‘He knows more about the Turks than the rest of you combined. He fought at Sofia and Kossova, and …’
Another voice, perhaps Archbishop Leonard’s, cut him off: ‘He knows a bit too much about the Turks, if you ask me. I hear he was raised a janissary. How can we trust him?’
Constantine frowned, looking ready to storm into the room. Longo placed a hand on his shoulder and held him back. ‘Let me deal with them,’ he said. ‘I will report to you after the meeting.’ Constantine nodded, and Longo entered the room alone. Notaras was at the head of a large table around which stood Archbishop Leonard, Dalmata, the Venetian bailiff Minotto and a dozen other commanders. The men fell abruptly silent.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Longo began. ‘I know that there are some of you who doubt Constantine’s wisdom in appointing me commander. I myself asked him to take charge of the city’s defences, but he refused. He has given me the command, and I will not fail him.’ He paused, and no one interrupted him. That was a good sign. ‘I understand your concerns. I am not a Roman; it is true. But I am Christian, as are you. I will organize the defence, but it is you who must save this city. I cannot do it alone. None of us can. We must fight together, Romans, Venetians, Genoese and
even Turks. All who call this city home must defend it as brothers. Are we agreed?’
They all nodded or added their murmured assent. ‘Good, then we may begin,’ Longo said. ‘I have learned that the Turks will attack this very night, as soon as darkness falls.’
‘Are you certain?’ Notaras asked. ‘I have heard nothing of this.’
‘I assure you, my information is reliable,’ Longo told him. He was reluctant to reveal how he knew of the Turks’ plans. The tunnel had been destroyed, but there might be others. The fewer who knew about them, the better.
‘What if this information is a ruse?’ Notaras insisted.
‘A night keeping watch will do our men no harm,’ Longo replied. ‘The Turks are counting on the element of surprise to overwhelm us. We must be ready for them.’ The megadux nodded his head in consent, and Longo continued. ‘We will place the majority of our forces along the land walls, keeping only enough men on the sea walls to call for help in the event of trouble. Archbishop Leonard, you will join the Langasco brothers in defending the walls where they run down into the Golden Horn. Minotto, you will defend the Imperial Palace and the Blachernae walls.’
‘He spends enough time there, anyway. He’s more interested in courting the palace ladies than fighting, if you ask me,’ sniggered one of the Bocchiardo brothers, Troilo. He and his brothers, Paolo and Antonio, had arrived from Genoa several weeks before Longo. Longo had known and respected them for years, but he did not appreciate the interruption. He gave Troilo a cold stare.
Minotto ignored Troilo. ‘I will be happy to take the post,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Longo said. ‘Bocchiardo brothers, you and your men will take up positions south of Minotto, where the Blachernae and Theodosian walls meet. You will share command of the Blachernae with Minotto.’
‘With that Venetian prig?’ Troilo objected. ‘My men won’t fight alongside Venetians!’
‘I will have your hide for that,’ Minotto said, his hand moving to his sword. ‘I demand satisfaction!’
‘Silence!’ Longo shouted. He drew his sword and laid it on the table. ‘I will not have bickering amongst you,’ he said, his voice quiet and hard. ‘We are here to fight the Turks, not one another. If any of you seek satisfaction, then I will offer it to you myself. Is that understood?’ Troilo nodded. ‘Minotto?’ After a pause, the Venetian nodded.
‘Good,’ Longo continued. ‘Theophilus Palaelogus will command the wall south of the Lycus river to the Pegae Gate. Filippo Contarini and his Venetians will defend the walls from the Pegae Gate to the Golden Gate, which Manuel and his men have volunteered to defend. The Protostrator, Demetrius Cantacuzenus, will defend the southernmost portion of the wall. The Venetians will have command of the fleet and the Golden Horn. The sea walls will be manned by Greek monks and any remaining forces in the city.’ Longo was pleased to see each of the commanders nod as he spoke his name. None questioned their assignments. ‘My men and I will be stationed south of the Bocchiardo brothers, with the emperor at the Mesoteichion. Prince Orhan and the Turkish troops will join us there.’
‘But they are infidels,’ Archbishop Leonard protested. ‘You cannot use Turks to defend our most vulnerable point. They will betray us to the enemy.’ Several other men at the table nodded agreement. Orhan, a Turkish prince who had taken shelter in Constantinople to avoid death at the hands of Mehmed, opened his mouth to speak, but Longo gestured for him to remain silent.
‘There are Christians, even Greeks, fighting in the Turkish army. I see no reason why Turks should not fight in ours,’ Longo said. ‘Constantinople is their home, too, and Orhan’s men are some of our strongest fighters. We need their help on the walls.’
‘Does the Union mean nothing then?’ Leonard asked. ‘The pope would never stand for this.’
‘The pope is not here, nor are his men. In their absence, we need all the help we can get,’ Notaras said firmly. Longo was
surprised by Notaras’s support. The megadux turned to Longo. ‘And what of my post?’
‘You will command a reserve force, stationed where the Blachernae wall meets the Theodosian walls. You will offer support wherever there is trouble.’
‘My place is on the walls, not cowering behind them,’ Notaras said.
‘Do not mistake me, Notaras,’ Longo said. ‘Your post will see no lack of danger. You will be free to seek out battle wherever it offers itself, and you will always find yourself at the centre of the worst fighting. I have offered you this post because I know of your courage and skill as a warrior.’
‘If the post is so glorious, then perhaps you should take it.’
‘I would be happy to, Megadux, but there is another consideration. I understand that you possess a number of mobile cannons. They will prove vital in turning back the Turks if the wall is breached. I did not think that you would wish for someone else to command your artillery, but if you are willing, then I will gladly take command of the reserve force.’
‘No, that will not be necessary,’ Notaras said. ‘But understand that only I will decide when and how my men and cannons are deployed. I will fight beside you, Signor Giustiniani, but I will not fight under you.’
‘So long as you fight, Megadux, I ask for nothing more.’ Longo looked around the table, pausing at each of the men in turn. ‘I do not ask any of you to fight for me. If you seek a man to fight for, then fight for the emperor.’ Longo’s gazed settled at last on Notaras. ‘And if you do not wish to fight for any man,’ Longo concluded, ‘then fight for Constantinople.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Minotto agreed, and one by one, each of the men added their assent. All eyes turned to Notaras, who alone of the men had remained aloof.
‘For Constantinople,’ he said and nodded his head curtly.
‘Very well, then,’ Longo said. ‘Have your men at the walls well before sunset. Until the fighting starts, keep them busy repairing
the walls, making arrows or building mantelets. When the attack comes, we will regret every second wasted. Are there any questions?’ No one spoke. ‘Good. Then take your posts, and may God protect you all.’
Longo, William and Tristo stood atop the stockade, their battle armour glinting in the torchlight. The sun had long since set and the last colour faded from the sky, swallowed up by inky darkness. Longo watched the Turkish camp for signs of the impending attack, but saw nothing unusual. Cooking fires glimmered in the distance, and the cannons continued to roar.
Longo heard a commotion behind him and turned to see the emperor approaching, dressed in heavy plate armour. ‘Greetings, Signor Giustiniani,’ Constantine said. He pointed to the distant Turkish camp. ‘All looks calm. Perhaps there will be no attack.’
‘I hope that you are right,’ Longo said. He looked at the numerous holes blasted in the stockade during the day’s bombardment and then at the men grouped behind the barrier. Even with Prince Orhan’s troops and most of Constantine’s personal guard, Longo had less than three thousand men to defend the entire Mesoteichion against at least ten times as many Turks. ‘If there is a battle,’ he said. ‘Then we shall be hard pressed.’
‘God will protect us. He will not let the Empire of the Romans fall,’ Constantine said. ‘I must inspect the other troops. God be with you, Signor Giustiniani.’
The Turkish bombardment stopped soon after the emperor had departed. As the boom of the last gun faded, silence settled over the walls for the first time in weeks. Men rushed forward to place mantelets – portable wooden barriers – across the openings that the cannons had made. Atop the stockade, Longo peered into the darkness. He saw nothing, but the cannons would be quiet for only one reason. ‘They’re coming,’ he said to William and Tristo. ‘Go to your posts.’ Longo drew his sword and held it aloft. Behind him, he heard the rasp of hundreds of swords being drawn. ‘Ready, men!’ he shouted.
From the north and south, Longo could now hear the dull roar of fighting elsewhere along the walls, but still he saw nothing in the darkness before him. Then a flare lit the sky over the stockade, then another and another. Beneath their red glare an onrushing horde of janissaries was visible only a hundred yards away, swarming across the fosse and towards the stockade. Ten thousand strong, they let loose a blood-curdling mass scream as the light hit them, and their cry of
Allah! Allah! Allah!
was soon joined by the heavy beat of drums and the eerie wail of bagpipes. It seemed to Longo as if the mouth of hell had opened up before him, and the Turks, lit red by the flares, were screaming demons.
As the Turks scrambled up the far side of the fosse, an arrow thumped into the stockade before Longo. Another slammed into the chest of the soldier beside him, and he dropped, screaming in pain. ‘Down, men!’ Longo yelled as he crouched behind the stockade, his shield raised over his head. The compact bows of the janissary, made of wood, horn and tendon, could fire arrows with enough velocity to punch through even plate armour. Arrows continued to thud into the stockade and skitter off Longo’s shield, and then they stopped. The first Turks had reached the wall. ‘Up men!’ Longo roared. ‘For Constantinople! God is with us!’
Turks placed ladders against the stockade in front of Longo and began to swarm up them, while others threw grappling hooks over the wall and tried to pull down the wooden face of the stockade. Longo moved about the wall, kicking over ladders and cutting the ropes from the grappling hooks. Although the Turks greatly outnumbered them, the defenders were holding up well. Here and there Turks managed to reach the top of the wall, but they were quickly dispatched. The real fighting was taking place in the gaps that had been blasted in the stockade. The janissaries’ greater numbers were of no help in the narrow gaps, where the thicker armour of the Christian forces gave them a decided advantage. The fighting was furious, but all down the line the stockade appeared to be holding. Still, for every janissary that was killed there were five more to take his place, and the fury of the
attack did not slacken. As the moon crawled across the sky, the Turkish dead piled up before the stockade, until the janissaries could reach the top by climbing upon their fallen comrades.
Longo spotted several janissaries with torches making their way across the fosse, and soon a small portion of the stockade before him was in flames. He had anticipated such an attempt, and his men were prepared. The wall had been wetted earlier that night, and now men rushed forward with buckets of water to douse the few flames that did spread. Further down, however, flames had caught and were spreading. Longo could see Tristo atop the stockade, his huge bulk silhouetted by the fire as he beat at the flames with a wet blanket. Then the portion of the stockade on which he was standing collapsed outward, and Tristo disappeared.
When Tristo came to, he found himself half buried beneath bags of earth and smouldering timbers. He looked about him, quickly taking stock. The stockade where he had been standing had collapsed outward, opening up a gap some thirty feet wide. All around him janissaries were scrambling over the wreckage. The only Christian soldiers that he could see were unconscious or dead, buried around him in the ruins. Tristo tried to rise, but he was pinned beneath a log. He pushed against the log with all his might. It shifted slightly, but not enough to free him. Nearby, a janissary noticed his efforts and began to climb over the wreckage towards him. Tristo’s sword was nowhere in sight. He turned his attention back to the log, but it would not budge. He glanced back. The Turk was almost upon him.
Desperate, Tristo picked up a three-foot piece of wood – a fragment from the collapsed stockade – and swung it at the janissary’s legs. The janissary jumped the blow, then kicked the piece of wood out of Tristo’s hand. ‘Come on then, bastard! Get it over with!’ Tristo growled at him. The janissary raised his curved
yatagan
high, but he never completed the blow. He dropped his sword and slumped to his knees, a blade protruding from his chest. William stepped out from behind the fallen Turk.
‘What took you so long?’ Tristo grumbled.
‘Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?’ William asked as he pushed bags of dirt off the log that was pinning Tristo.
‘I had the situation under control,’ Tristo replied. He pushed on the log – now much lighter with the bags of earth removed – and it rolled off of him. Tristo rose, clutching his chest where the log had pinned him.
‘Are you well? Can you fight?’ William asked as he handed Tristo a sword.
‘I’m fine,’ Tristo growled. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
Longo stood in the middle of the wide gap in the stockade, his face set in a snarl as he fought furiously. He had watched Tristo disappear amidst the burning ruins of the stockade and was now filled with a cold fury. He ruthlessly dispatched any Turk unfortunate enough to face him. As he confronted yet another janissary, he sidestepped a spear thrust, chopped the shaft of the spear in two, spun and impaled his attacker, all in one smooth motion. As soon as the janissary fell, another stepped forward to take his place. Despite Longo’s furious efforts, he and his men were giving ground. The thin line of Christian soldiers that had filled the broad gap could not defend it indefinitely against the greater Turkish numbers, and if the Turks managed to push through and get inside the stockade, then the outer wall would be lost. After that, it would only be a matter of time before the city fell.