by Jack Hight
'Rebellion, then,' Mehmed said quietly. The siege had lasted less than a month, and already his dreams of glory were falling to pieces around him. He shook his head, forcing the thought from his mind. His men might run from the Christians, but Mehmed would not give up so easily. He would show his army the fate of those who defied him. 'And you, Ulu?' he asked. 'Are you with them?'
'I serve only you, My Lord,' Ulu replied.
'Good. Then gather a dozen men whose loyalty you trust and bring them to my tent.' As Mehmed strode back through camp, he saw orta after orta of janissaries, still in their battle armour, standing around the tall copper cooking pots that served both to prepare their meals and as their rallying point in battle. The pots had all been overturned: a declaration of mutiny. Mehmed met the eyes of as many men as he could. Some saluted him, but most of them looked away, embarrassed. A few defiantly returned his gaze. The crowd was thickest near Mehmed's tent. Mehmed walked through the janissaries, some with their swords still in hand, and stopped before the entrance to the tent. He turned and addressed them in a loud voice.
'You have served me loyally in this campaign. You have marched far, from Edirne to Constantinople. You fought bravely tonight before the walls of Constantinople, and although victory was not ours tonight, do not think that I value your service any less. I am a just ruler, and I will always reward faithful service. For your efforts thus far in this campaign, I will increase your pay by fifty aspers each.' Mehmed paused as there was scattered cheering amongst the men. 'For it was neither the walls nor the defenders of Constantinople that defeated you, but traitors in our own midst. Tonight, they stole victory from us, and now they would have us turn tail and flee. They would steal the glory and the spoils that are rightfully yours.
'We will not let them!' Mehmed roared. 'No, we will stay, and we will fight! In the days ahead, there will be glory for the brave and spoils enough to make rich men of you all. All the wealth of Christendom will be laid at your feet. You have but to follow your sultan, and I will lead you to glory!' He paused and turned slowly in a circle, meeting the eyes of the men around him. 'Now,' he continued. 'Who will follow me to glory? Who will serve their sultan, even unto death?'
At first, there was simply frozen silence, and then a janissary near Mehmed knelt and raised his fist in salute. Another followed him and then another, until all around Mehmed the janissaries knelt. Ulu bellowed out 'Hail to the sultan!' and the cry was taken up and repeated. The chant swelled and swept over Mehmed. The men's cheering was intoxicating. For the first time since taking the throne, he truly felt like the sultan. But his work was not done. He had dealt with the janissaries. Now he had to deal with their leaders.
As the chanting and cheering subsided, Mehmed turned and called Ulu to him. 'Enter the tent,' Mehmed told him. 'Seize the commanders, but do not kill them.' Ulu nodded and led his men into the tent, their weapons drawn. When the shouts and clash of arms had faded, Mehmed strode in after them.
He found the leaders of the rebellion, eight janissary commanders, kneeling on the floor of the tent, each with a sword to their throat. 'If I allow you to live,' Mehmed told them, 'then I will never see the end of challenges to my authority. I am a just sultan, and betrayal of this sort demands justice. Ulu, take these men outside and have them beheaded before their men. Be quick about it, and do not let it become a spectacle. Let my men see that I deliver justice swiftly and fairly.'
The commanders begged for mercy, but Mehmed ignored them as they were dragged from the tent. He went to his private quarters and poured himself a cup of wine. He tried to drink as little as possible while in the field. After all, alcohol was forbidden by the Koran, and he did not want his men to think him impious. Still, after the events of the night he felt the need for something stronger than water. As he raised the cup to his lips he heard from outside a strangled cry and the sickening thud of the executioner's sword. He set the cup back down, untasted. After bathing and changing into breeches and a tunic, Longo did not reach the palace until after midnight, but the victory celebration was still in full swing. The palace's great hall was packed with soldiers and women, all drinking toast after toast to victory. Longo paused at the entrance to the hall, and a herald announced him. The crowd cheered and raised their cups in salute. Longo found himself surrounded by well-wishers. As he greeted a succession of men and women, he scanned the hall looking for Sofia. He spied Tristo roaring with laughter and William smiling at his friend's merriment, but Sofia was nowhere to be seen.
'Congratulations, my friend!' Constantine exclaimed as he approached Longo. 'What a glorious victory. God is truly with us! The Turks will never conquer these walls!'
'I hope that you are right, Emperor,' Longo began, but the rest of his remarks were cut short by the herald announcing the arrival of Megadux Lucas Notaras. Longo noticed that the cheering was even louder for Notaras than it had been for him and was pleased. Perhaps this glory would make Notaras more cooperative.
'Ah, the megadux,' Constantine said. 'I must congratulate him as well. Without his cannons, the battle would have been lost.' Constantine moved away, and Longo made his way through the crowded hall looking for Sofia. When he did not see her there, he headed out into the interior garden. It was empty.
'Looking for someone?' Startled, Longo turned to find Notaras standing at the entrance to the hall. The megadux had a dangerous gleam in his eye, and Longo suspected that he had been drinking.
'No,' Longo lied. 'The hall was crowded. I just wanted some fresh air.'
Notaras stepped out of the shadows and into the garden. 'I see,' he said. 'I thought perhaps you might be searching for Princess Sofia. The two of you seem to be very close.'
'I do not like your tone, Notaras,' Longo replied. 'Be careful what you say.'
'No, Signor Giustiniani, it is you who should be careful.' Notaras stepped forward so that he and Longo were face to face. Longo could smell the wine on his breath. 'I know about the tunnels, and I also know about your late-night meeting with Princess Sofia. Mark me well, signor: I will do whatever is necessary to protect her honour and my own.' Notaras stepped past Longo and strode from the garden.
Longo watched him go. Notaras must have surprised Sofia last night when she was returning from the tunnel. Now the megadux was jealous, and jealous men were dangerous. Was that why Sofia was not at the celebration? Had Notaras done something to her? There was only one sure way to find out. Longo headed for the kitchen and the secret passage to Sofia's chambers. He reached the end of the secret passage and fumbled in the darkness for the mechanism to open the door. When he finally found the catch and pulled the door open, he found Sofia standing before him, dressed in a thin sleeping tunic and holding a sword. She smiled when she saw him and dropped the sword. 'It's you,' she said and stepped into his arms, kissing him. 'Thank God you are all right. I heard news of the battle and feared the worst.' She stepped out of his arms, and suddenly realizing that her tunic was not entirely opaque, went to the bed and threw a blanket over her shoulders.
Longo discreetly turned his head. 'Why did you not come to the celebration?' he asked.
'Constantine has forbidden me from leaving my quarters after sunset,' Sofia said. 'Notaras told him I was roaming the palace late last night.'
'Notaras warned me not to see you,' Longo said.
'He is not a man to be trifled with. You should take his warning seriously.'
'I know.'
'Yet you are here.'
'I wanted to make sure that you were all right. When you did not appear tonight, I feared that something had happened.'
'And is that the only reason you came?' Sofia asked.
'No, no it's not,' Longo said. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her mouth opened to his, and his hands moved down her sides, encircling her thin waist and pulling her into him. Sofia kissed him greedily and began to unbutton his doublet. Longo pulled back. 'Are you sure?'
Sofia stepped back and slipped the blanket from her shoulders, revealing her
firm breasts, just visible through her tunic. 'I have never been more sure. I have chosen you to love, Longo.' Then she took his hand and led him to her bed.
Chapter 17
SUNDAY 22 APRIL TO THURSDAY 3 MAY 1453, CONSTANTINOPLE: DAYS 22 TO 33 OF THE SIEGE
Sunrise was more than an hour away, and Sofia's bedroom was still dark when Longo rose and began to dress. He had come to her chambers each of the past five nights, risking their reputations and perhaps even their lives to be with her. He watched her now as she slept, a strand of her chestnut hair falling over her peaceful face, and decided once more that the risk had been worth it. He buckled on his sword belt and was about to leave when Sofia stirred in bed. 'It is early yet,' she said, sitting up. 'Where are you going?'
'To the walls. The night grows long, and if I am not at my post by dawn, then I will be missed.'
'Will you return tonight?'
'I do not know. We are risking much, Sofia. If we are discovered, then you will be ruined.'
To Longo's surprise, she laughed. 'I would rather be ruined than live out the rest of my life locked up behind doors as a proper lady. Tell me that you will come again tonight.'
Longo looked at her, fiery and beautiful, and felt his resistance crumbling. 'I will come if I am able.'
Sofia rose and kissed him. 'Then go and be safe. I will see you tonight.'
Longo left through the secret passage and emerged into a dark, empty side street next to the palace. He strode towards his post on the wall at the military gate of St Romanus, overlooking the Mesoteichion. Once he thought he heard footsteps behind him, but when he turned he saw nothing. It was not the first time in the last five nights that he had suspected he was being followed. He could not forget what William had told him: the Spanish assassin was here in Constantinople. He tightened his grip on his sword and slowed his pace, listening for footsteps, but he reached the wall without further incident.
Longo stood atop the wall as the sky around him lightened, revealing first the stockade below and then the fields beyond, stretching away to the Turkish ramparts and their camp. There was little movement anywhere — even the air was still — and the occasional boom of the Turkish cannons seemed muffled. Looking out over this sleeping world, Longo felt himself at peace. For the first time that he could remember, he cared about something more than revenge. He was not here simply to defeat the Turks. He was here to save the city, and Sofia.
The sun rose fiery orange over the distant hills, giving a pinkish cast to the world. On the walls of Constantinople the guard changed, the night-watch going home to a well-deserved rest. The morning watch replaced them, still bleary-eyed and yawning. Many of the men had come straight from the fields just within the walls of Constantinople, where they had been up late struggling to bring in the crop of winter wheat and to sow their fields for spring. Tristo and William came with them and joined Longo at the wall.
'You're up early,' Tristo said, grinning at Longo. 'A long night, eh?' Longo gave Tristo a hard look, and Tristo's smile faded. 'Jesus you're a surly bastard in the morning. I was just asking,' he said. 'Anyway, have you heard the commotion coming from the sea walls?'
'The sea walls?' Longo asked. 'What has happened?'
'We're not sure,' William said. 'But when we were coming to the walls, half the city seemed to be headed down to the Golden Horn. We thought that you might know something about it.'
'Perhaps he'll know,' Tristo said, pointing to Dalmata, who was hurrying towards them along the wall.
'Longo, you must come quickly,' Dalmata said as he reached them.
'What is it? What has happened?'
'Something that you must see to believe.' Longo stood on the sea wall, not far from the Blachernae Palace, and watched in amazement. Dalmata, Constantine, Tristo and William stood with him. To either side of them, the entire length of the sea wall was lined with people, all with their eyes focused across the Golden Horn on the stretch of land beyond the city of Pera. There, a forest of masts was slowly rising over the horizon. The Turkish fleet was sailing towards them, sails billowing in the wind, and it appeared to be sailing over dry land.
'I do not believe my eyes,' Constantine said. 'This is not possible.'
'Is there a river there?' Longo asked. 'An inlet of some sort?'
'There is nothing. Nothing that could explain this,' Dalmata said, shaking his head. 'The land there is unbroken between the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn.'
They watched in silence as the masts rose higher and higher above the hills on the horizon. Finally, the prow of the nearest ship appeared. As the hull rose clear of the horizon, they could see that the oars were out, beating in rhythm against the empty air. Then, as it crested the hill, the ship's mysterious method of progress became clear. It sat suspended above the ground in a huge, wheeled cradle. Teams of oxen were slowly pulling the cradle forward. The enormous wheels of the cradle glinted in the sunlight: they had been cast in bronze to withstand the weight of the ships. Longo and the others stood speechless.
'Unbelievable,' Constantine said at last. 'I would not have thought it possible.'
A huge flag was unfurled from the mast of the ship. Even from this distance, Longo could make it out: golden Turkish lettering on a white-silk background, the standard of the sultan. Now that the ship was heading downhill towards the water of the Horn, it picked up speed. With each passing minute Longo could make out more details. A dais had been erected on the deck and on the dais a throne. Mehmed sat there, fanned by two slaves as he rode regally over the dry earth.
'The bastard looks a little too comfortable,' Tristo growled. 'We have a cannon that will reach that far, don't we?'
Dalmata smiled. 'I think we do.'
Longo shook his head. 'We would do better to save the powder. It would take a miracle to strike his ship at this distance, and we're going to need all the gunpowder we have in the days to come. As long as the Turkish fleet is in the Horn, it will be nearly impossible to receive any more supplies from the sea. We will have to fight with what we have.'
'I shall have to decree a rationing system,' Constantine said. 'Without supplies from the outside, food will run short before a month is out.'
'And with those ships in the Horn, we'll have to double the number of troops on the sea walls and in the fleet,' Dalmata added. 'We'll need to take men from the main wall.'
'We have too few men as is, and we'll have fewer once hunger sets in,' Constantine said. 'We must do something about those ships.'
Longo nodded in agreement. 'Yes. We must burn them.' Halil stood on the deck of the sultan's flagship, both hands gripping the rail as he struggled to stand while the ship bounced along, swaying erratically in its huge wooden cradle. Halil would just as soon have stayed in camp, but Mehmed had insisted that he be here, standing next to the throne. 'Look. They are watching us,' Mehmed said, pointing across the Horn to the sea walls of Constantinople. 'I hope they are enjoying the spectacle.'
'I am sure that they find it quite edifying,' Halil said, wiping sweat from his brow. Ahead of him, row upon row of sweating men sat rowing their oars through the air, and on the far end of the boat the stroke was being beaten on a huge drum: boom, boom, boom. The constant beating of the drum, combined with the hot sun overhead, was beginning to give Halil a headache. 'But is all of this really necessary?' he asked. 'Perhaps the ships might move faster were they not weighted down with all of the rowers.'
'I wish to let the Christians see that I command the land as well as the sea,' Mehmed replied. 'I will row my ships wherever I please.'
'Such foolishness…' Halil muttered under his breath.
'Foolishness?' Mehmed hissed. Halil swallowed, aghast. 'And what else would you have these men do? Would you prefer that they sit around camp, idle and discontented, stirring up another mutiny? This rowing may look foolish to you, Halil, but it keeps the men occupied. So long as they cannot fight, at least they can row.'
'Very wise, My Lord,' Halil said, impressed despite himself. Mehmed was right
. Today, at least, these men would be too tired to cause any trouble.
'Yes, it is,' Mehmed agreed. 'And I have more ideas in mind to keep our men busy over the coming days. Tell me what you think of this.' He handed Halil a weathered sheet of paper. On the paper was a sketch of some sort, a construction plan complete with measurements. Halil made out what he thought were large barrels tied together, and over them a network of planks and boards. The entire structure seemed to be floating on water.
'What is it?' Halil asked.
'A bridge across the Golden Horn. It will stretch from there' — Mehmed pointed to the shore of the Horn below them — 'to there' — a point just past where the wall of Constantinople ran down into the Horn.
The project was ambitious, but the strategic implications were obvious enough. A bridge would allow the Turkish army to threaten the sea walls of Constantinople, forcing the Christians to spread their defences even thinner. It was a stroke of genius, and Halil did not like it. He had counted on a long, difficult siege in order to give his plans time to develop.
'A brilliant idea, Sultan,' he said. 'But dangerous, and perhaps impractical. Surely the Christian fleet would never allow this bridge to be built.'
'You are right, Halil. The Christians would do anything to prevent it. That is why I am placing you in charge of moving twelve cannons across the Horn to protect the fleet. The Christians would be fools to attack in the face of both our fleet and our cannons. We will build the bridge, and if the Christian fleet tries to stop us, then we will destroy them.'
'Very clever, My Lord,' Halil murmured. Indeed, too clever. Mehmed could not be allowed to conquer the city before Gennadius could eliminate him. The monk needed to act fast or else Halil would lose all that he had worked for these many years. Five days later, Halil returned from overseeing the placement of the first of the cannons across the Horn to find a messenger waiting outside his tent. 'What is it?' Halil snapped, irritable after a long day in the burning sun.