Authors: James Shipman
Why can I not just kill him? Mehmet plotted the death of Halil every day. He wanted him dead so badly. But he was also afraid of him, and more importantly afraid of what would happen if he took that step. It would be no good to kill Halil simply to be usurped and executed immediately thereafter. Patience. He knew the key to Halil’s fate: he must become the true Sultan in the eyes of his people. Once he accomplished this goal he would have everything he needed, and he would take his sweet revenge.
Mehmet returned to his tent exhausted and frustrated. He had hoped for another quick victory. Instead the Greeks had inflicted a humiliating defeat on the Sultan’s new navy. He had banked heavily on this fleet’s ability to dominate the Greeks, and to attack the Golden Horn. Instead, he had been surprised by the sea chain, and now he saw that the chain enabled the Greeks to protect the Golden Horn with only a few defensive ships to keep the Turks away from the wooden booms.
The effectiveness of his fleet was vastly reduced. If the Greek ships could truly burn his entire fleet while it attacked the sea chain, then there was little point in attempting this tact again. He could still hope to stop a fleet of reinforcing ships, but the most vulnerable part of the city, the sea walls and harbors within the Golden Horn, were protected by the chain, and perhaps out of his reach.
Part of his master plan was unraveling and he did not yet know how to deal with it. Why was there no one else for him to consult on this? Again he was frustrated by his weakness at sea, by the lack of knowledge of his council and top advisors on naval affairs. He must change that for himself and he must find experts to promote. But all of that would have to wait.
On his arrival back in the main camp, he was met with some good news. Zaganos had returned and had succeeded in destroying the castle at Therapia, capturing an additional 40 Greek prisoners. Combined with Mehmet’s total this brought the number of prisoners to 76.
Mehmet congratulated his friend and invited him to dine with him. They were soon drinking apple tea and eating lamb and rice while they shared stories about their two successful attacks. Mehmet also discussed the naval attack with Zaganos in detail and explained his frustration with his lack of experience and knowledge regarding the sea. Zaganos agreed that something must be done to change the situation, and suggested that some Italian captains be bribed to change sides and bring their ships, crews, and their knowledge to the Ottoman camp. Of course this change would have to wait for the result of the siege one way or another.
Mehmet also discussed the issue of the prisoners. They debated what to do for several hours, and as dawn broke on April 10, he had made up his mind.
He knew what to do. As usual he had conceived of a plan that would wring the maximum benefit from the situation, regardless of how barbaric. He needed to capitalize on the capture of these Greeks and also do something to eradicate yesterday’s naval failure in the minds of his own men, and the Greeks for that matter. The citizens of Constantinople needed to know fear. Fear was the best serum for these stubborn Greeks.
He summoned a nearby guard and scribbled out a message. “Give this message to the Janissaries. Tell them to impale all of the prisoners. I want it done now, halfway between my tent and the walls.” The guard bowed and left.
“Impalement, my Lord? A cruel death, even for an infidel. Will this not only encourage the Greeks to resist you even more? We discussed so many different options last night. You never even mentioned this. Why did not we discuss this before you made the decision?”
Mehmet’s felt his anger rise swiftly as it always did when he was challenged. “It is not your place to question me, Zaganos. You are my servant, here at my pleasure. I am not here at yours.”
Zaganos bowed. “That is of course true My Lord and need not even be said. However you have often asked my advice, and I cannot give you advice if I do not know what you are doing. Last night we agreed to release the prisoners as a show of good faith. Impalement will only anger them and harden their hearts to the possibility of surrender. They must not think us barbarians.”
“I think not, my friend. The Greeks think us barbarians already. Let their worst fears be realized. I have offered peace if only Constantine will surrender the city. He has refused but others must be questioning him about this decision. If the population is terrified of what will happen to them if we do have to assault the city, perhaps they will put pressure on him to surrender now. We are not truly foreigners are we? We have millions of Greeks already living in our empire. They have religious freedom, provided they pay their taxes. Have we not heard from many of them that they are happier now then they were under the Latin and Greek masters? Are they not safer? Are they not actually more free to practice their own religious beliefs without interference? They know our tolerance and perhaps that is why they refuse to surrender. Perhaps they believe they will be treated gently if we ever manage to break into the city. They need to also know to fear. If they fear us and respect us, they may choose our mercy rather than our fury.”
“I am afraid that they will more than fear us. I am afraid that this act of impalement will not only make them afraid, but will make them angry as well. If they feel they will all die horribly if the city falls, then I believe they will fight all the more desperately to keep us out.”
“You may be right, but I do not think so. I will trust my instincts in this. I would rather have their fear than their love, at least for now. Let them be afraid.”
Mehmet discussed a few more details with Zaganos, then dismissed his friend back to his position on the opposite side of the Golden Horn facing Galata.
Mehmet knew Zaganos was frustrated about his assignment. The commander of the forces near Galata led more of a “containing force” than a true part of the siege: they could not take an active part in the actual assault on the city. Mehmet had placed Zaganos there on purpose. He was his friend, his closest advisor, but he would not become a rival. Zaganos was his greatest general, and widely popular. If he led the assault that took the city his fame would grow even greater.
Mehmet would be the conqueror, and nobody else. This result was a necessity, an assurance of his own survival. If he needed his great general, he was close by, but he would play that card when and if he needed to.
Mehmet returned to his tent and prayed. He relaxed, letting the worries of the day and the night pass away from him. He prayed for the Greek prisoners, the men who would suffer so terribly, even if they were infidels. He prayed that Allah would help Constantine see the wisdom of giving him the city. He prayed that the city would fall, and that he would be able to restore Constantinople’s former greatness, to the glory of the Ottomans and Allah. He did not enjoy causing pain this way. It was necessary. Mehmet used cruelty like any other tool of survival. This was a game he had learned very early, and very hard.
Later he heard the first screaming. He kept his eyes closed and sat motionless in his tent, listening to the increasing horror, the pounding sound of mallet to stake, the terrible screams of the prisoners as sharpened poles were slowly hammered through their bodies. After several hours the sounds began to dim. He came out of the tent. Before him, a distance toward the city, he counted 76 stakes, rising like thorns from the plains before the city, buried upright in the ground. On each pole, near the top, was one of the prisoners, skewered from their anus through their entire body and out their mouth. The bodies still writhed. An occasional moan or even scream came from the Greeks. Mehmet watched the men, and also looked out over the distance to the city walls, where he could see many Greeks gathered, grimly watching, some with hands to their faces, wailing in grief. Mehmet smiled grimly again. They would know fear.
MONDAY APRIL 9, 1453
John Hunyadi greeted the weary traveler and welcomed him to his table. Unlike many noblemen, Hunyadi dined informally with members of his household at a large table near the kitchens. His hall contained a formal dining room as well, but he rarely used it, preferring to eat with his men. The conversation at the table was loud and raucous as usual, with much drinking and joking.
Hunyadi grabbed an extra chair from against the stone wall and pulled it up next to him. He beckoned Gregory to sit down and enjoy a meal. The young Greek wished to talk immediately but Hunyadi ordered him to eat and drink first, messages could wait. He smiled to himself. He still found himself liking this Greek. He reminded Hunyadi of himself as a young man.
Gregory was ravenous and dug in immediately. His manners might have been considered uncouth at another setting but here he was just one more tired warrior grabbing food and grunting as he chewed and swallowed. He drank several cups of wine and soon was slowing down on his meal.
When Hunyadi judged it the right time he opened the conversation. “So my young friend, what news do you have from Constantinople?”
“Grave news my Lord.”
“How so?”
“The Turks are definitely coming to the city. They were building a huge cannon in Edirne and they kept their forces in camp even in to the early winter. But the cannon they built was according to our sources far too large to transport any great distance for an extended campaign. It was built to haul the 150 miles to Constantinople.”
Hunyadi was not surprised. He had received confirmation of much the same information from his own sources. The cannon was a surprise to him. Not that it particularly concerned him, cannon were made for siege warfare and were practically useless in a pitched running battle. They were too slow to reload and fire. Much like the gunpowder weapons that every army now possessed, they made far more noise than damage.
“I am not surprised about this at all, Gregory. The question is, what do you want me to do about it?” He already knew the answer.
“My Emperor requests that you bring your army down into Thrace. By the time you would arrive the Turks should be fully surrounding Constantinople. If you move with speed you should be able to smash them against the walls, and together we can annihilate the Ottomans once and for all and drive them from Europe.”
Hunyadi smiled again to himself. He admired the pluck of this young Greek so much he had to be careful not to show him too much. He frowned and made a show of concern. “Gregory I will gently remind you that you have sung this tune for me before. What you propose has tremendous risk for me, in fact it offers as much risk as it does opportunity. And, for me I may risk destroying one enemy to simply supplant it with another.”
“In regards to the first my Lord, I can confirm with you that we are expecting significant aid from the Italians. Constantine has ordered the implementation of the Union of churches.”
“I am sure his people love him for that. . .”
“You are wise My Lord, the decision has caused some political friction among the Greeks, but it has assured us aid from the West. We will have significant aid from the Italians, including a fleet. With your forces on land and dominance at the sea, we can certainly defeat the Ottomans.”
“What you tell me, if it is true, at least provides some encouragement. The question is, what is in it for me?”
“My Lord, I have an answer to that question as well. My Emperor has requested that I offer you all of the lands to the south of your kingdom all the way to the lands of the Greek speakers. He will also offer a 50 year treaty of alliance.”
Hunyadi threw his head back and laughed heartily. “So you will offer me lands you do not control? How generous of Constantine. Not to mention the lands are full of Serbs who hate us more than they hate the Ottomans. I am sure they will not mind if I just swoop down and take their territories!”
Inside Hunyadi thought differently. The Serbs would be difficult, but if they could drive the Turks out of Europe, Constantine was offering him huge tracts of territory. He would secure a huge buffer against any future attacks, including from the Greeks. A 50 year alliance would also assure peace for years to come on his southern border. He could protect his people, which was all he ever had wanted to do. Then he would only have the damned Germans to deal with. All of this passed through the Hungarian’s mind in a fleeting second.
Gregory started to protest but Hunyadi raised his hand. “Now now my friend, I jest with you. Your Emperor needs our help I know that. I do not think his offer is beyond consideration. I appreciate this opportunity to dine with you again. You must be weary from the road but perhaps ready for some entertainment.”
Hunyadi snapped his fingers and several young maidens rose from the table and moved over to Gregory, one sitting on his lap and giggling. The Hungarian rose. “I, on the other hand, am too old for frivolity. I must be off to bed. I trust my young warriors and maidens will keep you entertained.”
Hunyadi bowed and left the table. He kept his face impassive as he walked slowly through the hallway to his private bedchamber. Only when the door was closed and he was truly alone did he relax. He pulled a letter out of his pocket and read it again. The letter was from Pope Nicholas and it offered him a huge payment in gold from the Venetians and Genoans if he would bring his army in aid of Constantinople. Riches, land and security. All this and a chance at long last to vanquish his life-long enemies.
He would wait until morning. Gregory would be hung-over and exhausted from a night with a couple of the local prostitutes. He would wake him up early and demand ten percent of the trade revenue coming through Constantinople for the next ten years as an additional prize. Gregory would gratefully accept and Hunyadi would have secured all he wanted and more. He would have probably attacked under the present conditions with no assurances from anyone. But it made sense to get paid as well. He sat up late in the night composing a letter back to Nicholas that he would send by fastest rider and ship first thing in the morning.
TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1453
Captain Uberti stood on the deck of his war galley in the harbor of Venice. He had been appointed commander of a relief fleet financed by the Pope and provided by the Venetians. His fleet consisted of 12 war galleys and 2,000 Venetian soldiers. He had received orders in early March from the Doge and he had been busy since that time outfitting his ships and securing the necessary men at arms.