Siege (41 page)

Suddenly, a giant explosion shook them apart, and they each stumbled back as the ground trembled beneath their feet. As the tremors faded, they heard shouts coming from the palace. Longo
and Notaras’s eyes met, and they each lowered their swords.

‘What was that?’ Notaras asked. ‘Cannon fire?’

‘No,’ Longo replied. ‘It was an explosion in one of the tunnels.’

‘Tunnels? Then that means …’

‘The Turks are in the city,’ Longo finished for him. ‘Come, we must protect the emperor.’

The thick oak door to the emperor’s quarters shook in its casings as a heavy blow struck it. The blow was followed by another and then another. The door had been blockaded with tables and chairs, and Constantine, Dalmata and a dozen palace guards stood ready to defend the emperor and his family. Sofia stood towards the back of the room, her sword in hand. She had hardly had time to recover from Notaras’s visit when Dalmata had arrived and hurried her here, telling her that there were Turks in the palace.

The wood of the door began to splinter as it bent under the weight of repeated blows. One of its iron hinges was ripped from the wall, and the door sagged inwards. Constantine turned to Sofia. ‘You should wait in the next room, with Sphrantzes,’ he told her. Sofia began to leave but stopped in the doorway. She watched as Constantine drew his sword. ‘Ready yourselves, men,’ he said. ‘If we are to die tonight, then let us sell our lives dearly.’

From the hallway, Sofia heard loud shouting in Turkish and the clash of swords. Then the shouting stopped and the door ceased to shake. In the silence, Sofia could hear her heart hammering in her chest.

Then, the pounding on the door started again, only this time it was less violent. ‘Open the door!’ a voice shouted from the other side.

‘It’s Longo!’ Sofia cried.

‘Let him in,’ Constantine ordered, and a few seconds later the door swung open. Longo stepped into the room, followed closely by Notaras. A troop of palace guards stood in the hallway behind them. Notaras caught Sofia’s eye, and she lowered her head.

‘Thank God you have come,’ Constantine said to Notaras and Longo.

‘There is no time to rejoice,’ Longo replied. ‘We have routed the Turks, but we must stop them before they escape. If we capture one of their miners, then he can tell us where the rest of their tunnels are. Otherwise, we are still in danger.’

Deep beneath the palace, Notaras followed Longo through a rocky tunnel only dimly lit by their flickering torches. All around him, Notaras could hear the sound of distant footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls. Occasionally, he heard loud Turkish voices. The sounds grew and fell in volume, sometimes sounding louder in one direction and then in the other. Several times Notaras was sure that they would find the Turks around the very next corner, but there was nothing.

Behind Notaras, several hundred palace guards followed, keeping well back so that Notaras and Longo would better be able to listen for the Turks. Notaras looked back, and in the subterranean darkness, the guards appeared as little more than shadows. He could kill Longo now, Notaras realized, and in the darkness, nobody would know what he had done. Notaras would again command the city’s defences. Sofia would be his once more. He half raised his sword, but then stopped.

Ahead of him, Longo had paused before a split in the tunnel. ‘Do you hear that?’ he whispered. There were voices coming from the tunnel to the right, and then footsteps, loud and approaching fast.

Notaras turned and shouted to the guards. ‘Men, come forward now!’ He swung back to see torches appear in the tunnel ahead. In the darkness he could see the light glinting off approaching swords. Notaras raised his blade and stood ready beside Longo. Then, to Notaras’s amazement, Longo sheathed his sword and strode forward to meet the onrushing men.

‘Tristo?’ Longo called. ‘Is that you?’

‘Of course it’s me,’ Tristo replied as he strode forward into the light of Notaras’s torch. ‘Where are the Turks?’

Longo shook his head. ‘We can’t find them. It’s like chasing shadows.’

‘We should split up,’ Notaras suggested. ‘We’ll have a better chance that way.’

‘But if we find them, will we have enough men to stop them?’ Tristo asked.

‘Notaras is right. We have no other choice,’ Longo replied. ‘We’ll divide into three groups. Tristo, you take your men back down the tunnel you came from. Notaras, you take half of the guards to the left. I’ll take the other half back to the last side tunnel. Leave a torch at every branch of the tunnel to mark where you have gone. If you find the Turks, call for help. We’ll come as fast as we can.’

Notaras took his men and headed down the tunnel at a jog. Now that they had split up, the sound of footsteps was even more confusing. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Still, Notaras tried to follow the sound. After several twists and turns he stopped before a side tunnel. There was something strange here. The air smelled sweet, like earth and grass.

‘You three,’ he pointed to three of the men, ‘go back and find help. The rest of you, follow me. We’ve got them.’ Notaras set off down the tunnel at a run, his men following close behind. The breath of fresh air turned into a breeze as they ran down the tunnel, and their torches flared and guttered in the draught. Notaras could now hear Turkish voices mixed amongst the sound of tramping feet. Ahead, the tunnel turned sharply to the left. Notaras rounded the corner and ran headlong into the back of a Turkish soldier, knocking the Turk sprawling. The passage ahead was crowded with Turks. Some twenty yards ahead, they were squeezing through a small hole that had been broken through a brick wall.

‘Don’t let them escape!’ Notaras yelled as he led his men into the crowd of Turks. If he could reach and hold the gap in the wall, then the Turks remaining in the tunnel could be trapped and taken prisoner. Notaras was only a dozen yards away from
the hole when he noticed a barrel of gunpowder next to it. As he watched, one of the Turks touched a torch to the fuse leading to the barrel. Several of his men saw it too. ‘Run! Quick!’ someone yelled, and the men around him turned and fled.

‘No! Stay and fight!’ Notaras yelled as he sprinted in the other direction, towards the barrel. If the tunnel was destroyed, then the Turks would escape. He had to stop the fuse.

There were still five Turks between Notaras and the barrel. Either they did not know what was happening, or they were willing to sacrifice their lives so that their comrades could escape. Notaras crashed into them at a sprint, planting his shoulder into the chest of the first Turk and bowling him over. He spun off the impact, slashing with his sword as he did so and cutting the arm of another Turk, who dropped his weapon. There were still three Turks in the way and more were coming back down the tunnel to help them. The lit fuse was now racing up the side of the barrel. Notaras scooped up the sword that the injured Turk had dropped and charged towards the barrel. As he reached the remaining Turks, he parried a blow, spun to his right, lashed out with both swords, and then charged between two of the Turks, knocking them aside. The fuse was over the side of the barrel and racing towards the powder. Notaras lunged forward and sliced through it, cutting it in half only an inch from where it entered the barrel. The bit of fuse that was still burning landed harmlessly on the tunnel floor.

A second later, a sword slammed into Notaras’s side. The blow was deflected by Notaras’s chain mail, but it knocked the wind from him and sent him stumbling into the wall. He spun to find himself facing four Turks. Notaras lashed out, driving them back a step, but the numbers against him were too great. A sword snuck through his defences to slice his leg. He dropped to one knee. Another blow struck his arm, and he dropped one of his swords. The world around him seemed to slow. He looked up to see the Turk immediately in front of him raise his sword high to finish him off, but the blow never came. Instead, the Turk dropped his
sword and slumped to the side. Standing where the Turk had been was Longo. Behind him, Greek troops were hurrying through the hole in the wall in pursuit of the Turks.

‘You,’ Notaras mumbled. Longo stuck out his hand and pulled Notaras to his feet. ‘But why?’

‘Because you would have done the same,’ Longo replied. ‘Now come.’ They stepped through the hole in the wall, but had only gone some thirty yards before they met Tristo coming from the opposite direction, dragging a Turk behind him.

‘Look what I found: a Turkish rat!’ Tristo rejoiced. ‘He’s a miner. I found him giving orders to blow up the tunnel further down.’

‘Do you know the location of the other tunnels?’ Longo asked the man in Turkish.

‘Allah curse you, infidel!’ the Turk spat back.

‘He knows something,’ Longo told Tristo. ‘Round up as many prisoners as you can. You know what to do, Tristo.’

Tristo grinned. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll talk.’ He dragged the prisoner off down the tunnel, leaving Longo and Notaras alone.

Longo turned to Notaras. ‘If you still wish to duel, I suggest that we wait until tomorrow,’ Longo said. ‘Now is not the time.’

‘There will be no duel,’ Notaras responded. ‘You saved my life. I will not tarnish my honour by taking yours.’

‘And Sofia? What will become of her?’

‘I will say nothing. You can have her,’ Notaras said and walked away.

Dawn was breaking when Sofia finally returned to her chambers. Constantine had insisted that she stay in his quarters until the palace had been searched, and he was certain that all of the Turks were gone. When Sofia reached her chambers, she found Notaras waiting for her, his face hard and unreadable.

‘Notaras, what are you doing here?’ Sofia asked.

Notaras did not reply. Instead he strode across the room and slapped her so hard that Sofia tasted blood. She sank to the floor,
holding her cheek. Notaras spat at her feet. ‘There is nothing between us anymore,’ he said. ‘You are not worthy of me.’ He strode past her to the door.

‘Notaras,’ Sofia called after him, and he stopped at the doorway. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.’

Notaras turned, and Sofia could see that his eyes were shining. ‘Then we are both sorry, Princess,’ he said and left.

Gennadius was awakened before dawn by the sound of a single pair of footsteps approaching down the long stone corridor that led to his prison cell. The footsteps stopped outside his cell, and he heard keys jangling. As the key clanked in the lock, Gennadius sat up, trying to look as composed as possible after ten days without a bath or a change of clothes. The door swung open. Squinting against the sudden brightness from the torchlight that flooded the cell, Gennadius could make out the features of Notaras. The megadux looked far from pleased.

‘Good-morning, Notaras,’ Gennadius said. ‘What brings you to my humble quarters at this early hour?’

‘You are free to go, monk.’

‘Then what I told you about Sofia was true?’

Notaras nodded. ‘Now, Gennadius, tell me of your plan to kill the sultan. I am ready to listen.’

Chapter 20

TUESDAY 8 MAY TO WEDNESDAY 23 MAY 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: DAYS 38 TO 53 OF THE SIEGE

A
s the sun rose, Mehmed stood on a hill just out of reach of Constantinople’s cannons and watched as the headless bodies of his troops were tossed over the walls, one after another. The bodies would lie at the base of the wall and rot, a grisly barrier intended to dispirit Mehmed’s troops when they attacked. Mehmed had been standing there since late the previous night, when he had ordered the attack through the tunnels. He had sworn to himself that he would stay until he had seen every last body come over the wall. That was the punishment for his failure.

An ear-splitting boom caused Mehmed to clap his hands over his ears. There was a loud rumbling and just to his left, a one-hundred-yard long stretch of earth running from the wall towards the Turkish camp collapsed. As the rumbling faded, Mehmed could hear cheering coming from the walls of Constantinople. A few seconds later there was another loud boom, and another long line of earth collapsed in a cloud of dust.

‘Great Sultan,’ a messenger panted as he arrived at Mehmed’s side. ‘The Christians have discovered our tunnels.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Mehmed replied. One of the miners that the Christians had captured must have talked. And now, after weeks of digging, all that work was wasted. Over the next hour Mehmed watched as one by one, each of the Turkish mines into the city was destroyed. He consoled himself by imagining that
each headless body that fell from the walls of Constantinople was the corpse of one of the miners who had betrayed him. Finally, the last of the Turkish soldiers was cast over the walls. There was renewed cheering from Constantinople, and then nothing.

Mehmed had seen enough. ‘Tell my generals and viziers to meet me in my tent,’ he told the messenger. But Mehmed did not go immediately to join his generals. Instead he walked through the Turkish camp with Ulu trailing behind. Dressed as a simple janissary, Mehmed drew little attention. After all, most of his troops had never seen him face to face. Everywhere he saw men with pinched faces and vacant eyes, speaking little except to grumble about the interminable siege. Mehmed joined a group of janissaries who were breakfasting before a fire. Ulu stayed out of sight just beyond the ring of firelight.

‘I just got off watch,’ Mehmed said. ‘Spare a bite to eat?’

The grizzled old veteran who was tending the cooking pot gave Mehmed a long look, but then scooped a ladle of some white, runny substance from the pot and poured it into a bowl. He handed it to Mehmed along with a piece of rock-hard
peskimet
biscuit. ‘Eat your fill, or as much as you can stomach.’

Mehmed snapped off a piece of the
peskimet
and scooped up some of the concoction. He placed it in his mouth and nearly gagged at the taste. He chewed doggedly and then forced himself to swallow. ‘You don’t like it?’ the veteran asked. ‘It’s the best I can do with the supplies they give us. Every day the food gets worse. But he doesn’t care.’ He nodded towards the sultan’s tent in the distance and then looking pointedly at Mehmed: ‘He eats like a soul in paradise while we’re left with this slop.’