Mehmed stubbornly took another bite. ‘A small price to pay for the glory and riches that will be ours when the city falls,’ he said. The men around the campfire burst into laughter.
‘That’s rich,’ the man next to Mehmed said. ‘You sound just like the sultan.’
‘The only thing likely to fall around here is us,’ another added. ‘Just look at what happened last night. The sultan’s brilliant plan
cost us another hundred of our best men, slaughtered without a chance in those damned tunnels.’
‘I fought in his father’s army,’ the old veteran added. ‘If Murad couldn’t take the city, then what chance does this boy think he has?’
Mehmed put the bowl aside and stood. ‘Thank you for the meal,’ he said stiffly.
‘Any time,’ the old veteran retorted. ‘We always have room for a fellow soldier.’
Mehmed strode away, and Ulu joined him. ‘Shall I have those men beaten, My Lord?’ Ulu asked.
‘No. Find out who the old man is. I want him placed in charge of supplies for my troops.’
‘Very well, My Lord.’
Mehmed stormed into his tent in a foul mood. Halil and his chief generals – Ishak Pasha and Mahmud Pasha – bowed as he entered. Mehmed marched straight past them and to a low table that had been covered with a lavish spread of food. He swept it on to the floor. Servants stepped forward immediately to remove the mess. ‘Leave it!’ Mehmed shouted, and then turned to face his advisors. ‘What is this, Halil?’ he snapped. ‘Why am I served fine foods when my men have only filth to eat?’
‘I have done my best, Your Highness,’ Halil sputtered. ‘The army is so large and …’
‘Enough. You are no longer in charge of supplies.’ Halil began to protest, but Mehmed cut him off with a wave of his hand. ‘I have another task for you, Halil, something more suited to your talents.’ He turned to Ishak Pasha. ‘Ishak, what went wrong last night?’
‘The tunnels were much more extensive than we anticipated, My Lord. It took the men some time to find their way, and by then the Christians had been alerted.’
Mehmed nodded. ‘Do you think that the Christians knew of our plan?’
‘No, My Lord,’ Ishak replied. ‘I believe they were surprised.’
‘I see. Halil, have you found any spies in our army?’
‘I have uncovered several traitors who have been in communication with the enemy, Your Highness.’
‘Have them executed immediately. Let them be an example to all who dare betray me.’
‘Excuse me, My Lord, but is that wise?’ Ishak asked. ‘Morale amongst the men is low. An execution could cause trouble.’
‘Very well. Execute them quietly, Halil,’ Mehmed ordered.
‘I will do so,’ Halil said. ‘But Ishak Pasha is correct. The men are not happy, Your Highness. They say that this siege is cursed, that Allah does not wish us to succeed.’
‘Allah? Allah does not wish it?’ Mehmed’s voice was rising. ‘
I
wish it. That is all that matters.’
‘Still, Your Highness, the men are tired. They grumble that they came to fight, not to dig tunnels and haul cannons. Perhaps we should pull back for a time?’
‘And what do the rest of you think? Do you agree with Halil?’ Mehmed asked. Ishak and Mahmud Pasha both nodded yes. ‘Very well, I shall allow the men to rest for now. You are all right about one thing, at least. This siege must end, and soon.’
Several days later, not long after sunrise, Longo walked along the top of the inner wall, inspecting the damage done by the Turkish bombardment. The wall was holding up well for the most part, although the outer wall at the Mesoteichion – where the wall dipped down into the Lycus valley – had long since been reduced to rubble. Still, Longo was more worried about the men defending the city than the walls.
Over a week had passed since the Turks’ midnight attack on the palace, and other than the continual bombardment and a brief, probing attack by the Turks a few nights ago, the days had passed uneventfully. Life in the city had even taken on a sense of routine as people grew accustomed to the siege. Instead of the Turks, people’s worries had turned to food and the coming harvest. The soldiers on the walls were not immune from such worries; every
day they looked thinner. Many of the Greek troops at the far south end of the wall had yet to see any fighting, and rather than sit and wait at the walls, they had begun to desert their posts in large numbers. Two days ago, Longo had come across a dozen troops, their armour piled to the side as they worked in the fields just inside the city wall. He had ordered them to return to their posts, but they had refused to go.
‘How can I sit on that wall and do nothing when my family is starving?’ one of the men had complained. ‘The rations that are handed out every day aren’t enough to live on.’
‘And who knows when this cursed siege will end?’ another man had added. ‘If we don’t get this harvest in and the crops planted for the autumn harvest, then we might as well let the Turks take the city. We’ll starve otherwise.’
Longo had responded to their complaints by instituting a rotation system, so that only a third of the men at any given time would leave the walls for the fields. But the problem of supplies could not be solved so easily. Food in the city was growing scarce, and rationing only delayed the inevitable. Each day the troops grew weaker and hungrier. In another two months’ time there would be nobody left to defend the walls. The city desperately needed fresh supplies from outside, but each day the lookouts scanned the distant horizon to no avail. No ships had come to relieve them. William had not returned.
Longo stopped on the Blachernae wall where it crested the hill overlooking the Golden Horn. In the middle of the calm waters of the Horn lay another source of worry: a partially completed floating bridge that advanced from the far, Turkish-controlled shore of the Horn towards the sea walls on the Christian side. Built from wide planks lashed over the hulls of ships, with dozens of huge barrels placed in the gaps between, the bridge looked strong enough to support hundreds of men and perhaps even cannons. As of now, it reached only halfway across the waters of the Horn, but once the bridge was completed, the sultan’s armies could threaten the sea walls. Longo needed no reminder that when
Constantinople had fallen to the Latin crusaders in 1203, the attack had come against the sea walls. He would have to move more men, men he could not spare, to protect those walls.
Longo was distracted from his grim thoughts by Paolo Bocchiardo, the commander of this section of the wall. ‘Longo, there you are,’ Paolo called. ‘Have you noticed the cannons? They’ve stopped.’
He was right. For the first time since the siege began, the Turkish cannons had fallen silent. ‘No cannons, yet there is no sign of an attack. What does this mean?’ Longo asked.
‘That is what I came to tell you,’ Paolo said, grinning. ‘There has been a messenger from the Turks. They say that the sultan wants to discuss peace!’
Late the next night, Longo stood at the window of Sofia’s bedroom and gazed up at the heavens, where the full moon was slowly disappearing in a spectacular eclipse. The uneclipsed edge seemed to glow brighter as it shrank into a smaller and smaller sliver of light. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said to Sofia. ‘You should come and look.’
Sofia stayed on her bed. ‘It is a bad omen,’ she said. ‘They say that when Constantine the Great first founded the city, there was an eclipse. He predicted that the city would not fall until there was another eclipse to extinguish his glory.’
Longo laughed. ‘Surely you do not believe such things.’
‘No, but it is an old prophecy, and many people do believe it. They will see only disaster in your pretty moon.’
‘Why such dark thoughts?’ Longo asked. ‘There is hope at last. The siege is going well, and any day now help should arrive from Italy. Mehmed knows this. That is why he is sending his grand vizier to negotiate a peace.’
‘Perhaps he only seeks to buy time to prepare for another assault.’
Longo moved to the bed and pulled Sofia close to him. ‘Smile,’ he said. ‘The worst is over. Perhaps this eclipse is a good omen.’
‘But you do not believe in omens.’ Sofia turned to look Longo in the eyes. ‘When the siege is over, what will become of us?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The emperor will never agree to our marriage. He values your service, but you are only a minor noble, Longo. And there will be dozens of new alliances that he can cement through my marriage.’
‘Do you need his permission?’ Longo asked.
‘I am a princess, Longo, I too have responsibilities. If I do not fulfil them, then I will be nothing.’
‘No, not nothing,’ he replied. ‘You will be my wife, and if that means that we are not welcome in Constantinople, so be it. I swear that I will never leave your side so long as I live. We can live on Chios. It will be a good life.’
‘You would save the empire, only to flee it? Protect the emperor, only to steal a princess?’
‘If it means winning you, then yes. And you, will you come with me?’
‘Of course.’ Sofia embraced Longo, and they held each other tight. Finally, Sofia drew away. ‘You should go,’ she said. ‘With the eclipse the streets are dark. There will be no better time to leave.’
Longo sighed and rose from the bed. ‘Very well.’ He pulled on his boots and then belted his sword around his waist. ‘I shall return as soon as I am able.’ He kissed Sofia, then headed for the secret passage.
‘Longo,’ Sofia called, stopping Longo just before he disappeared into the dark passageway. She rose from the bed and went to him. ‘There is something that I need to tell you. It is about Notaras.’
‘What? I thought that he had agreed to say nothing about us to the emperor.’
‘It is not my reputation that I am worried about,’ Sofia said. ‘You must be careful of Notaras. He came back here the night he found out about us. There’s something not right with him now. I fear he will do something foolish.’
‘I will keep an eye on him,’ Longo said and slipped into the secret passageway.
The streets of Constantinople were so dark that Longo could only dimly make out the outline of the houses around him as he walked the short distance from the palace to his
palazzo
. There was a hush in the air, and he could clearly hear the gentle rustle of leaves coming from a stand of trees in the walled courtyard he was passing. Somewhere ahead of him a dog barked furiously and then suddenly stopped.
Longo was crossing through a small square when he thought he heard footsteps behind him. He turned but saw nothing. Nevertheless, he kept his hand on his sword as he continued. Longo left the square and entered a narrow, dark passageway that wound towards the
palazzo
. He had only gone a dozen feet when he heard a rock bouncing across the street behind him. He drew his sword and turned, but the passage behind him was empty. ‘Is anybody there?’ he called out. He waited, but there was no answer. Then, behind him, he heard another noise: the almost imperceptible hiss of steel sliding past leather. Longo spun around just as a dagger flashed by his head and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Overhead, the eclipse had begun to pass, and the passageway was now growing lighter. Longo squinted and could just make out the dim outline of a man dressed in black disappearing down the alley. He had not seen the man’s face, but he could guess who it was: the Spanish assassin.
Longo pulled the dagger from the wall and then made his way back to the
palazzo
without further incident. Tristo was up late gambling, and he rose in alarm when he saw Longo enter with sword and dagger in hand. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’
‘Fine … just,’ Longo replied. ‘The Spanish assassin attacked me moments ago. I was lucky not to receive his dagger in my back.’ He handed the knife to Tristo, who smelled it.
‘The blade is poisoned.’
‘It seems this assassin is determined to finish his job. I wonder how much Paolo Grimaldi is paying him,’ Longo said. ‘I want guards posted at the
palazzo
at night. And Tristo, keep your ears open. There are not so many Spaniards in the city. See if you can find him.’
The next morning Longo met with Constantine and Sphrantzes in the palace council room. The grand vizier was to come to the city under a flag of truce to discuss the terms of a peace between the Turks and Christians, and Constantine had asked Longo to attend the negotiations. Sphrantzes and Longo sat, while Constantine paced the room.
‘Do you believe this talk of peace?’ Constantine asked them. ‘I fear this may only be another of the sultan’s tricks to distract us while he prepares some fresh devilry.’
‘Whether the sultan truly seeks peace is beside the point,’ Sphrantzes said. ‘We must take him at his word. The question is: what are we willing to sacrifice to obtain peace? Increased tribute to the sultan is certain, as is an expanded Turkish quarter. But are we willing to sacrifice our Black Sea provinces? The Morea even?’
‘I long for peace, but I do not wish to save Constantinople only to lose my empire,’ Constantine said. ‘I would rather fight, so long as we stand a chance. What say you, Longo? Can we hold the walls if the sultan’s demands are too great?’
‘I do not know, My Lord,’ Longo replied. ‘The men are hungry and tired. Every day they grow weaker. We desperately need reinforcements. If the Turks attack now, it will be a close-fought battle. I cannot predict the outcome, but I will tell you this: no price is too great to pay for peace.’
Constantine nodded. ‘Then let us hope that the sultan’s offer is not a ruse.’
There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Dalmata stepped through. ‘Grand Vizier Halil Pasha,’ he pronounced.
Halil entered the council chambers and bowed low before the emperor. ‘Thank you for receiving me, Your Excellency,’ he said.
‘You are most welcome in my city,’ Constantine replied. Halil bowed again. Constantine gestured towards Sphrantzes, who rose and bowed. ‘This is George Sphrantzes, my most trusted advisor, who I believe you have met.’
‘A pleasure to see you again, Vizier,’ Sphrantzes said to Halil.
‘And this,’ Constantine continued, ‘is Signor Giustiniani, the commander of the city’s defences.’
Longo rose but did not speak. He stood stiffly, jaw clenched and his hand on his sword as his mind filled with painful memories. Standing before him was the man that he had hunted all these years, the man who had murdered his family.