‘The Kerkoporta is there,’ Notaras insisted. ‘Come closer and I can point it out to you.’ After a pause, Mehmed spurred his horse forward, so that he was now only a few feet from Notaras.
‘Where is it?’ the sultan asked.
Notaras leaned over and pointed with one hand, while his other hand slipped inside his armour. ‘There.’
‘Yes, I see it!’ Mehmed said. The words had hardly escaped his lips when Notaras pulled a pouch from inside his breastplate and flung the contents at the sultan. A white cloud of powder enveloped Mehmed. He collapsed in his saddle and then fell from his horse, shaking and coughing violently. At the same time Notaras was pulled from his saddle from behind. He landed hard on his back,
and before he could move he found Ulu’s curved sword inches from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Notaras could see that Mehmed had stopped moving. Notaras heard cheering coming from the walls of Constantinople. He smiled, then Ulu kicked him hard in the side.
‘You will pay for this, dog,’ Ulu growled. ‘You will wish that you had never lived.’
Halil had watched as Mehmed’s motionless body was taken back to the sultan’s tent, and then he had called a meeting of the army’s generals for that night. Now, he watched from behind a curtain as one by one the generals filed into his tent. Only Ulu was missing. The generals shifted uncertainly and talked in hushed tones. They needed somebody to take command, Halil thought, to tell them what to do. They would be grateful to Halil for seizing power until the next sultan was of age. Halil let them wait a few minutes more and then entered.
‘Greetings,’ he began. ‘I have called you here tonight to discuss what must be done in the wake of the sultan’s death. These are dark times, but we cannot let ourselves forget the task at hand. The army is uncertain. We must show the men strength, despite this tragedy.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Ishak Pasha asked. ‘That we continue the siege even after the sultan’s death?’ Halil nodded. ‘But how will we get the men to fight? Some of my men have already begun to pack.’
‘My men have no stomach for a fight either,’ added Mahmud Pasha, the bazibozouk commander. ‘If I order them to fight, I will have a mutiny on my hands!’
‘You are wrong, Mahmud Pasha,’ Halil replied. ‘If we let the men go, then we will have mutinies and chaos. Think! If we disband the army now and retreat, then we will be weak and defenceless. The Christians armies of Hungary and Poland are waiting for just such an opportunity to strike, and who knows if we can rally men to a child sultan? But if we stay and defeat
Constantinople, then all the world will know of our strength.’
‘But the men will only fight for a sultan,’ Ishak Pasha insisted.
‘And they will,’ Halil said. ‘They will fight for the memory of Mehmed. He began this siege. It was the great work of his reign. He would want us to see it to the end, to take vengeance for his death. Tell that to your men.’
‘And who will command the attack without a sultan?’ Ishak Pasha asked.
‘I am the grand vizier,’ Halil replied. ‘It is my duty to rule until the next sultan is of age.’ He met the eyes of the men around him, challenging them to question him, but none of the generals spoke. ‘Very well, then. It is decided. I …’ Halil was interrupted by the arrival of Ulu. ‘What is it?’ Halil snapped.
‘The sultan wishes to see you, Grand Vizier.’
‘The sultan?’ Ishak Pasha asked. The other generals began to whisper amongst themselves. The blood drained from Halil’s face. He felt as if he might be sick.
‘What do you mean? The sultan is dead.’
‘No, he lives,’ Ulu replied. ‘And he requests your presence immediately.’
‘Very well. Tell the sultan that I will be there shortly,’ Halil said. ‘Generals, you may go.’ As the generals filed out, Halil hurried into the inner chamber of his tent. He grabbed a sack of gold coins and poured it into a dish. It was customary to bring a gift when called suddenly into the sultan’s presence. If the sultan wished merely to speak with you, then the gift would be a welcome reminder of your value. If the sultan was angry, then the gift might save your life. Halil only wished that he had something more lavish to bring.
As he stepped out of his tent, two janissaries grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. The dish fell from his hands, spilling coins everywhere. Ulu stepped forward and pulled a black cloth sack over Halil’s head. The world went black, and Halil began to scream when a brutal punch to the stomach cut him short. The janissaries dragged him away, limp and
unresisting. They were gone before the last of the coins had stopped rolling.
When the sack was removed, Halil found himself face to face with the sultan. Halil was lying on a table, his hands, feet, and head tied down so that he could not move. Mehmed was standing over him. The sultan was pale, but other than that he looked no different than he had that morning. Halil swallowed nervously.
‘What is the matter, Halil?’ Mehmed asked. ‘You look as if you have seen a ghost.’
‘The poison,’ Halil managed. ‘How did you survive?’
‘Have you not heard?’ Mehmed asked, smiling. ‘It is a miracle. Allah favours me. All my men believe it to be so. They are sure that now, with Allah on our side, the walls of Constantinople will fall.’
‘But I saw the megadux attack you,’ Halil insisted. ‘I saw your body. You were dead.’
‘Perhaps you only saw what you wished to see, Halil.’
‘Me?’ Halil protested. ‘But surely Your Highness does not believe that …’
‘Silence!’ Mehmed snarled. He then resumed in a more even tone. ‘I do not wish to hear any more of your lies, Halil. But you will tell the truth soon enough. You will tell me everything. Isa will see to that.’
‘Isa!’ Halil exclaimed. He had thought Isa dead. If he were alive and here, then Halil was doomed. Isa would have told Mehmed everything. ‘Do not believe anything he says, great Sultan. He is an assassin. You cannot trust him.’
‘I trust nobody,’ Mehmed said. ‘But Isa saved my life. He gave me the antidote even before the megadux tried to kill me. He also told me about you and Sitt Hatun, about your child Selim. No, Isa is not the one who has betrayed me.’
‘Lies. I never betrayed you. I swear it,’ Halil pleaded. ‘I knew nothing of the megadux’s plot. I dealt with the monk Gennadius only to defeat Constantinople.’
‘No, you plotted with Gennadius to kill me so that your son could rule in my stead. You betrayed me, and you will suffer accordingly.’
‘But I have given you the key to the city!’
‘Indeed?’ Mehmed asked. He leaned forward until his face was only inches from Halil’s. ‘Speak truly now. Is the plot with the monk Gennadius real? Will the Kerkoporta be unlocked and unguarded as the megadux said?’
‘Yes,’ Halil said. ‘I swear it. You may kill me if I lie.’
‘The megadux says differently. He says that it was only a lie so that he could get close enough to kill me.’
‘The megadux is a fool, Gennadius only used him as a tool.’
‘I see. And how do I contact this Gennadius?’
‘There are tunnels …’
‘The tunnels have been destroyed, Halil,’ Mehmed said. ‘If that is all that you have to tell me, then I have no further use for you.’
‘No, please!’ Halil begged. ‘There is another way. Spare my life, and I will tell you.’ Mehmed nodded, and Halil continued. ‘The megadux, he can deliver the message.’
‘The megadux will be dead before another day passes.’
‘Exactly. His dead body will bear the message,’ Halil explained. ‘Gennadius is a monk. If he performs the burial, then he will find the message.’
‘And if someone else finds it?’
‘Then you will have lost nothing. But you have everything to gain if Gennadius does help you.’
‘Very clever, Halil. We will see if your scheme works.’ Mehmed stepped away from the table so that Halil could no longer see him. ‘Isa, he is all yours,’ Halil heard him say. ‘You may do as you wish but do not kill him. I wish to reserve that pleasure for myself.’
‘No, wait!’ Halil screamed. ‘You said you would spare me!’
‘You of all people should know better than to be so trusting,’ Mehmed said, and Halil heard him walk away. A second later Isa appeared over Halil. He held a bowl in his hand and was slowly stirring something.
‘Do you know what this is?’ Isa asked.
Halil ignored him. ‘Help me, Isa,’ he pleaded. ‘Set me free. I will give you money, women, lands.’
‘This is a special poison,’ Isa continued as if he had not heard Halil. ‘Eaten, it is fatal …’
‘Please, Isa, listen to me,’ Halil said. ‘I can give you anything you want.’
‘… but placed on the skin, it acts more slowly.’
‘Damn you, Isa,’ Halil cursed. ‘If you will not help me, then you can go to hell. I do not fear your poisons. Death does not frighten me.’
Isa shook his head. ‘This poison will not kill you, Halil, but it will make you wish for death.’ He took a brush from the bowl and dabbed a small amount of the poison on to Halil’s forehead. Halil felt nothing at first, then there was a tingling that grew in intensity until it was a burning pain, a live coal set on his forehead. He began to scream.
‘Make it stop! Please, Isa! I’ll do anything, anything you want!’
‘I only wish for you to suffer as my family suffered,’ Isa whispered in his ear. ‘That, Halil, is all I want from you.’
Chapter 22
MONDAY 28 MAY 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: DAY 58 OF THE SIEGE
A
s the sun rose the next day, Longo stood on the inner wall of Constantinople and inspected the progress that his men had made reconstructing the rampart before the Mesoteichion. With the sultan’s cannons silent, it was the first chance that they had had in weeks to properly address the damage there. Longo had spent a sleepless night at the walls, urging his men to work and keeping an eye on the Turkish camp. The last that he had seen of the sultan, he had appeared dead, killed by Notaras. Rumours were rampant in Constantinople that the siege would now be lifted. Longo was not so sure.
A sound in the distance caught Longo’s attention, and he looked out to where a procession was just leaving the Turkish camp, marching to the beat of a drum. At the head of the procession marched a troop of around fifty janissaries. Bringing up the rear was a regiment of Anatolian cavalry some one hundred strong. Between them rode a single rider in distinctive red and black armour. Two long chains trailed from the rider’s saddle, and at the far end of those chains, half-walking and half-dragging, was Notaras, still dressed in his ceremonial armour. Longo knew immediately what he was seeing.
‘William!’ Longo called down to where William was overseeing the placement of additional cannons on the rampart. ‘The Turks are going to execute Notaras. Hurry to the palace and inform the emperor.’
The emperor arrived a few minutes later, with Dalmata and Sofia by his side. Longo and Sofia exchanged a look. ‘She should see this,’ Constantine explained to Longo. ‘Notaras was her betrothed.’
By this time, the news of Notaras’s impending death had spread and the walls were beginning to grow crowded. Longo heard scattered shouts of ‘God bless you Notaras!’ and ‘God be with you!’ Notaras had killed the sultan, and the people now looked upon him as a sort of saint. Soon enough, Longo reflected, he would be a martyr.
On the plain below, the Turks had stopped and stood motionless. Notaras had collapsed to the ground, and the Turks let him lay there. ‘Why don’t they just get on with it?’ Sofia said.
‘They’re waiting,’ Longo replied.
‘Waiting for what?’ Constantine asked.
‘For a crowd,’ Longo responded. ‘They want us all to see this.’
Finally, the Turks began to move. The janissaries in front split, with half of them marching to either side. The lone horseman rode forward, dragging Notaras behind him. As the horseman drew nearer, Longo recognized him. ‘I think that is the sultan.’
‘My God, you’re right,’ Constantine whispered. ‘How can this be?’
Along the walls men began to curse and women wail as the news spread that the sultan was still alive. Below, Mehmed stopped his horse just out of cannon range and dismounted. The people on the walls fell silent as he approached Notaras.
Notaras lay face down in the dust, struggling to breathe. He had been tortured for hours the night before. His back bled from innumerable cuts, and his ribs were broken. Being dragged by his hands behind the horse had dislocated both of his shoulders. But Notaras did not mind the pain that coursed through his body. The sultan was dead. The empire was saved. That was all that mattered. And soon his pain would end.
Notaras watched as a pair of legs appeared next to the horse in front of him. The legs approached and stopped before him.
Hands grabbed Notaras’s arms from behind and lifted him to his knees. The pain in his shoulders was so great that he almost fainted. He began to fall, but the men behind him held him upright. As the pain receded, he found himself looking at the belt of the man before him. The man bent down so that he was face to face with Notaras. It was the sultan.
Notaras could not understand what was happening. He had seen Mehmed die. ‘How?’ he managed to gasp.
‘I told you that you would kneel before me, Megadux,’ Mehmed said. ‘All of Constantinople will kneel before me.’
Mehmed stepped to the side so that Notaras now had a view of the walls of Constantinople. They were crowded with people, and squinting, Notaras could just make out individual faces; he scanned the crowd, looking for somebody he knew. The men behind him released him, and he sagged but stayed upright on his knees, his eyes still on the walls. Behind him, he heard the whisper of a sword as it slid from its scabbard. He did not turn. He thought he saw Sofia standing on the wall. His eyes fixed on her, and then … nothing.
‘My God!’ As Notaras fell, Sofia turned and buried her head in Longo’s chest. Longo put his arms around her and then glanced over at Constantine. The emperor was studying them carefully.
‘Perhaps the princess should return to her room,’ Constantine said. ‘The shock of Notaras’s death has clearly overwhelmed her. Guards!’ he called. ‘Escort the Princess Sofia back to the palace.’ Sofia left, and Longo and Constantine turned back to watch the Turks.