Constantinopolis (15 page)

MONDAY APRIL 9, 1453

The next morning Mehmet woke very well rested. He felt confident of victory and hoped today would bring more good news from Zaganos about the castle at Therapia. He received an early morning update from his friend, indicating that the castle was still holding out, but that he anticipated it would fall in the next 24 hours.

Mehmet decided he did not want to wait another day for any action. What could he do to continue the momentum from yesterday? With the cannon still under repair, an attack on the land walls would likely end in failure, and simply take away his victory from the day before. He thought through things over breakfast and then ordered his horse brought over. He had an idea for another bold action.

He rode north with twenty guards along the line of his camp. He soon encountered the Golden Horn and he rode along its shore until he finally reached the end. He turned south and moved first up a ridge, then down again, to the Bosporus, past Galata where his fleet was anchored.

He found Admiral Baltaoglu.

“Greetings,” said the Admiral, startled that the Sultan had suddenly appeared at his tent unannounced. “What may I do for you my Sultan?”

“Greetings. I would like you to attack the Golden Horn.”

The Admiral looked surprised but quickly recovered. “Certainly Sultan, when would you like me to do so? I can be ready within 72 hours.”

“I want you to attack them now.”

“Now Sire? That’s not possible. I need to scout the sea chain and spend some time learning the currents and the wind patterns. I do not have a good understanding of the Greek fleet. I would be happy to attack in three days.”

Mehmet was growing angry. “You did not hear me Admiral. You will attack this instant! I did not put you in charge to hear excuses from you. Yesterday I took a castle and a village with no thought or preparation at all. I just did it. You will show the same courage or I will find someone who will! Do you understand me?”

Baltaoglu went pale. “Sultan please,” he stammered. “You do not understand. Naval warfare is not something to be left to chance and hope. The ships must be properly prepared. The positions must be scouted and understood and the currents and wind conditions analyzed. I beg you Sultan, please do not force us into disaster.”

Mehmet lashed out and struck the Admiral in the face, knocking him to the ground. He drew his sword and stood over him, prepared to strike. Baltaoglu raised his arms as if to ward off the blow, “Please Sultan, please do not! I will ready the ships immediately!”

Mehmet calmed down enough to sheathe his sword. “If the ships are not put to sea in the next hour Baltaoglu, then I will replace you and only your head will accompany the attack. No more excuses.”

Baltaoglu rose slowly to his feet and still bowing he turned quickly and fled toward the ships shouting orders. Soon the fleet and the surrounding tents were busy as a hive, with men and equipment moving in each direction. The ships were not ready in an hour as promised, but within two hours the first ship departed the moorings and soon the entire fleet was moving slowly up the Bosporus toward Galata.

Mehmet was pleased enough that he did not even mind the extra hour of time. He mounted his horse and rode along the shore of the Bosporus, shouting encouragement to the fleet he had built with his own willpower and forethought. He kept riding toward Constantinople and soon was passing the walls of Galata on his right, until he was at the point of the peninsula directly across from Constantinople.

By the time Mehmet was in position, the fleet was already floating past him on the way to the Golden Horn. He saluted the ships as they passed, proud of this massive fleet and of his men, many of whom had little experience with ships but had signed up when he needed volunteers.

The Turks pulled hard at their oars, moving the ships forward slowly toward Constantinople. Mehmet could see a buzz of activity in the Greek city, not only in the harbor where a small fleet of ships was obviously getting ready to set sail but also above the sea walls where soldiers and regular citizens were moving about, obviously reacting to the appearance of the fleet.

The massive fleet moved slowly around the tip of Galata, their banners snapping in the wind. The sailors and soldiers were pacing the deck, fingering their weapons, ready for a fight. Some of the sailors held muskets on poles and even a few small cannon. Others had bows and long throwing spears.

Mehmet could hardly contain his excitement as he paced his horse back and forth along the shore, shouting encouragement to the ships.

The sea chain which was visible across the entire straight of the Horn was connected to a series of wooden booms. No ship could pass the chain when it was intact, but the weakness of the chain was the booms themselves. If his fleet could get close enough, then Mehmet’s men could climb onto the booms, hack them apart, and then they would be within the horn itself. If they could break into the horn and destroy Constantine’s navy, they would be able to attack the vulnerable inner harbors of the Horn, and potentially take the city immediately. They just needed a few minutes against the chain to be successful. That would mean neutralizing the Greek fleet, which seemed to Mehmet a simple task, as it appeared to be pitifully small.

As the fleet moved slowly toward the chain Mehmet could see a number of these Greek ships leaving the two interior harbors and floating out toward the chain as well. They had a fairly strong backwind and with sails were moving very quickly. He realized with displeasure that they would arrive at the chains first. No matter, there were only ten or so, against his hundreds.

The Greek ships floated out quickly, aided by both oar and sail power. They arrived swiftly at the chain and spread out, adjusting their sales and floating a few yards away from the chain. He was surprised by the speed of the Greek fleet and also the obvious skill with which the ships were handled, but ten could not stand up to two hundred. Mehmet watched anxiously as the minutes passed and the first Turkish ships arrived to challenge the chain. Soon they would be up against the booms and in range of the Greek ships.

He was shocked to see streams of fire exploding from several of the Greek ships and in moments the first Turkish vessels were engulfed in flames. This sight was the famous “Greek Fire,” a petroleum-based and pressurized fire that could be shot from a tube. The fire could be directed at a distance and would quickly engulf any wooden ship, killing or badly wounding anyone who was exposed.

The Greek fire had a devastating effect on the lead ships. Sailors writhed in the fire, jumping overboard into the water. One ship crashed into the chain and then drifted off toward Constantinople, unfortunately failing to set a wooden boom on fire as it smashed alongside.

Mehmet’s fleet tacked sharply to the port side toward the city as more Greek ships shot the fire at them. Several more were hit and caught fire but the others had turned quickly enough and were out of range. The maneuver had been swiftly executed and no doubt protected the fleet but also meant the ships were not able to attack the sea chain.

The Sultan was furious. Why were these cowards floating away? So a few ships were burned? So what if they lost half the ships and all the men? He had more men. He needed this sea chain down. He needed access to the Horn. Why was he surrounded by fools and cowards? He screamed out at the ships, ordering them to turn around and attack. The fleet was traveling away from him and was out of earshot. If they returned without any further attempt, he promised himself he would flay the skin from Admiral Baltaoglu the moment he docked to teach these sailors a lesson.

Perhaps sensing the rage of the Sultan, the fleet executed a full circle and headed gradually back to the chain. This time the ships spread out well away from the chain and approached on a broad front, forcing the Greek ships to break formation and attack single targets.

The Greek ships shot their fire again, burning a number of Turkish vessels immediately. However there were not enough ships in the Greek force to stop all of Mehmet’s fleet and one Turkish ship smashed into chain with a grating crash. Sailors were quickly lowered over the side and directly onto the boom. They began hacking furiously at the boom with axes.

Mehmet called out to the men, encouraging them to break the chain. He could see the Greek ships turning and moving quickly toward the men on the booms. The men could see it too. They redoubled their efforts, trying to break the chain loose and escape back to the ship before the Greeks were in range. The Sultan could not see how much progress they were making, but the axes seemed to be cutting ever deeper and he hoped they would break through the wood and set the chain free in time.

Fire streamed out of the Greek ship, landing about twenty yards short of the boom. A great cry came up from the Turks. The boom split in two. The chain was broken. They were through!

The Greek ship shot fire out again. This time it hit the mark and the Turkish vessel exploded in flame. The Greek Fire completely engulfed the ship in moments. The burning vessel drifted away from the chain, falling apart as screaming men tried uselessly to extinguish the flame by jumping into the water. Even in the water they burned, writhing in agony as they roasted under the fire that would not go out.

The Greek ships were closing on the point of the broken chain, threatening the Turkish ships just outside their range. Several ships tried to move closer but were hampered by their burning sister ship and by the looming Greek fleet. Another ship was dowsed in the fire when it tried to approach and soon the Turkish fleet was turning away, the Admiral apparently deciding they had tried enough for one day.

Mehmet screamed out at the fleet, ordering them back. Again the ships were too far away to hear him. He spurred his horse and rode north along the Bosporus arriving at the fleet harbor long before the ships arrived. He paced his horse back and forth near the docks, fuming. He wanted the head of the admiral. They had broken the chain. They were through! All they had to do was send all of the ships in together at the same time and the fleet would have made it into the horn.

Finally the ships made their way back to their moorings. Mehmet dismounted and hurried to the Admiral’s ship. Admiral Baltaoglu saw Mehmet and waved, he was smiling, obviously proud of the days work. “My Sultan, great news,” he announced as he hopped overboard and down to the dock. “We have tested the defenses of the enemy and very nearly broken through on our first day.”

Mehmet charged the Bulgarian and struck him to the ground for a second time. “You did break through you fool! How could you flee from victory!” He drew his sword, fuming, his blood boiling in anger.

The Admiral prostrated himself, face and hands pressed against the dock. “We could not break through today my Lord. There were too many ships with the Greek Fire. We did break one chain but it was not even wide enough for a single ship to pass through. We lost twenty ships today. If we had tried to force our way through, we might have lost the entire fleet!”

Mehmet fingered the pommel of his sword, debating what to do. He wanted to see this fool’s head rolling around on the dock. Was he telling the truth? He had not considered whether more than one boom would have to be breached to get the fleet through. Would they have lost the entire fleet? He knew so little about the sea and proper sea tactics. He would have to remedy that as soon as possible after the siege. For now what should he do? Should he believe this man or kill him? Even if he did believe him, would killing him make the next commander more effective, or would it just make him reckless? He had taught himself that when he did not know what to do, he had to be patient.

He knew what it was to be too rash, to push too hard. When he had assumed the throne at 12 he had wanted to do everything at once, and he had lost everything because of it. He had demanded that his orders be followed and when he was ignored, he started executing the leaders. Halil had stepped in and had him physically restrained and soon his father had been called back to take charge of the Empire. Patience for now, he counseled himself. He had time to kill this fool any time he wanted.

“Get up! I expect you to follow my orders in the future. I ordered you to break through the sea chain! You have failed me. Your next failure will be paid for with your head. Now get out of my sight!”

The Admiral bowed low again and backed slowly away. Mehmet felt calmer. He was sure he had made the right decision by not killing Admiral Baltaoglu. The Admiral certainly would do everything in his power to follow orders from now on. If he failed the Sultan again, he would get the chance to remove his head, which would give him joy. If he succeeded, then Mehmet would reward him and be glad he had spared his life.

He remounted and began the long ride around the west side of Galata and then around the end of the Golden Horn. He was still frustrated with the failure to break through the chain. He was convinced the city would have fallen if they had only broken through. Still he must have given the Greeks a tremendous blow to their confidence, and another major issue for Constantine to worry about.

What
did
Constantine worry about? He often considered this question. How did Constantine think? He knew a great deal about the Emperor from others who had known him, from his spies. However it was not the same as knowing him personally. What did Constantine think about Mehmet’s massive army? What about the surprise fleet and the cannon? Surely he must realize that Constantinople was in greater danger than at any time during its history. Yet he wouldn’t surrender. Why not? There was no dishonor in surrender in an impossible situation. And the terms Mehmet had offered were fair. Everything would be so much easier if the city simply gave up. Then there was no risk. Yet somehow Mehmet felt the Emperor would never yield. He would have to take the city or fail trying. It would be Constantine’s life or his.

In a sense he admired the Emperor. Mehmet knew what it was like to have everything taken away, to feel powerless. Mehmet had always had the resources of the most powerful empire in the world in his hands, but he had never been able to lead it. He had always been dominated by Halil, dominated and manipulated by a Grand Vizier who controlled the empire while he pretended to give power to Mehmet. Halil had essentially succeeded Murad, and Mehmet wondered if the Grand Vizier had even manipulated that situation, eroding Mehmet’s authority even before Murad died, by showing he was unfit to rule?