Authors: James Shipman
Constantine turned to his other advisor. “Why do you needle him so! I should turn you out in the street! I need Notaras and I need him loyal and happy. You have taken him down at a critical time when a gentler approach would have served far better!”
“I apologize my Lord. I thought it would help to raise a difficult issue. Notaras is now mostly angry at me,
not
at you. We both know this decision had to be made. Better for me to take the blame. If you had raised it, he would have been less angry at first, but would have resented you more for it later. Now he will blame me, and over time he will rationalize that you had nothing to do with the decision.”
Constantine had not considered this. Sphrantzes was shrewd. He often disliked him, but in the end his decisions were usually the best ones. He calmed down.
“As usual you see more than all of us Sphrantzes. Still, you should tell me ahead of time when you are springing one of your plans. I could have been prepared for the action and reconciled myself without having such a surprise.”
“Again my Lord, I thought genuine surprise would be better than requiring you to act. However you are right. You are Lord and Master here and I presumed to act on my own accord.”
“I suppose at the end of the day I cannot be mad at you. If we had the armies and wealth of old we would not have to devour ourselves in desperation to seek any minor advantage. The people already hate me for the Union. Why shouldn’t I anger my closest friends as well?”
“We shall endure my Lord. And when this is over, we will not have to compromise for anyone.”
The decision was announced throughout the city the next day. As Sphrantzes had predicted, the Genoans were delighted. They confirmed the decision to allow the sea chain to connect to the walls of Galata. They also offered private support and resources. Unfortunately, the smaller city across the horn decided it had to maintain neutrality, at least officially.
Venetians and Genoans were notoriously at odds with one another, and the Venetians reacted very differently. A delegation including the Bailey, the official representative of the Venetian government came to Constantine, complaining about this official snuff of their importance and contributions. The Venetians and Genoans were notoriously at odds with one another. The following day, a small fleet with 800 Venetians fled the city, heading for home. Fortunately, that was the end of the row. The remaining citizens of Venice pledged their support to Constantine, and agreed reluctantly to work with Giovanni.
The Greeks were also unhappy with the decision and Constantine could feel another strand connecting him to his people severed in the name of need. He accepted this strain, like the tension over the Union, with the same stoic fortitude. If the city was attacked, and did survive, he was sure all would be forgiven. If the city fell, it would not matter.
SUNDAY APRIL 1, 1453 (Easter)
Constantine woke exhausted. He shivered despite numerous blankets and Zophia’s warmth next to him. He felt a slight tremble in the bed. The trembling increased and he realized it was another earthquake. He woke Zophia and pulled her out of the bed. They ran across the room and fell, naked, under a heavy table. The rumbling increased, a clay pitcher fell off the table and crashed to the floor. Zophia held tightly on to Constantine. After about a minute, the trembling subsided and they were able to come out.
“Why are we having these earthquakes Constantine? What can they mean?”
The Emperor was unsure. Earthquakes were unusual in the city, but this winter and early spring had hosted many. The weather was also unusual for spring, cold and rainy. He knew the deeply religious people saw these unusual patterns as terrible omens. He had even heard that some blamed him for the city’s ill luck, because of the Union of the churches. Could it be his fault? What did God want from him? Was he to do nothing to save the city? If not, why was he put in this position? Was he simply cursed?
“I do not know what they mean, Zophia. At such a time as this, I think we have to look at our blessings.” He smiled and kissed her. “There certainly is enough bad to worry about. I thank God for the primary blessing in my life, which of course is you.”
She smiled back. “I agree. I’ve prayed all winter to the Virgin and to God that we would make it to this Easter morning. With God’s grace, we have made it.”
“I hate to agree with you but I suppose I must. When I heard about the Turks massing at Edirne this past fall, I thought they might attack before winter set in. Now I start to wonder if they might actually leave us alone, at least for another year.”
She kissed him back, “Don’t push your luck my love. Let us be content with Easter and go from there.”
“Before we are stuck in mass for hours, I have some other ideas for now . . .”
She laughed. “I suppose I must submit to your royal commands.”
Later the couple left and went for a ride through the city. Despite the earthquake, the people seemed to be in good spirits and greeted the Emperor with waves and even applause. After the initial strain and unhappiness about the Union, the people had slowly warmed back up to their Emperor. Their reaction to the Emperor on this particular day was even more enthusiastic. Perhaps Zophia was not the only person who had prayed that the city would be delivered to Easter.
Finally they arrived at the Cathedral itself. Zophia kissed Constantine and rode slowly away. She had proved stubbornly unwilling to support him on the Union, even these many months later.
Constantine entered St. Sophia through the Grand Imperial gate, the massive doors just past the narthex that allowed entrance into the sanctuary. He stood and admired the great interior of the cathedral. The dome stood as if suspended from heaven, almost two hundred feet high. The sanctuary was filled with ornate mosaics and paintings in gilded frames, along with the gold and silver pitchers, candelabras and crosses. At the top of the dome a huge mosaic of Jesus stared down at the worn marble floor below, with the paintings of four archangels on the four massive supporting arches of the dome.
Constantine noted that even for this Easter celebration, very few Greeks were in attendance. The attendees were mostly Italians and Isidore’s minions. He climbed slowly up to the traditional Imperial balcony above the sanctuary. He found difficulty concentrating on the Mass. Constantine hoped that his people would have their souls filled on this most important day, wherever they had to go to do so. He realized he was proud of his people. He had to compromise, but they did not. And while they might be upset with him, at some level they seemed to understand that these sacrifices needed to be made.
Not that the sacrifice seemed worth it at this point. After the initial wave of enthusiasm when Giovanni arrived, the city had received little aid from the West. A few private individuals and ships had arrived, but no relief came from Rome or any other city or state. Constantine rode out faithfully each morning and each evening to the rise of land near the acropolis, looking out over the sea walls, straining his eyes out over the Marmara in hopes of spotting another fleet. The Pope had promised aid and the sooner it arrived the better. He just hoped any aid would arrive before the Turks invested the city, if that was in fact their intent.
On the other hand, the city was in far better condition now to deal with any attack that might come. Giovanni had worked miracles with the city walls. The Genoese in Galata, while neutral, had supplied individual soldiers and some food and supplies. The Venetians had pledged their support and loyalty after the flight of a few citizens in February. In addition, there were various companies and individuals from other Frankish cities and even purportedly a visitor from the land of Scots.
A Turkish prince, Orhan, also lived in the city with his household. He was a pretender to the Sultan’s throne. He lived in Constantinople with financial support from the Sultan, who paid to keep him out of royal business.
The previous Emperor, and even Constantine, had used Orhan as a threat at times to the Sultans, suggesting that if the Ottomans did not meet the demands of the Emperors, then they would turn Orhan loose and support him for the throne. Certainly this threat was unlikely during Murad’s reign, but Mehmet’s control of the throne was far more tenuous. If the city fell, the Sultan would most assuredly kill Orhan. For this reason, Constantine could depend on Orhan’s loyal support, and the support of his household.
Isidore was really working himself up today Constantine noted. He chastised the Greeks for failing to truly embrace the Union. Constantine had to smile to himself. To whom was he preaching? The Venetians? The Genoese? He was practically the only Greek there. Perhaps Isidore was directing this message to him. If so, Constantine’s response was simple: Where is your aid, Isidore? I did not sell my people’s souls for 200 archers and a little grain. If you want the Union to stick, perhaps some more material aid would be beneficial. Constantine mused at what a strange and sad place his empire had become, begging to the beggars in the west to come and save him.
The fiery lecture ended and Isidore began the Holy Communion. Constantine rose and quietly left the Cathedral. He did not feel like receiving the Host from a Frank today, or even a Russian for that matter. Still he felt a strange warmth and comfort. He had made it through a difficult winter, a winter constituting another few impossible months in an impossible life. By all accounts he should have been killed years ago, when he was a hostage of Murad, Mehmet’s father, or in the multitude of court intrigues and the competition for the hollow throne of the Greeks. Even during his time as the leader in the Peloponnesus, he could have died in battle or at the hands of an assassin a dozen or more times. He lived for this crumbling city and a few scraps of territory remaining to the Greeks.
On the other hand, in many ways the city was more prepared now than it had been in the previous hundred years. He still was not sure how many total soldiers he had available, but he estimated it must be close to 20,000. Assuming he actually attacked, if Mehmet fielded double or triple that number, he was sure the city could easily hold. Assuming he even actually attacked. With some luck,
he
might even attack Mehmet after a month or two of siege, and deal the Turks a blow that would make them hesitate for a generation or two. He even fantasized about the remote possibility that Hunyadi and the Italians would join him and drive the infidels from the shores of Europe for good. He would go down in history as the greatest Emperor in hundreds of years, maybe ever.
Had Augustus or Justinian faced odds like these? Or even the original Roman Emperor Constantine who created this city from the town of Byzantium? He wondered if Gregory had reached Hunyadi again? He thought it very unlikely that the Hungarian leader would join him, but with the promise of aid from the Pope, perhaps he would. Even the threat of an attack from the Hungarians might be enough to save the city, at least for another year.
Constantine stood outside St. Sophia, turning to admire the great Cathedral. The church rose sharply into the sky, the largest building in the world. He admired the huge dome sparkling in the sky, with the gold cross at the top. How many invading armies had looked out with impotent frustration at this dome, hidden behind the impregnable walls of the city? He thanked God for his fortune and for protecting Constantinople.
As he finished his prayer, he heard the thud of a galloping horse and looked up to see Sphrantzes reining his horse in sharply. He smiled ruefully again to himself. He had felt so at peace, that of course such moments had never been meant to last for him. He lived crisis to crisis. Such was his fate.
“Sphrantzes my friend, Happy Easter to you. What brings you to me in such haste? Did you bring me an Easter gift?”
“My Lord, a huge fleet approaches!”
Constantine smiled larger. It was after all the perfect Easter present, aid from the West at last!
“Can you tell whether they are Roman or Venetian, or are they from some other city sending aid?”
“I’m sorry My Lord, they are not friendly. The huge Turkish fleet. They are coming up out of the Bosporus. They are too numerous to count.”
Constantine felt his joy drain out of him and turn to cold despair. A Turkish fleet? How could that be? The Ottomans had certainly had fleets in the past but not in recent memory. Mehmet’s father was almost ruined by a lack of fleet, when he was caught on the Asian side of the Bosporus without sufficient ships to ferry his forces back to Europe in the face of Hunyadi’s invasion. Only Genoan greed had saved him. Now the Turks had a new fleet? How had they built it so quickly and how had Constantine not learned about the fleet ahead of time? This news was unexpected and terrible. However this disaster had come to pass, the reality was here and Constantine had to deal with it.
“Is the sea chain in place?”
“Yes My Lord. Notaras has kept it in place constantly, except when we have ships coming or going.”
“Let us go look at the sea chain for ourselves.”
The Emperor still held out hope that Sphrantzes was mistaken. A fleet coming out of the Bosporus did not necessarily mean a Turkish fleet. The Georgians or Trebizonds might have sent a fleet to the city. Yes, this could still be a relief fleet.
Constantine had his horse brought to him and quickly mounted, taking off in a gallop toward the Acropolis. Fortunately St. Sophia was close to the northeast tip of the city. Constantine was there in a matter of minutes.
Crowds had gathered and were looking out over the sea walls at the ships floating up the Bosporus toward the city. Constantine immediately saw that Sphrantzes was right. The ships flew the red banners of the Ottomans. This fleet was an Ottoman fleet, a huge fleet. Constantine could not believe it. When had the Sultan created such a fleet? There seemed to be hundreds of ships on the horizon, all heading toward the city.
He watched for hours. Zophia, Sphrantzes, Notaras, and even Giovanni all joined him to watch the fleet coming closer to the city. Notaras had sent the small Greek fleet out into the Horn near the sea chain, not to challenge the Turkish fleet, but to make sure they were in position in case the Turks mounted an attack on the chain itself.