‘Signor Giustiniani?’ Sphrantzes asked, but Longo barely heard him over the blood pounding in his temples. He felt oddly detached from the world, as if his rage had somehow severed the link between his body and his soul.
When Longo spoke, his voice was quiet and hard. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Halil Pasha. I have looked forward to this meeting for a long time.’
‘My apologies, but I do not recognize you. We have met before?’
‘We have indeed.’ Longo drew his sword.
‘What treachery is this!’ Halil exclaimed, backing away into the corner.
‘I was only a child, living near Salonika,’ Longo continued, ignoring Halil’s protest. He took a step towards the grand vizier. ‘You burned my home and killed my brother. You took me captive and forced me into the janissaries. You had my parents gutted and left for the wolves.’ Longo took another step and raised his sword.
Constantine stepped between the two men. ‘Think of what you are doing!’ He hissed. ‘This is our one chance at peace. If you kill him, then we may well all die.’
Longo paused. He had devoted his life to the death of this one man. How could he simply let him go? What did it matter what happened afterwards so long as Halil was dead? Longo looked at the grand vizier, cringing in the corner. ‘You do not understand,’ he told Constantine. He pushed past the emperor and strode to
Halil, who shrank back and raised his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself.
‘He is a madman!’ Halil cried. ‘Somebody stop him!’
But there was no one to stop him. Longo raised his sword high, but then paused. An image of Sofia had flashed into his mind, an image of her as she had looked last night. He had sworn then that he would never leave her. He had sworn that he would protect her. If he killed Halil, then he would not just be sacrificing Sofia, but all of Constantinople. Longo lowered his sword. ‘Count yourself lucky,’ he told Halil. ‘And pray that we never meet again.’ He sheathed his sword and headed for the door.
‘I remember you, now,’ Halil said, stopping Longo in the doorway. Halil had straightened himself and regained his aloof demeanour. ‘Enforcing
devshirme
in Salonika was a nasty business. I made examples of so many people. But I remember you, in particular.’ Halil fingered the long scar running down his cheek. ‘I could have had you killed for what you did to me that day. You owe me your life.’
Longo stood unmoving in the doorway for a moment, his head bowed. Then he raised his head and looked Halil in the eyes. ‘I owe you nothing,’ he spat and strode from the room. He left the palace and then kept walking, mounting the land wall and heading south towards the Sea of Marmora, some two miles off. But no matter how fast he walked, he could not outpace the memories that tormented him: his family’s home in Greece; the thatch roof on fire; his brother cut down by janissaries as he struggled in vain to defend Longo; and most painful of all, his mother’s face as he had last seen her. Despite all her pain, her eyes had still been alert and focused. She had looked right at Longo, silently pleading for help, for vengeance.
Longo came to a halt atop the Golden Gate and turned to face the distant Turkish camp, his hands gripping the rough stone of the tower battlement so hard that it hurt. But he hardly registered the pain; he was thinking of all the years that he had trained, of all the Turks he had killed, all so that he could avenge his
parents. Now he had finally found their killer, and he had let him live. There were more important things than revenge. He knew that now.
Longo released the battlement and turned away from the Turkish army, letting his eyes follow the walls as they ran down to the Sea of Marmora, which sparkled under a cloudless sky. As he gazed out at the waters below, he spotted a lone Turkish ship tacking towards the Acropolis and the Golden Horn beyond. Longo looked more closely. He recognized that ship. It was
la Fortuna
!
As
la Fortuna
neared the Acropolis, a pair of Turkish warships set out to intercept it.
La Fortuna
sailed straight for them and then slowed, allowing the Turkish ships to come alongside. Longo expected Turkish sailors to storm aboard
la Fortuna
any second, but after a moment, the ship sailed on, unmolested. Its disguise had worked. William had returned.
Longo was waiting at the dock long before
la Fortuna
arrived. Tristo had joined him, and a crowd had gathered on the sea walls to welcome the ship. The people cheered as the vessel slid into its place alongside the pier. William leaped down from the side of the ship before it was even moored.
Tristo stepped forward and engulfed William in a powerful hug. ‘Welcome back, young pup. I knew you’d make it.’
‘If you squeeze him any harder, he may not survive the welcome,’ Longo said with a smile and stepped forward to embrace William. ‘We missed you. Now, what news do you bring?’
‘The good news first,’ William said. ‘Tristo, you are to be a father. Maria is with child.’
Tristo’s eyebrows arched. ‘A father?’ he said softly. Then he grinned and slapped William on the back. ‘A father!’ he roared. ‘I just hope the little bugger is mine.’
Longo laughed. ‘Congratulations, old friend.’ He turned back to William. ‘And your other news?’
‘Phlatanelas is dead. On our way out, we had to fight past a
Turkish ship blocking the Dardanelles Straight.’ William eyed the crowd. ‘The rest of my news is worse still. Perhaps we had best discuss it inside.’
Longo nodded. ‘I will take you to the emperor.’
Longo led William to a pair of horses. They mounted and rode for the palace to the renewed cheering of the crowd. They arrived in the great hall to find the emperor waiting for them.
‘Thank God you have come,’ Constantine said as William and Longo approached. ‘What news do you bring? Are there more ships on the way?’
‘I am sorry, My Lord, but no more help is coming from the West,’ William said. ‘The Venetians sit in Crete, but they refuse to move until they receive official orders from Venice. I fear the orders will take months to arrive.’
‘But the pope called for a crusade!’ Constantine said. ‘Surely someone has answered the call.’
‘We found no other ships willing to come to our aid,’ William said. ‘I am sorry, My Lord.’
‘And what of my brothers, Demetrius and Thomas?’
William shook his head. ‘Demetrius refused to see me. Thomas at least offered grain. I took as much as my ship’s hold would carry.’
‘You have done well, William,’ Constantine said, although his slumping shoulders betrayed his disappointment. ‘Now, I must return to my meeting with the vizier. Let us pray for peace, gentlemen.’
Chapter 21
SATURDAY 26 MAY TO SUNDAY 27 MAY 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: DAYS 56 TO 57 OF THE SIEGE
W
illiam awoke to the sound of yelling. He rose and went to the window, tiptoeing so as not to wake Tristo, who shared his room. He looked out, and in the pre-dawn light he could see a man running down the street, crying out loudly as he went. All along the street men and women were stepping out of their homes, forming an excited crowd. Some people cried to the heavens, while others began to weep. Several women fainted.
‘Tristo!’ William shouted. Tristo snorted and rolled away from him. William went to him and shook him awake. ‘Come look at this.’ Tristo joined him at the window. Just then, bells all over the city began to ring. There were renewed shouts from the crowd in the street.
‘The bells … it must be an attack!’ William said.
‘We must get to the walls!’ Tristo replied. They rushed downstairs and out into the street. Tristo saw one of Longo’s men and grabbed him. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded. ‘You should be at your post.’
‘My post?’ the man asked. ‘What?’
‘Are you daft?’ Tristo yelled, struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd and bells. ‘The Turks are attacking. You must get to the walls.’
‘The Turks aren’t attacking,’ the man shouted back. ‘It’s over! The siege is over!’
‘What do you mean, it’s over?’ William put in. ‘What has happened?’
‘Haven’t you heard? The emperor reached terms with the grand vizier. It’s over! We’ve won!’ With that he moved off down the street.
William and Tristo looked at each other, and then embraced, Tristo lifting William clear off the ground. ‘Thank God!’ he roared. He put William down. ‘Let’s celebrate! I’m going to get famously drunk!’
‘Let’s find Longo first,’ William said. ‘I want to hear this news from him.’
William and Tristo found Longo atop the wall, standing with the emperor and Dalmata. They were looking out at a pavilion that had been erected on the broad field that lay between the city walls and the front lines of sultan’s army. ‘Is it true?’ William asked. ‘Will there be peace?’
‘Last night the grand vizier and Sphrantzes agreed to terms,’ Longo replied. ‘This morning Halil returned to request a meeting between the emperor and the sultan. They are each to be accompanied by only one guard. That is all we know.’
‘What about the bells?’
‘Rumours often travel faster than the truth,’ Constantine said. ‘And they are more easily believed, I fear.’
‘Look, there he is,’ Longo said. He pointed to the plain below where the sultan, accompanied only by Ulu, was riding out to the pavilion.
‘Ready my horse,’ Constantine said.
‘Do not go, My Lord,’ Dalmata urged. ‘It is a trap.’
‘Trap or no, I must go,’ Constantine said. ‘Look at their numbers.’ He pointed to the Turks’ endless camp, stretching away to the horizon. ‘We cannot hold out forever. I must make peace with the sultan.’
‘Then at least let me be the one to accompany you, My Lord.’
‘No, Dalmata. I will take Signor Giustiniani.’
‘But My Lord, I should be the one,’ Dalmata protested.
Constantine placed his hand on Dalmata’s shoulder. ‘Stay here, old friend. If anything goes wrong, I want you to lead a group of riders to rescue me. And if I die, then you will protect my family.’ Dalmata nodded. ‘Very well then,’ Constantine said. ‘Come, Signor Longo. I am eager to meet the sultan face to face.’
Longo and Constantine descended from the wall to find that a crowd had gathered around the Golden Gate. The people knelt when they saw their emperor and scattered cries of ‘God be with you!’ and ‘Bless you Constantine!’ accompanied him as he mounted and rode out through the gate. He and Longo passed through the double walls and trotted out to the pavilion, a square, open-sided tent that had been set up over a red carpet. Next to the pavilion, the sultan sat astride his horse, waiting for them. Beside him was Ulu, grim and stone-faced. He showed no sign of recognizing Longo. Longo turned his attention to the sultan.
Mehmed was younger than Longo had expected, twenty or twenty-one years old at the most. He was of average height, with an athletic build and striking features: full lips, a prominent nose and high cheekbones. But Mehmed’s eyes were what caught Longo’s attention. Intense and penetrating, they seemed to burrow into Longo’s very soul.
‘Emperor Constantine,’ Mehmed said in accented but correct Greek. ‘Your presence is most welcome.’
‘Sultan Mehmed, I am honoured to meet you,’ Constantine replied. ‘I hope that we can establish peace between our peoples. This siege has lasted too long.’
‘I certainly agree,’ Mehmed said. He gestured to Ulu. ‘This is Ulubatli Hasan, the supreme
aga
of the janissary and my personal guard. As promised, he is unarmed. And who is this who accompanies you, emperor?’
‘Count Giovanni Giustiniani Longo of Genoa and Chios, the commander of my forces,’ Constantine replied.
‘Ah, the defender of Constantinople,’ Mehmed said, regarding Longo with renewed interest. ‘You have proven yourself a worthy adversary, signor.’
Longo bowed at the compliment. ‘And you, great Sultan, have shown wisdom beyond your years.’
‘You flatter me, signor, but it is flattery that I am happy to receive. Now, shall we be seated?’ There was a table in the centre of the pavilion, with one chair on either side. Mehmed sat in the seat on the side of the Turkish army; Constantine on the side of Constantinople. Ulu and Longo stood behind the chairs of their respective leaders. ‘You have, I believe, discussed terms of a peace with Halil?’ Mehmed began.
‘The grand vizier and my councillor, Sphrantzes, have agreed upon terms that I am willing to accept,’ Constantine replied. ‘I will pay an increased tribute for three years, to cover your costs for the siege. And the pretender Orhan will be returned to your court.’
Mehmed waved his hand dismissively. ‘There will be no such peace. I have not come for your money or for the head of Orhan. I have come for Constantinople.’
‘But this is an outrage!’ Constantine protested. ‘The grand vizier …’
‘The grand vizier means nothing,’ Mehmed said with finality. ‘I am the sultan. My word is the only one that matters. And I tell you that there can be no peace between us so long as you control Constantinople. The city is a thorn in my side and a threat to my empire. As long as it is in Christian hands, my people will never feel secure.’
‘Constantinople is not mine to give,’ Constantine replied sternly. ‘It is the key to an empire that has lasted for over a thousand years. I will die before you set foot within its walls.’
‘You are a noble man, Constantine. I expected nothing less. But know that if you choose to fight, then no quarter will be
given to you or your people. Your men will be slaughtered; your women raped and sold into slavery. Their blood will be on your hands.’
‘No, Sultan. It will be on yours.’
‘That may be,’ Mehmed agreed. ‘But I can live with their blood. Can you?’ Constantine made no reply, and Mehmed continued, leaning forward over the table as he spoke. ‘Surrender, and your people will be spared. Those who wish to leave Constantinople will be given free passage. And you may keep the Morea to rule over as you see fit. I will also grant you a fiefdom elsewhere in my empire, wherever you desire. But if you choose to fight, then I swear to you, you will die and the streets of Constantinople will run with blood.’