Siege (47 page)

‘I paid good money for this information,’ Tristo replied. ‘The Spanish assassin is staying here. His room is on the second floor.’

William drew his sword. ‘All right then. Let’s take care of this now. I don’t want to worry about taking a knife in the back while I’m fighting the Turks.’ He opened the front door and stepped into a large, rectangular room cluttered with tables and benches. A single old man sat at one of the tables, his head back as he drank straight from a pitcher, red wine spilling out of the sides and staining his white tunic. He slammed the pitcher down with a thud and gave William and Tristo a bleary-eyed stare. William put his finger to his lips, but the man ignored him.

‘Well, come on and help yourselves,’ he bellowed, then belched. ‘No sense in saving any wine for the Turks.’

‘Maybe later,’ William told him. He and Tristo headed to the staircase that ran up the wall to the right. They mounted the stairs and found themselves in a narrow hallway with two doors on each side. ‘Which one?’ William whispered.

Tristo shook his head. ‘The second floor was all I was told.’

‘You take the two on the left then. I’ll take the right. On three:
one
,
two
,
three
!’

William and Tristo each kicked open the door in front of them. The small room in front of William was empty. Behind him, Tristo had walked in on a couple, and the woman was now screaming hysterically while the man struggled to put on his clothes. ‘I didn’t know she was married!’ the man exclaimed. Tristo pulled the door shut and moved on.

A grey-bearded Greek man had emerged from the next room on the left. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. Tristo showed his sword and the man disappeared, slamming the door behind him. Tristo and William turned to the last door.

‘This must be it,’ William said. He kicked the door open and they rushed in. There was a crust of stale bread and a bottle of wine on the table, but no sign of the Spanish assassin. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Looks like he left in a hurry,’ Tristo said, pointing to a chest that had been left open in the corner. Inside, they found a few shirts, a pair of boots and a jar. William unscrewed the jar’s lid. It was empty save for a few traces of a viscous, black substance that clung to the sides. William sniffed at it.

‘Poison,’ he said. ‘Carlos was here all right.’

‘What’re you two doing up here?’ a voice called from behind. William turned to see the man from downstairs swaying unsteadily in the doorway. ‘If you want a room, you’ll have to pay.’

‘We’re looking for someone,’ William said. ‘A Spanish man, just shorter than me, with dark hair.’

‘Carlos,’ the drunk innkeeper slurred. ‘He was an ill-tempered bastard, but he paid in gold. Anyway, he’s gone now, cleared out earlier today.’

‘Gone? Where to?’ William asked.

The man shrugged. ‘Said he was going home. Said his work was done here.’

‘Did he say anything else?’ Tristo asked.

The innkeeper leaned on the door jamb and scratched his nose. ‘Aye,’ he said at last. ‘He said that there was no sense in risking his life to kill someone who was going to die anyway. He said that the city is doomed, and we’re all of us going to die.’

Midnight had long since passed, but Sofia could not sleep. She stood at the window of her quarters and looked out on the city, the only home she had ever known. She was dressed in leather breeches, a chainmail shirt and boots. Her sword hung at her side. She was prepared to fight, prepared to flee if need be. But she still could not imagine leaving Constantinople behind. She tried to picture the city before her filled with Turkish soldiers, the markets filled with the sound of Turkish voices.

Behind her, she heard the door to the secret passage open and
turned to see Longo. He was dressed in full chainmail, with a solid steel breastplate. Sofia smiled as she moved towards him, then frowned. ‘You should be at the walls.’

‘I had to see you,’ Longo replied. ‘Besides, the bells will ring long before the final assault begins.’

‘I am glad you came.’ Sofia kissed Longo, and he held her tightly to him. For a second, she lost herself in that kiss, safe in Longo’s arms. Then she pulled away. ‘Tell me truly,’ she said. ‘Is there hope? Can the city be saved?’

‘The walls are strong. Our armour is superior.’

‘But can we defeat them? Do not lie to me.’

‘I do not know,’ Longo said, shaking his head. ‘The Turks are many, and our men are tired of fighting. But I believe we can win. We must win.’

‘I fear the worst,’ Sofia said. She turned away and shuddered, holding her arms as if struck by a sudden chill. Longo put his arms around her. ‘You know the fate of our women if the city falls,’ she said. Longo nodded. ‘I will kill myself before I let the Turks defile me, or I will die fighting.’

‘No,’ Longo said, turning Sofia so that she faced him. ‘You must keep yourself safe, Sofia. Fight if you must, but fight to live. I must know that whatever happens, you will be waiting for me. I came to Constantinople to fight the Turks, but that is not why I am fighting now. I am fighting for you, for us.’

‘And if the city should fall? … If you should fall? …’

‘Then you must reach safety. You are a princess. After this battle, you may well be the last of your line. The fate of the Roman Empire rests with you, and your life will be worth nothing if you are found. I will send William to help you. If you hear the bells ring, then the city has fallen. Get to my ship as fast as you can. If you can make it across the Horn to the port of Pera, then you will be safe.’

‘I will not leave without you.’

‘I pray to God that you will not have to. But if I die …’ Longo fell silent as outside, the city bells began to ring. ‘I must go.
Remember, if the city falls, you must reach Pera. Do not wait for me.’

Longo began to leave, but Sofia stopped him at the entrance to the secret passage. She took his head in her hands and kissed him. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Tears welled in Sofia’s eyes, and she clung tightly to Longo, desperate to memorize the feel of his body, the taste of his lips. Finally, she pulled away and looked him in the eyes. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘Remember that when you are on the walls.’

‘I will,’ Longo said, then turned and left. Sofia waited until the light of his torch had disappeared and the sound of his footsteps had faded from the dark passage. Only then did she allow the tears to fall from her eyes. She wiped them away, angrily; she would not cry for Longo, not while he was still alive.

Sofia closed the door to the secret passage and went to the window. The bells were still tolling, and the streets were filled with men rushing to the walls. As she watched, Sofia felt a twinge below her belly, then another. She had not bled for just over a month, but only now was she certain. She put her hand on her stomach, and this time she did not try to stop her tears.

Chapter 23

TUESDAY 29 MAY 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: DAY 59 OF THE SIEGE

S
unrise was still more than three hours off when Longo mounted the outer wall of the Mesoteichion. There was no moon and the night was dark. Torches illuminated the wall at regular intervals, revealing hundreds of armoured men. Some knelt in prayer, while others sharpened their swords or spoke quietly to friends, exchanging messages to give to their loved ones in case they were killed in the coming battle. Dozens of unarmoured men were busy carrying rocks up to the wall to be used as shot by the cannons. Longo recognized Nicolo, his steward, amongst them.

‘Nicolo!’ he called. Nicolo turned and dropped the heavy stone that he had been carrying. Longo had hardly seen Nicolo since the siege began, but the rotund steward had not changed. In fact, despite the shortage of provisions in the city, Nicolo seemed to have put on weight. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Serving you, of course, signor. After all, somebody has to look out for your business interests while you’re off fighting.’

‘My business interests?’

‘There’s always money to be made in a war, signor,’ Nicolo replied. ‘There are several grain merchants …’

Longo held up a hand, stopping him. ‘I don’t want to know. I’m just glad to see that you’ve finally made yourself useful.’

‘Hmph. They forced me into it.’ Nicolo pointed to where William and Tristo stood further along the wall.

‘Well, keep at it,’ Longo told him. ‘And once the fighting starts, get back to
la Fortuna
and make her ready to sail. This battle is no place for you, Nicolo.’

‘I could not agree more, signor,’ Nicolo replied, but Longo was already past him, heading for Tristo and William. Tristo, as huge and lively as ever, was talking to one of the gun crews. His giant sword was sheathed in a scabbard across his back and he carried an enormous battle-axe in his hands. William stood beside Tristo, shouting orders down to the men between the walls, telling them where to place the mantelets – portable wooden barriers. William had grown from the awkward, scrawny runaway that Longo had first met five years ago into a lean, muscular man and a confident leader.

‘What news, William?’ Longo asked. ‘How are the men?’

‘They are in good spirits. I’ve put most of them on the wall with spears to hold off attackers. As you ordered, I’m keeping a hundred men in reserve to act as archers and to plug any gaps that open.’

‘And the cannons, Tristo?’ Longo asked.

‘The cannons are ready and charged, but we’ll have to use them wisely,’ Tristo replied. ‘We have collected plenty of stone for shot, but our supply of powder is low. We have enough for maybe thirty rounds, more if we half-charge the cannons once the Turks get in close.’

‘Make it so,’ Longo said. ‘And don’t let the men fire until the Turks are at the walls.’ Longo turned to look out in the direction from which the Turks would come. The plain was dark and empty. Where the thousands of lights of the Turkish camp should have been, there was nothing – only a few flickering torches here and there. ‘Where are they?’

‘The lookouts saw them forming ranks, and then the lights in the Turkish camp went out. That is when we rang the bells,’ William said. ‘They’re coming. Just wait.’

‘You have done well, William,’ Longo told him. ‘But now I have something else to ask of you. I fear you will not like it.’

‘Whatever it is, I will do it.’

‘I ask you to leave the walls. Go to Princess Sofia and protect her.’

‘But my place is here!’ William protested. ‘I owe it to my uncle and my friends to avenge their deaths.’

‘There is more to life than revenge, William. How many Turks have you already killed? Twenty? Thirty? Believe me, no matter how many you kill, your anger will not fade. Your revenge will never be complete.’ Longo grasped William by the shoulders. ‘You have a wife. Think of her. We must all protect that which we hold most dear. I am asking you as a friend to protect Sofia for me.’

William looked away, his jaw tight. Finally, he nodded. ‘Very well.’

‘Thank you,’ Longo said. ‘If the bells ring to signal the retreat, take her aboard
la Fortuna
and sail for Pera.’ William nodded again. ‘Good luck, William. May God be with you.’ The two men embraced.

‘And with you,’ William replied.

‘Keep yourself alive,’ Tristo told him, engulfing William in a hug. ‘I still have money to win back from you at dice.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ William replied with a grin. Tristo and Longo watched him descend from the ramparts and pass through the gate of the inner wall. A moment later, the emperor emerged through the same gate. He was followed by Dalmata and the Varangian guard. Men in the courtyard between the two walls knelt, and Constantine strode past them to cries of ‘Hail Constantine!’ and ‘Long live the Emperor!’ Longo went to meet him on the causeway leading to the top of the outer wall.

‘Greetings, Emperor. Have you come to inspect the troops?’

‘No, signor, I have come to fight.’

‘You would be safer elsewhere. The Turks will focus their attack on this point.’

‘That is why I am here,’ Constantine said firmly. ‘If we can hold the Mesoteichion, then we can save Constantinople.’

‘But if you die, then all will be lost. It is too great a risk.’

‘We must risk everything, even my life, if we wish to win this battle,’ Constantine replied. ‘Are the men all here?’

‘Yes. Save for one or two stragglers.’

‘Good. Then close the gates of the inner wall.’

‘But My Lord, with the gates closed, how will we retreat?’ Dalmata asked.

‘There will be no retreat. Close the gates.’

Mehmed stood on the Turkish ramparts and looked out across the plain to where the torchlit walls of Constantinople loomed out of the darkness. Tonight, for the first time in a thousand years, those walls would fall. Tonight he, Mehmed, would fulfil his destiny. Mehmed thought back to nine years ago, when he had been driven from the throne and sent to rot in Manisa. The generals had laughed at him then, calling him ‘Mehmed the Scholar’. After tonight, nobody would ever laugh again.

He turned to face the generals who were gathered around him under the light of a single torch. ‘Are the men in position?’ he asked Ulu.

‘Yes, My Lord.’

‘Then give the signal for the cannons to fire. After they have done their work, then you may send in your bazibozouks, Mahmud Pasha.’

Mahmud Pasha bowed. ‘Thank you, My Lord, for the honour of the first attack.’

‘And what of the Anatolian cavalry?’ Ishak Pasha asked. ‘My men have not waited these two months only to watch the bazibozouks steal their glory.’

‘Patience, Ishak,’ Mehmed replied. ‘There will be glory enough for all today. I have something special in mind for you and your men.’

The soldiers around Longo had fallen silent as they waited nervously for the Turkish attack to begin, so silent that Longo could hear the hiss of the slow match burning next to the nearby cannons. The quiet was shattered by the roar of Turkish cannons.
They fired all together, dozens of tongues of flame piercing the darkness along the Turkish ramparts. ‘Take shelter!’ Longo yelled as he ducked behind the low stone barrier that fronted the outer wall. A second later, he felt the wall tremble beneath him as several cannonballs slammed into it. Twenty feet to his right, a section of wall some ten feet wide shook and then collapsed outward in a pile of dirt and rubble, taking a cannon with it.