Ishak dismounted and hurried forward, rocks falling all around him. He put his shoulder into the door and pushed hard. The door swung open, and Ishak found himself in an empty room, lit by a single torch. A staircase ran up the far wall. ‘Come on!’ he called to his men, who were filing in behind him. ‘Follow me!’
Ishak hurried up the stairs to another empty room and then out into the city. To his left stood the palace of the Christian emperor. Before him, a maze of empty streets wound their way further into the city. Ishak took a moment to get his bearings. ‘This way, towards the Mesoteichion!’ he ordered and began jogging along the wall to the right. Most of his men followed, but two dozen broke off, heading for the palace.
‘Stop! What are you doing?’ Ishak yelled after them.
‘You fight. We’re going to get rich!’ one of the men called back. The rest simply ignored Ishak.
‘Should we go after them?’ one of Ishak’s lieutenants asked.
‘No, let them go. We are needed elsewhere.’
Sofia stood at the window of her apartments while William sat nearby, fidgeting with a dagger. The window looked out on to the city, away from the walls, but standing there, Sofia could hear the sound of the distant battle. The cannons had stopped some time ago, and now she heard only a dull roar, marked by the occasional shout that carried to her room. Eventually, these noises gave way to a rhythmic pounding – the sound of thousands of men marching. The sounds told her little of what was happening, but as long as the bells near the walls did not ring, she knew that the walls held and the Christian soldiers fought on. But the bells could not tell her if Longo was alive.
Suddenly there was silence outside the window. Sofia strained to hear, but there was nothing. Then, from behind her, in the hallway outside her quarters, she heard shouting in Turkish, followed by a woman’s terrified scream. ‘What was that?’ William asked.
‘Turks!’ Sofia gasped. ‘They are in the palace.’
‘Then the walls must have fallen,’ William responded. ‘We must get to the ship.’
‘Wait. The bells have not rung to sound the retreat. This is something else. If the Turks are inside the city, then Longo must be warned. We must …’ She was interrupted by a pounding on the door to her apartments. William and Sofia backed away into Sofia’s bedroom as the door to her sitting room shook under heavy blows. Then the wood around the lock splintered, and the door swung open. Six Turkish soldiers stood in the doorway.
‘What have we here?’ their leader leered when he saw Sofia. ‘It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman, especially one so tasty.’ The other Turks grinned in agreement as they stepped into the sitting room.
William drew his sword and stood in the doorway to the bedroom. ‘Come and get her, you bastards,’ he growled.
‘No, there is another way,’ Sofia said, pulling William away. ‘Follow me.’ As the Turks surged towards the bedroom, Sofia rushed William across the room to the secret passage and pushed
the door open. They entered the tunnel, and Sofia slammed the door shut. Almost immediately there was a pounding on the hidden door. ‘We must hurry,’ Sofia said.
They had no light, so she took William’s hand and led him down the dark passage. Behind them, the secret door was smashed open. Light flooded the tunnel, followed by the Turks. ‘Run!’ William yelled. They sprinted down the tunnel. Sofia took them into a side passage and down a spiral staircase. By the time they reached the bottom, the tunnel was again pitch black. Above them, Sofia could hear the Turks coming after them. She led William to the left and then turned right down a long corridor. They came to a door, and Sofia fumbled for the handle in the darkness. Finally she pushed the door open and they stepped out into the morning light. Looking back, Sofia saw that the Turks had just entered the tunnel behind them. She slammed the door closed.
‘Quick. Over here,’ William called and headed across the street to the nearest house. He kicked the door open and they entered, slamming the door shut behind them. Sofia went to the window and peered out through the closed shutters. Across the street, the Turks poured out of the secret passage. After a brief discussion, they moved off at a run, heading for the front of the palace.
‘We’re safe,’ Sofia said. ‘They’ve gone.’
‘Come, we must get to the ship,’ William urged.
‘No, we must warn Longo that the Turks are in the city. Our men cannot hold the wall if they are forced to fight on two fronts.’
William shook his head. ‘There is nothing that we can do, Princess. If the Turks are in the city, then it is too late to warn Longo.’
‘But we must try.’
‘The Turks could return at any moment,’ William insisted. ‘And I told Longo that I would protect you.’
‘I am not some weak girl that you need protect!’ Sofia said, her eyes flashing. ‘I am a princess, and you had best do as I say. Go, William. Warn Longo. I will be safe enough until you return.’
‘Very well.’ William opened the door but paused before leaving. ‘I will return soon. Wait here.’ Sofia nodded, and William left. She closed the door after him, shoved a heavy oak table in front of it, and sat down to wait.
Longo stood in the gap where the outer wall had collapsed. In the golden morning light, he could see thousands of black-armoured janissaries marching towards the walls in tightly grouped battalions. He turned and looked along the line of Christian soldiers who stood filling the twenty-yard-wide gap in the wall. In the centre stood Constantine and Dalmata, surrounded by the Varangian guard. The men to either side of them were a mixture of Greeks, Italians and Turks who lived in Constantinople and who fought to defend their city. They had all proven themselves in battle today, but still, their numbers were few. The other commanders of Constantinople were hard pressed and had only been able to spare a few men to reinforce the Mesoteichion. The ranks of men filling the gap could not have been more than ten deep, and they would have to hold the gap against a force of thousands.
Longo stepped out from the line and addressed the men. ‘Stand strong, men!’ he shouted. ‘This attack will be the Turks’ last. We no longer have a wall to fight from. But if we fight as one, then we can defeat them. We have but to hold this gap, and the day will be ours. Are you ready to fight?’ The men roared. ‘Fight, then, for Constantinople!’
‘For Constantinople!’ the men roared back. ‘For Constantinople!’ Then, in the midst of the Turkish ranks, a horn sounded, and the janissaries rushed forward with a deafening roar that drowned out the Christians’ cheers.
‘Stand firm, men!’ Longo yelled, readying his sword and shield. ‘Good luck,’ he said more quietly to Tristo, who stood to his right. ‘I am sorry that I got you into this.’
Tristo hefted his giant battle-axe. ‘There’s no place I’d rather be,’ he grinned. Then, his smile faded. ‘I’ve chosen a name for my child: Benito. If I fall, look after him for me.’
‘I will,’ Longo said.
A second later, the charging janissaries stopped short twenty yards from the Christian line and raised their bows. ‘Shields up, men!’ Longo yelled as the janissaries released a volley of arrows and crossbow bolts. An arrow embedded itself in Longo’s shield and another skittered off the back of his armour. The man to his left fell screaming as a crossbow bolt struck him in the high. Then the hail of arrows ended, and with a roar, the janissaries resumed their charge. They slammed into the Christian line, driving it backwards. Longo got in a few good blows before the press of Turks became so great that his sword was useless. He was sandwiched between Tristo to his right and another Christian to his left, and crushed between two janissaries in front and two Christians behind him. The battle had become a shoving match, and for now, the Turks were winning, their numbers and momentum pushing the Christians backwards.
‘Push men!’ Longo yelled. ‘Don’t give ground! If they breach the gap then we are lost!’ The two Christians behind Longo put their shields into his back and pushed hard, shoving him forward. All along the line the Christians dug in. Their armour, made of solid steel plates, protected them against the press of men, while the Turks in their lighter leather and chain armour were being slowly crushed to death in the crowd. As the leading janissaries ceased pushing, the Turkish advance ground to a halt. All along the gap the tightly packed Christians shoved against the crowd of janissaries, with neither side giving an inch. More and more janissaries poured into the attack, but the Christians held firm. ‘Keep pushing, men!’ Longo yelled. ‘We’re holding them!’
Then, there was a sudden commotion in the ranks behind Longo. ‘The gates are opening!’ someone shouted. ‘Reinforcements! Reinforcements have come!’ another cried. Soon, the entire Christian line had erupted into cheering. Then, just as suddenly, the cheering stopped.
The men behind Longo gave way, and he glanced behind him to see what had happened. ‘Mother of God!’ he cursed, for the
gates had not opened to reinforcements. Turks were pouring through them and attacking the Christians from behind. The Christian line dissolved under the two-way attack. Longo found himself isolated in a small group with Tristo, Constantine, Dalmata and six members of the Varangian guard. They formed a circle with Constantine in the middle. Turks swarmed around them, eager to win the glory of striking down the emperor.
Longo fought with Tristo and Dalmata on either side of him. Tristo had dropped his axe and was now wielding his huge, four-foot-long sword. The heavy sword smashed through leather and steel alike, shattering swords and removing heads with every swing. Dalmata fought with a short, curved sword in either hand, parrying and slashing in a deadly blur of activity. Longo fought with his thin, slightly curved Asian sword and a small shield, dealing out death with lethal efficiency.
Next to Dalmata, one of the Varangian guards was impaled by a spear and slumped to the ground. The group closed the gap, forming a tighter circle. ‘We won’t last much longer like this!’ Tristo shouted. ‘We must do something!’
‘We must get to the gate!’ Constantine shouted back. ‘If we can hold it then we still have a chance to defend the city from the inner walls.’
‘To the gate! To the gate!’ Longo shouted, echoed by Constantine and the others. All around them, the other remaining Christians were also fighting towards the gate. The Turks however, soon realized what was happening. As the Christian forces neared the gate, the janissaries rallied. They surged forward, led by a huge janissary wielding a giant, curved scimitar. Just before the wave of janissaries hit, Longo recognized the man as Ulu.
The janissaries drove a wedge through the middle of Longo’s group. He found himself alone, fighting for his life. He ducked a sword, then blocked a spear thrust and spun away from two more Turks, slashing each across the gut as he did so. Another janissary charged him, screaming ‘
Allah
!
Allah
!’ Longo ducked under the man’s sword, then slammed his shoulder into the Turk’s
gut and stood, flipping the janissary head over heels. Longo stabbed down, finishing the man. Then, as he turned to find his next foe, something slammed into his chest, causing him to stagger backwards. He looked down to see the feathered tail of a crossbow bolt protruding from his armour, just beneath his right collarbone. Blood was already oozing from the wound, staining his armour red.
The janissary who had fired the bolt had drawn his sword, and now he moved in for the kill, slashing at Longo’s gut. Longo managed to parry the blow, but as their swords clanged together, agonizing pain shot through Longo’s chest. He stumbled backwards and sank to his knees. The janissary raised his sword to finish Longo. Then the man’s weapon fell aside as he was struck from behind, cleaved almost in half by Tristo’s huge sword. Tristo stepped past the dead man and knelt beside Longo.
‘Come on, let’s get you out of here.’
‘Tristo, behind you,’ Longo whispered, pointing past his friend to where Ulu was striding across the field towards them. Tristo rose and turned to face him.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this bugger.’
As Ulu approached, he grabbed one of the other janissaries running to confront Tristo and pushed him aside. ‘This one is mine,’ Ulu barked. The two huge men faced off, each pausing to size the other up. Tristo was a good three inches taller than Ulu and heavier, but whereas Tristo was bulky, the janissary general was tightly muscled, without an ounce of fat. Ulu held his long
yatagan
sword with one hand and swung it lightly from side to side. Tristo gripped his own mighty longsword with both hands.
Ulu attacked first, springing forward with surprising speed and slashing for Tristo’s gut. Tristo knocked the blow aside with his sword, then spun and chopped down at Ulu’s head. Ulu jumped back out of the way, and Tristo pressed the attack, slicing upwards towards Ulu’s chest. Ulu blocked the blow, and their swords locked together, bringing them close. Each man strained against the other, their teeth gritting and biceps bulging. ‘You’re a strong
son of a bitch, aren’t you?’ Tristo growled. ‘But the bigger they are, the easier it is for me to do this.’ And with that, he head-butted Ulu in the face, and at the same time, brought his knee up hard into the janissary’s groin.
Ulu stumbled backwards, his guard open, and Tristo stabbed for his chest. For a second, Longo thought that the blow would succeed, but then Ulu’s sword swept back, deflecting the blow at the last second. Still, Tristo’s sword sliced through the side of Ulu’s armour, which was soon wet with blood. The injury, however, seemed to only enrage Ulu. With a roar, he went on the offensive, forcing Tristo to retreat under a series of heavy blows. Despite all his fury, however, Ulu could not penetrate Tristo’s guard. Then, Ulu made a mistake. As Tristo retreated, Ulu lunged too far forward, tripping over a dead body. Tristo stepped in for the kill, slicing down for Ulu’s neck. But the janissary had only pretended to stumble. Ulu sidestepped the blow, knocked Tristo’s sword aside, and then reversed the direction of his own sword. He caught Tristo in the side of the head, cleaving his skull open and killing him instantly.
A wordless, primal scream burst from Longo. His heart pounded and rage coursed through him, washing away the pain in his chest. He stood and cast his shield aside, gripping his sword with both hands. Then he charged. Ulu waited for him to come and at the last second swung hard for Longo’s head. Longo ducked the blow and thrust at Ulu’s gut. Ulu parried, and as their swords met, pain knifed through Longo’s chest, almost making him drop his sword. Longo staggered back, and Ulu took advantage, attacking with a vicious overhead blow. Longo spun away from the sword, and as he completed his spin, kicked out, catching Ulu square in the stomach. Ulu hardly moved. It was as if Longo had kicked a wall. Longo bounced back, barely managing to avoid another slicing blow from Ulu’s
yatagan
. The two men paused, and their eyes met. ‘I spared you before,’ Ulu said. ‘I will have no mercy this time, Longo.’