Siege

by Jack Hight

  A path led down from the cave to the sea walls, which ran parallel to the shores of the Golden Horn, separating the port from the city. Although not as imposing as the land walls, they were still massive, rising thirty feet high and studded with towers. And because of their position along the Golden Horn, the sea walls were impossible to take unless an enemy completely controlled the harbour. Although the walls had originally marked the limit of the city, over the centuries warehouses had been built beyond them to service the docks there, and in time taverns, inns, bawdyhouses and churches had sprung up to service the sailors who used the docks and warehouses.

  Gennadius and Eugenius took the path down to the sea walls, where a guard loyal to the Synaxis let them through, and then they walked north along the docks to a small Orthodox church. There were no tunnels that Gennadius knew of directly into the city, but this church would do. A tunnel in its crypt led to the basement beneath a monastery in the nearby settlement of Cosmidion, only some two hundred yards north of Constantinople along the Golden Horn. Gennadius and Eugenius entered the church and moved to the back of the sanctuary, where a staircase led down to the crypt. There, behind a row of stone sarcophagi, they located a trapdoor with a ladder leading downwards into the darkness. Eugenius took a torch from the wall and descended first. Gennadius followed, and when he reached the floor of the tunnel he found a man waiting for him, a man from the East, with a broad, smooth face and shaved head. He held a torch in one hand and a small birdcage containing a pigeon sat at his feet. Something about the way the man looked at Gennadius unnerved the monk.

  'What has brought you here, stranger?' Gennadius asked. This was the beginning of the code that he and Halil had agreed upon.

  'I come seeking wisdom,' the man replied in passable Greek. It was the correct response.

  'So you are Isa,' Gennadius said. 'Do you have what I asked for?'

  'I have brought the poison,' Isa confirmed. He took out a small leather pouch and handed it to Gennadius. Gennadius opened it and peered inside. It was filled with white powder.

  'What is this?'

  'A powerful poison, made from bitter almonds,' Isa explained. 'When inhaled, the powder is fatal. The assassin need only throw it near the sultan.'

  'Then it will do perfectly,' Gennadius said, carefully closing the pouch.

  'Good. The grand vizier wishes to make it clear that the city is not to fall until the sultan is dead. Those are the terms of the deal. If you fulfil them, then you shall have what you wish.'

  'Tell Halil not to worry. The messenger who will bring the key to unlock the city and the assassin who will kill the sultan are one and the same,' Gennadius said. 'I will send him when the time is right, when the siege has grown old and the sultan is desperate enough to listen.'

  'What you do is your concern. So long as you succeed, the less that Halil knows, the better. In the meantime, if you should need to communicate with Halil, you will come here.' Isa picked up the birdcage and handed it to Gennadius. 'Use this bird to contact Halil. No message is necessary. Simply release it, and it will fly to Halil. A messenger will meet you here the night that he receives the bird, just after sunset. He will ask you a question to determine your identity. The answer is 'Edirne'.'

  'I understand,' Gennadius said. He was impressed. The bird was an elegant mechanism.

  'Then we are done here,' Isa said and turned to go.

  'God go with you, my son,' Gennadius called after the retreating figure.

  'God abandoned me long ago,' the man said as he disappeared into the darkness. Halil sat alone in his luxurious tent, propped up by cushions and with a portable writing desk across his lap. He had been busy writing since early morning, letter after letter to nearby emirs and beys, in which he requested the delivery of food and other supplies. The sultan's army consumed enormous quantities, and even after months of preparation, they would not be able to stay in the field for much over a week without fresh supplies. It was Halil's task to acquire those supplies. The letters he wrote were, of course, a mere formality. If the lords refused to supply the sultan's army at a fair price, then troops would simply take the provisions.

  As Halil started yet another letter, Isa stepped into his tent. 'Servants, leave us,' Halil said. 'Isa, you may sit.' He gestured to some cushions on the floor, but Isa remained standing. 'I had expected you back sooner. You delivered the poison and the bird?'

  'The monk has them both, and he promises that the city will not fall until Mehmed is dead.'

  'Did he say anything else about his plans?'

  'No, only that the messenger who brings the secret to conquering Constantinople will also be the one who brings news of Mehmed's death.'

  'A riddle then,' Halil said. 'And one best left unsolved. The less we know of Gennadius's actions the better. I have another task for you.'

  Isa held up his hand, cutting the vizier off. 'I grow tired of serving as your messenger. You promised me the release of my family if I did as you asked, and I have done all that you asked and more, these three years past.' He pulled a small pouch from beneath his robes. 'I am done with this. Release my family, or I will kill you here and now.'

  A trickle of sweat ran down Halil's spine. 'Do not be rash, Isa,' he said, managing to keep his voice steady. 'If you kill me, then your family will die. You know that. Do not throw their lives away when you are so close to winning their freedom. I have but one more task for you, and then your family will be free.'

  Isa hesitated, then finally put the pouch back beneath his robes. 'What would you have me do?'

  'Go back to Edirne and kill young Bayezid, the son of the sultan,' Halil told him. 'Make his death look natural, but do it quickly. He must die before this siege is through, before the death of Mehmed.'

  'And if I do this, then my family will be freed?'

  'When my men hear that Bayezid is dead, then they will turn your family over to you, and you will be well rewarded for your many services.'

  'I do not want any more of your money, Halil, only my family,' Isa said. His hand went back to the pouch of poison. 'Do I have your word that they will be freed?'

  'You have my word.'

  'Very well. For your sake, you had best keep your promise,' Isa said and left the tent.

  Halil watched him go. Isa's family was his weakness, and it would be his undoing. Halil placed the letter to the city of Chorlu aside and began a new one, this time in code, to his agents in Edirne. Constantine stood at his post at the Fifth Military Gate, near the middle of the Mesoteichion, and squinted against the early morning light as he watched the Turkish army form ranks in the distance. Dalmata stood beside him, and Notaras was not far off at the Blachernae wall. The siege was now ten days old, and not a cannon had fired, not an arrow had flown. While the men of the city waited on the walls day after day with increasing anxiety, the Turkish camp remained unnervingly quiet. Now, the Turkish army had finally sprung to life. Even though he dreaded the carnage to come, Constantine found himself looking forward to the release of the dreadful tension that had hung over the city.

  On the far plain, the Turkish army had finished forming ranks. Flags waved over each regiment, identifying the origins of particular units. In the centre of the janissaries, directly across from Constantine, the flag of Mehmed — a white standard covered in ornate Turkish script — waved in the breeze. Horns sounded from the Turkish army, their loud call shattering the silence, and the regiments began to move, marching forward in step to the boom of drums, the clash of cymbals and the ringing of small bells held high on sticks. The sound of the approaching army was deafening after the long silence. 'Prepare to fight!' Constantine shouted over the din. He had no sooner spoken than another blast of horns sounded, and the Turkish army halted.

  'What are they waiting for?' Constantine growled. 'Why don't they just attack and be done with it?'

  'I do not think that they mean to attack just yet,' Dalmata said. 'Look, heralds.'

  All down the Turkish lines, at intervals of a hundred y
ards, heralds dressed in red caftans stepped forth, accompanied by men carrying white flags of truce that snapped in the wind. They stopped just short of the fosse, where they raised their trumpets and together blew a shattering blast. Before the note had entirely faded, the heralds began to speak in unison, loudly and in Greek.

  Where Constantine stood on the wall, the voice of the herald before him came and went as the fitful, swirling breeze pushed his words now towards the walls, now away. Still, the message was clear; it was a call for surrender. 'In accordance… law of Islam, the great sultan promises to spare those who voluntarily surrender to him. If any man surrenders… family and property will be safeguarded. Those who choose to stay… no mercy. You have until sunrise, tomorrow, to decide.' Their message delivered, the heralds returned to the lines. The sultan's army turned and marched back to camp.

  'Shall I send a reply, Emperor?' Dalmata asked.

  'No reply will be necessary,' Constantine said. 'But let it be known in the city that this gate will be opened for any who desire to leave.'

  'But My Lord,' Dalmata protested. 'We are undermanned as it is. We cannot stand to lose any more men.'

  'I will not force men to fight who would rather run,' Constantine said. 'Their swords will be of little use anyway. Open this gate for those who would surrender and let us pray that our people choose honour over the promises of the sultan. And Dalmata, have my supper brought to me here.'

  'Here, My Lord?'

  'It will be a long night, and I would rather spend it here than pacing the halls of the palace. I trust in my people to stay and fight, but if any of them wish to leave, let them look upon the face of their emperor as they do so.' As night gave way to morning and the Turkish camp came alive with the innumerable sounds of an army in the field, Mehmed stood atop an earthen rampart and peered out over the palisade towards the imposing walls of Constantinople and the city gate that had been left open all night. In the dim pre-dawn light he could just make out the figure of the emperor standing atop the gate. Ulu told him that Constantine had been there all night. During that time, seven Venetian ships had slipped out of port, but that was all. Not a single person had fled through the open gate, beneath the gaze of the emperor. Now, as the rays of the sun struck the top of the gate, it swung slowly shut. The Greeks had rejected Mehmed's offer. The time for mercy had ended.

  'They are brave, there can be no doubt of that,' Mehmed said to Ulu. 'All the better. It will make our victory that much sweeter.' He turned to Urban, who was directing a dozen men as they finished loading a giant cannonball nearly four feet tall into the mouth of the largest cannon that the world had ever seen. The barrel, all twenty-seven feet of it, hung from thick ropes attached to a wooden frame, a system that Urban had devised to absorb the cannon's violent recoil, which would destroy the traditional wooden cradle used for the other cannons. Urban called his monstrous creation the Dragon, and Mehmed liked the name. He had had artists paint the barrel with the serpentine shape of a dragon. He wanted the cannon's fearsome voice to be the first thing the Christians heard that morning, telling them that the siege had begun and that the end was near. 'Urban, is the cannon ready?' Mehmed asked.

  'As ready as I can make her, My Lord,' Urban replied. 'She's still a little shaky, but she'll hold.'

  'Are you certain? You know how much depends on the Dragon.'

  'Sure as sure,' Urban said. 'I'd stake my life on it.' Urban froze as the words escaped his lips. A mistake.

  'Very well,' Mehmed replied. 'Your life it is, then. As for my part, I will stake your weight in gold. It will be yours if the cannon holds and the cannonball reaches the city. You may fire when ready, Urban.'

  'Yes, My Lord,' Urban said. He turned back to his crew and bellowed: 'Open the palisade!' Men tugged at ropes, and the hinged door of the palisade that protected the cannon swung open. Urban was busy at the rear of the cannon. He checked the ropes holding it in place one final time, and then took up a burning slow match. 'You'll want to cover your ears, Sultan,' he said. Mehmed did so, and Urban lowered the slow match to the cannon's touch hole.

  Instantly the cannon belched forth a long tongue of fire and jerked violently backwards. Even with his ears covered, the noise set Mehmed's head ringing and shook the platform. He turned to follow the flight of the massive cannonball. It seemed to float in the air for an incredibly long time as it travelled the two hundred yards to the walls. It soared over the fosse and crashed into the outer wall, which was instantly enveloped in a cloud of dust and flying debris. A split second later, the loud report of the impact came to Mehmed, and then, slowly, the dust cleared. The Christians had hung the walls with strips of leather and bales of hay and wool in the hope of absorbing the impact of cannon fire, but their precautions had done little good. The cannon had hit the wall midway up and blasted a hole clean through it. As the wind blew the last traces of dust away, the portion of the wall above the hole collapsed. The Turkish lines erupted in wild cheering.

  Mehmed turned to congratulate Urban and saw that the rear of the cannon had fallen from its frame, pinning a man beneath it. Urban and his crew were at work with crowbars, desperately trying to heave the huge weight off the poor man's crushed legs. The man himself was unconscious, or dead.

  'Fix it,' Mehmed said. 'I want it firing again before the sun has set.'

  'What of our wager?' Urban asked tentatively, scratching his neck.

  'The cannonball reached the wall, as I requested. We will call it a draw.' Urban bowed. 'Besides, I need you to get the cannon firing again. Get to it.'

  'Yes, My Lord,' Urban said and began barking orders.

  'Ulu, tell the other artillery commanders down the line that they may fire when ready,' Mehmed ordered. 'I want cannons firing day and night. Concentrate on the Mesoteichion. Tell the men that every time a section of the wall falls, I will reward the unit that brings it down with one hundred aspers. The walls of Constantinople have stood for more than a thousand years. Let us see how long it takes for us to bring them down.'

  Chapter 14

  SATURDAY 14 APRIL AND SUNDAY 15 APRIL 1453, CONSTANTINOPLE: DAYS 14 AND 15 OF THE SIEGE

  Sofia sat on the floor of the palace library, surrounded by old books and tattered manuscripts, an ancient map spread out before her. The library windows looked out beyond the wall, and when she stood at them, she could see the Turkish batteries pounding away at the city. Her attention, however, was completely taken up with the yellowing map before her. Sofia could not fight at the walls, but that did not mean that she would not do her part to defend Constantinople. She was looking for anything that could be useful, but most of all she was looking for information about tunnels into the city. Despite persistent rumours over the decades, no such tunnels had ever been found. The map before her looked like another dead end. It detailed the cisterns, tunnels and pipes that ran under the city, but it did not show any tunnels leading beneath the walls.

  A deafening crash pulled her attention from the map. The floor shook unnervingly, and she stood, prepared to run for cover. But after a few seconds, the shaking stopped. Over the past three days, Sofia has grown accustomed to the constant booming of the Turkish guns, but the occasional rending crash as a cannonball hit the palace still startled her. Fortunately, the guns firing on the Blachernae quarter were not nearly as imposing as the enormous cannon that had been placed across from the Mesoteichion.

  Sofia went to the window, but the portion of the palace that she could see still looked intact in the early morning light. She was about to turn back to her books when she noticed people rushing through the square below, away from the walls. As she watched, more and more people streamed past. Where could they be going? Had the Turks breached the walls? Sofia stepped out of the library to ask a palace guard.

  The hallways were empty so she headed to the palace entrance, and finding it unguarded, slipped out into the street amongst the thinning crowd. She stopped a bent old woman who was tottering past. 'Many pardons, maame,' Sofia said. 'Where is everybod
y going?'

  'To the Acropolis to watch,' the woman replied. 'Help has come at last! Christian ships have been seen in the Sea of Marmora.' Sofia fell into step beside her.

  'When were they seen?' she asked. 'Do you know where they are from?'

  'A lookout spotted them at first light. Where they are from, I don't know. So long as they bring help, they could be from Hades and I would bless every one of them.'

  'As would I. Thank you, maame.' Sofia hurried on past her, following the crowd. She found a spot near the southern edge of the Acropolis, high above the sea below. To the south-west, still small in the distance, she saw four tall ships making their way towards the Golden Horn under full sail, flying before the southerly breeze. Even at this distance, Sofia could make out the large red cross on a white field flying from the mast of the largest ship. But even had she not seen the cross, the response of the Turkish fleet would have been enough to tell her that the approaching ships were Christian. The fleet had left its anchorage at the Double Columns, a quay just north of Pera, and a swarm of galleys and smaller craft were rowing against the wind towards the four Christian ships. The Turkish ships moved slowly, their oars often becoming entangled with one another. Nevertheless, it was clear that they would surround the approaching ships long before the Christians reached the safety of the Golden Horn.

  The Christian ships grew steadily in size and clarity, until Sofia could make out the tiny figures of men moving on the decks. She was far too distant to make out faces, but she tried nevertheless, hoping for some sign of Longo. Looking to the advancing Turkish fleet, however, she almost hoped that he had stayed in Italy.