Constantinople and yet it was impossible to not see William’s hand in this new assault. It was the sort of grandiose monstrosity that he brought forth into the world. Yet it was certainly in the interests of the new young Sultan, for if he achieved his aim it would secure his position within his empire, as well as make him famous everywhere in Dar al-Islam, even in Arabia and Egypt where they looked down on the Turks as barbarian upstarts. Indeed, such fame would help to secure his empire’s porous eastern borders, for who would dare attack the man who had destroyed the great Constantinople?

  The Byzantines had long been forced into vassalage under the Turks. Under the terms of their vassalage they had not even been permitted to strengthen the great walls of their city and had been sending troops to fight for the Turks for decades already. Even sixty years earlier, the subjugated Byzantines had sent troops to help destroy the city of Philadelphia, the last Byzantine possession in Anatolia. All that was left of the once great and vast Roman Empire of the East was the city of Constantinople and a handful of outlying ports, fortresses and villages. Such a disgrace and humiliation to suffer and yet the city itself, with its vast walls, had resisted every previous attempt at taking it.

  There remained many elements in the city’s favour. Provided that Venice and Genoa and other fleets came to Constantinople’s aid, the Turks would have enormous trouble crossing the Bosporus without coming to disaster. The Turks were good soldiers but their fleets had always been weak compared to Christian navies. And if they attacked the great chain gate that protected the Golden Gate harbour, they would be risking a counter assault by the Christian ships safe in the Golden Horn.

  “Do not think the Turk is unaware of this,” the Byzantine officer said as he escorted us along the top of the inner wall of the city’s main defensive fortification. The officer’s name was Michael and he was a grim fellow though he had welcomed me and my company with open arms when we arrived. “One of the first acts that alerted us to the Turk’s intentions was his construction of the fortress six miles north of here, on the European side of the straits. It is at the narrowest point of the Bosporus, do you see? It was when the towers of the fortress grew as tall as our own walls that Emperor Constantine sent his letters requesting aid. That fortress is armed with vast cannons, powerful enough to threaten any ship passing through.”

  Michael came to a stop beside a tower at the northern end of the inner wall and we looked out through one of the enormous crenels to the empty land beyond. The fields were untended and there were hardly any people on the roads, all the way to the horizon. On our right was the inner portion of the Golden Horn, the protected harbour so precious to the city. Within the harbour, hundreds of ships, large and small, bobbed on the blue waters.

  On the other side of the harbour mouth was the walled town of Galata, which was largely populated and controlled by Genoese colonists. Unseen beyond Galata, further along the strait, was the new fortress that Michael had spoken of. It was technically, legally, on Byzantine land but the Turks had not cared about that. They meant to take everything for themselves anyway, so why quibble over such things? The local peasants had protested but there was nothing they could do.

  “So they now control the northern half of the straits, at the least,” I said. “But still, the Turk cannot truly sail.”

  Michael scoffed. “No, he takes to the water like a stone,” he said and spat. “And may they all drown like rocks, also. But no, they have been building ships everywhere in Anatolia. And they have promised fortunes for Christian crews and captains for a thousand miles and they have answered, the treacherous, mercenary, bastards. With hundreds of new ships and Christian crews, the Turk may be a challenge for the Venetians and Genoese.”

  “Surely not, sir,” I said, thinking him far too fearful.

  Eva and Stephen exchanged a look and Stephen began scratching down notes. Walt leaned on the merlon and looked out at the landscape beyond, pointing down at the lower, outer walls and muttering something to Rob and Serban.

  “Four hundred Turkish ships in the straits, so they are saying. Eighteen great warships, another twenty galleons and a score or more built only for transporting horses across the straits. They have made a fleet and made it for the sole purpose of contesting the Bosporus and for moving an army across the waters.”

  Stephen stopped writing for a moment to stare, Serban crossed himself and Rob muttered a short prayer or an oath.

  “Even so,” Stephen said, “the Venetians alone could defeat the Turks, could they not?”

  “That is assuming more Venetians come than have already,” Michael said. “They are not a people to be trusted, as I am sure you know. They care only for gold, for making wealth. They are a people without honour.”

  “They are Christians, sir,” I said. “They will come. All of Christendom will come.”

  He scoffed openly. “An easy thing to say. Yet, where are they?”

  Stephen answered. “Constantine has promised to heal the schism between the Roman and the Orthodox Church, has it not? And the agreement allows the Pope in Rome to be the lord of all Christians in the East.”

  The soldier sucked air in through pursed lips. “Old Constantine has promised it, yes, and the leaders of the Church have agreed. But ordinary people will not have it. Mark me, sir, the people will not be subject to Rome.”

  “They would rather be destroyed by the Mohammedans?” I said, irritated by his obstinacy, and that of his people.

  “They would rather be free to worship as they believe in their hearts.”

  “But if it is a choice of surviving or being destroyed, surely they can see they would be better off changing the form of their worship somewhat rather than seeing their sons murdered and their wives and daughters raped and sold into slavery.”

  He shrugged. “They see it as subjugation also. But they believe the walls will save us. And God will save us. This is God’s city. He will not let it fall.”

  I shook my head in disbelief, and Eva placed a hand on my arm.

  “Who has come so far, sir?” Eva asked him, smiling pleasantly. “We have seen Venetian ships in the harbour and men of many nations in the city.”

  His face flushed as he answered, annoyed at being addressed by a woman. Normally, she held her tongue amongst strangers but we were not in normal times. “Catalan mercenaries have been hired but silver was stripped from the churches to pay for them and the people are not happy. Not happy at all, madam. Some of the silver went on repairing the walls, at least, and few men complain about that. The Venetians, though, already lost ships to the great guns of the Rumelia Hisar fortress and so they are keeping clear of it until the battle is won. To that end they have sent us the ships you see, along with two transport ships now departed which was filled with Venetian soldiers.”

  “So they have come,” I said. “In numbers.”

  “A few hundred soldiers, perhaps. But will they stand or will they set sail when battle is joined?”

  I had no answer for him. “Who else has come?”

  “Cardinal Isidore arrived yesterday and his men are now disembarking. I believe he has brought hand-gunners and archers but a mere two hundred soldiers. In the streets, the people are rejoicing and saying that this is the vanguard of a vast army which comes even now to save us. After all, why not think this? The Pope could send tens of thousands but he demands Constantine publicly heal the schism first. Outrageous. I tell them that the Pope’s army is not coming but few have listened. Even my own family tell me to have faith. Ha!” He turned and spat over the wall, the wind catching it and se
nding it flying away horizontally. I guessed he had spent a lot of time up on that wall.

  “And what of the Genoese? Is there word?”

  “They say that they will come. But will they? They are almost as bad as the Venetians and perhaps they are even worse, for they occupy the Galata quarter, across from the Golden Horn, and many are saying that they must remain neutral if there is a battle. Neutral! Can you imagine it? Almost as bad as the Hungarians.” He eyed me, watching my reaction, for he knew that we had come from that very place and that my company had been in their employ.

  I spoke lightly. “You have reason to hold the Hungarians in contempt, sir?”

  He lifted his chin. “I do. We have had word back from this jumped up poor knight made Regent of Hungary, named Hunyadi. He lost the battle at Varna, the bloody fool. And now he sends word in reply to a request for aid from the Basileus himself. Do you know what he says to my lord?”

  “I was the one who bore the letter,” I said.

  Michael scowled. “So, you know. You know that your master Hunyadi says that he will only send soldiers here if we promise him land in Greece in return. Land that is not even in our possession now that the Turk has taken it! It is as if he has intended an insult. Is that what he intended, an insult to the Emperor?”

  “I do not know.”

  After leaving Vlad Dracula in the province of Transylvania, I had returned to Buda and asked Hunyadi how many men he was sending to protect Constantinople. He told me it had yet to be decided and that I was to wait. It soon became clear that the Hungarians were interested only in making the most of it as an opportunity to extract concessions from the Emperor. In truth, there was little he could give, for he had no territory, no men, and no money. He did have historical claims to certain territories and other rights and these were what Hunyadi asked for.

  “So, you will not go?” I had asked Hunyadi. “Truly?”

  “We may go, by land or by sea, but there must be the will of the council and the lords see Constantinople as a lost cause. We may bring them around yet, Richard. Have patience, sir.”

  But I did not have patience and could not sit around waiting while the last bastion of Christianity in the East was at risk. And so I had begged that he allow my company to go, at least. When Hunyadi agreed, I had the distinct feeling that he did not expect to see me ever again. At least he had paid me and my men and had helped arrange our ship from Venice.

  On the high, inner wall, I turned and looked in toward the city. Below me, protected by the ancient wall, was a huge plain dotted with fields and houses. In the distance, where the peninsular narrowed, I saw the massive dome of the Sancta Sophia and the other grand buildings with the sea around on all three sides. I had been there before, many times, and each time the venerable city had declined. It had become a collection of small villages, communes, dotted about, with the densest areas along the northern and southern walls and in the heart of the old city where the government administrators and merchants lived.

  “What will Emperor Constantine do?” Stephen asked Michael.

  “He has promised Hunyadi the land in Greece he has asked for. What else can he do? He has embraced humility and is willing to give all in order to save what is left. But these Christian kings think only of themselves. Do you know that Alfonso of Naples demands the island of Lemnos in return for sending his ships? As if it is not his duty to do so all the same.”

  “I agree, it is madness,” I said. “But more men will come. I am sure of it. But how many men do you have in total?”

  His face coloured and he looked out at the waters. “So far? Not eight thousand proper soldiers. More will come, yes. Yes. They have to.”

  We exchanged looks. Eight thousand men to defend the greatest city in the world? It was ludicrous. It could not be done.

  “What of the militia?”

  He nodded. “Yes, we have thirty-five thousand militia under arms inside the walls. And they have been trained. But they are not soldiers, they are men with weapons.”

  “Men defending their homes,” I pointed out. “Their families.”

  “Yes,” he said, looking wistful.

  “You have family still here?”

  “Of course,” he said, looking both offended and confused.

  I thought it best to change the subject. “What of the walls? You are repairing and rebuilding certain sections, I see?”

  The walls of the city were famous throughout the world. For a thousand years, they had helped keep the city safe. But they were old. Built for a time that was long gone.

  Extending across the peninsula from the Sea of Marmara in the south to the Golden Horn in the north, they were four miles long and dotted with almost one hundred towers. The main, inner wall was forty feet high and the smaller outer one beyond it was thirty feet. Beyond that was an enormous moat sixty-five feet wide and thirty feet deep.

  Where they reached the water in the north and south, the walls turned sharply and ran all the way around the peninsula so that the city was entirely encased in stone and brick, with battlements on top.

  Repairs and additions had been made over the centuries, of course but there were few emplacements for cannon or firearms. Michael and his men escorted us along the top of the inner wall and showed us the sections they had repaired and other terraces where they had installed small cannons.

  “What do you think?” I asked my men.

  They were silent, looking in various directions.

  “I think it is still a wonder of the world,” Stephen said. “Even after so many years of degeneration.”

  “There are no defences like this anywhere else on earth,” Rob said. “The scale is… inhuman.”

  “I think we were fools to come,” Walt said. “This place is doomed.”

  “There is hope yet,” Rob said. “Think of the floating chain, with the massive buoys. It yet closes the Golden Horn, from the Acropolis Point to the sea wall of Galata. It is in place. It is functional. No assault can be made there.

  “Stephen?” I prompted. “You saw it two hundred years ago, just as I did. It is much changed, is it not? The walls are still here, yes, but the people are so few. It is like the countryside in here, not a city.”

  “And yet we must remember that this city has been besieged so many times, Richard, and almost always it has resisted. Look here, behind the walls. Yes, the people are fewer than they were. But we see vast fields under cultivation. Orchards. Livestock of all kinds being reared, sheep, pigs, even cows. Pasture for horses. They bring in great baskets onto the docks every morning, filled to bursting with fish caught just off the many harbours. There are cisterns all over the city storing more water than can be used. No siege can starve us out, that much is certain.”

  Walt held his hand over his eyes. “But they ain’t going to settle in, are they, Stephen? You heard how many men the Turks are planning to bring here? That are already gathering beyond all four horizons.” He slapped a hand on the towering merlon beside him. “They mean to break through. Perhaps not these walls, perhaps instead by the sea ones there or there. But they mean to break us open. We should not have come here. Eight thousand proper soldiers, Richard. Look at this wall. Look beyond it. Imagine the plain filled to the horizon. How many will William and his pet Sultan bring here? A hundred thousand? Surely, knowing what we know, we must leave while we still can.”

  I sighed and leaned on the top of the crenel, trying to imagine the army that Walt described.

  “These walls have stood every assault,” I said. “Well, other than the madness of the crusade in my youth when the Christians of the West took the place by the power of deceit and confusion. But look how high they are. How broad. Of the hundred thousand they might bring, how many will be horsemen? What will horses do against this mighty fortress?”

  For fortress it was, more than a mere wall. With its multiple layers, stairs, gates, tunnels, and towers, the word wall did not do it justice. It was a fortress complex, only one that was stretched across four miles.


  “All they need do,” Walt said. “Is fill the moat with the bodies of their horses and climb over the walls. A hundred thousand against eight thousand? You ain’t thinking straight, Richard.”

  “With the walls under our feet, we will even the odds.”

  Eva sighed. “There is word that the Hungarian cannon maker named Urban has been casting guns for the Turks for months. Probably years.”

  “Why is the bastard not making cannons for Hungary?” I asked, irritated.

  “He was, and then he came here to do so. But the Emperor would not pay for the great cannons he wished to build, and they could not procure the metals and would not provide him men with the expertise. And somehow the Turks persuaded him to go to them.”

  “So because of the weakness of our leaders, the enemy shall have the cannons that we should have,” I shook my head. “But surely there is not a cannon that has been made that could bring down these mighty walls.”

  “Perhaps it has not been built yet,” Eva said. “But perhaps it shall be.”

  I sighed. “William is bringing his Sultan here to destroy this city. It is our duty to stop him. We must stay. But our mortal company are not duty bound to do the same. I will speak to them and give them the opportunity to leave before it is too late.”

  ***

  In December 1452, Constantine XI accepted that the only way he was going to get more men from Christendom was to go through with his promised union of the churches. And so a service was dedicated to the official union in the Santa Sophia, with all the heads of the Orthodox Church agreeing to end the schism with Rome.

  The old soldier, Michael, had been right about the mood of the people, however, and that of the lower clergy. Immediately following the service of union, the city erupted into rioting as the furious people felt betrayed.

  We stayed well out of it, of course, but it did not bode well. Instead of preparing for the fight of their lives, they were fighting each other. It was madness. It was as though they could not see what was coming.