Authors: James Shipman
Halil and Mehmet arrived at the Sultan’s tent in time for the planned council meeting. Zaganos joined them along with Mehmet’s other field commanders, and a number of the members of the old guard, who sat with Halil. The council ate a late dinner and chatted about trivial matters. After dinner was cleared away, the council turned to the business at hand.
Not surprisingly, Halil immediately raised the peace overture. He briefed the council and completed his remarks by recommending that the Sultan counter with a huge annual tribute requirement of 70,000 ducats per year. If this was accepted it would cripple the feeble economy of Constantinople and the city would probably fall within a year or two, just from economic collapse. There were murmurs of agreement from a number of the ministers. Mehmet watched the expressions carefully. He was alarmed to see that several of the younger members of the council, members whom he had hand selected, now appeared to side with Halil.
Zaganos spoke next. He argued against accepting a peace. “I agree with Halil that the fleet has proved a disappointment. We had counted on using the fleet to stop any aid from coming into the city. We now know that that is not going to work. If a big relief fleet does appear, we will do everything we can to block it, but we must calculate that such a fleet would reach Constantinople safely.”
“All the more reason to lift the siege,” retorted Halil.
“I was not finished! I agree this is a greater risk, but we are very close to taking the city. We almost broke through. It is only a matter of time before we get through. We should proceed. There will never be a better time. The Hungarians could attack us any time. So far they have not. The Italians are split and indecisive. This religious Union is recent, and the Pope has not yet reacted. If we wait, we may face a united attack, led by Constantine and John Hunyadi. We cannot secure our rear while Constantinople remains behind in enemy hands. Let us end this now!”
There were murmurs of agreement from some of the council, but clearly Zaganos now represented the minority position. Mehmet was running out of time.
Halil hesitated. “I disagree with Zaganos, but as always, this is your choice my Lord.”
Mehmet stood and looked around slowly, meeting the eyes of each of the councilmembers. He paused as if considering what to do. “I appreciate everyone’s advice. I think we should follow a compromise position. Let us continue the siege for now, but let us send a counter offer to Constantine. If he leaves the city, he can have all of the Peloponnesus as his kingdom, AND we will grant him a peace treaty and a yearly stipend for the rest of his lifetime. We will also agree to a mutual defense treaty against any attack by any power on his territory. He may take all wealth and all people with him that he is capable of transporting. This would give him wealth and security for his lifetime.”
“Those are generous terms Sultan,” said Halil, “Perhaps some would say the terms were too generous. But he will not accept it. He will never leave the city.”
“So be it. We will make this generous offer and if he accepts it or not it is Allah’s will. I am not going to worry about fleets and armies that have not arrived. The Hungarians and the Italians may be coming, but they are not here now. We are here. We have our men in place. We will attack until we breach the walls. If we fail, it will be my failure. I will face the consequences, whatever Allah wills. The siege continues.”
The councilmembers bowed, acquiescing at least for now to the will of the young Sultan.
“Let us hope we can prevent further reinforcement from the sea My Lord.” This was Halil’s parting shot and he was clearly emphasizing the Sultan’s failure.
“Yes indeed, let us hope and pray.” Mehmet would do more than pray. He would act.
FRIDAY APRIL 20, 1453
Constantine sat mounted near the Acropolis and watched silently in great tension as the naval battle unfolded. He had been torn from so many conflicting emotions. First the excitement of a relief fleet, followed by disappointment that it was only four ships. Then horror at the massive Turkish fleet attempting to block the Italians and finally elation when the wind picked up and the ships escaped toward the Golden Horn. Surely this was a miracle from God. How could four ships evade 100, particularly when they were surrounded for hours with no wind?
Now as the tiny fleet made its way through the sea chain that was opened for them, he felt peace and happiness. He acknowledged the cheers and waves of his people as they shared this great moment of victory. He bowed his head and prayed, thanking God for delivering this precious fleet to the city.
He was joined by Sphrantzes, and the two of them rode down along the sea wall to the harbor, where they would anxiously await the docking of the fleet. The harbor was crowded with Greeks and Italians, smiling and celebrating. Constantine looked around. In the crowd he spotted Zophia. She was looking at him. He waved and smiled. She smiled back, knowing how much this small gesture meant to him. He did not try to approach her He knew she would not speak to him, but he was happy she was here, sharing this great victory with him, even if it was from afar.
He had been given another respite, a gift that only God could have granted. Indeed, only the divine hand of God could have led the meager flotilla of ships past the massive Turkish fleet and safely into the harbor. Now, not only had they enjoyed another victory at the hands of their Ottoman foes, but they were going to be reinforced with at least some provisions and men. Constantine had the greatest hope that the men arriving would have news of additional reinforcements, and some sense of when they would arrive.
The Italian ships and the imperial transport floated into the docks. Constantine saw that they were all badly damaged by cannon fire and the decks were slick with blood. Wounded men lay in various places, some of them screaming in pain. The passage had been hard fought and the damage was more extensive up close, but they had made it through.
A middle-aged man with grey hair, dressed in black, jumped down from the nearest ship and called for wine. He was clearly a captain. Constantine dismounted and walked over to him.
“I am Emperor Constantine. Who are you?”
The man appraised the Emperor and then bowed. “I’m Francesco Lecanella.”
“Are you the captain of this ship?”
“I am the captain of this fleet.”
“Where are the rest of your ships Captain?”
“There are no others my Lord. I was hired by the Pope to outfit three ships to reinforce the city. I have over 200 fighting men, and also weapons, powder and some coin. I came across your imperial grain ship in the Aegean near the entrance of the Dardanelles. I invited your captain to travel with me up the straits. We passed the strait without incident and made our way into the Sea of Marmara. We had good weather and fair winds and passed through to the city without incident. I was surprised to find the Turkish fleet here. I did not know they had anything that large. I thought we were doomed. Thank God these infidels cannot sail or fight at sea to save their lives. Four against hundreds. What a tale that will make for the generations to hear!”
Constantine was disappointed that there were not more ships, but he did not let it show. He clapped Lecanella on the back. “Do you bring news of additional fleets?” asked the Emperor hopefully.
“Alas, none that I know of Emperor. I would imagine additional ships
will
be coming any time. I do not have hard information but as I was outfitting my fleet, I certainly heard rumor of additional reinforcements.”
This statement pleased Constantine greatly and he smiled in appreciation. “Thank you for your brave assistance. I have never seen such expert sailing and fighting. Constantinople welcomes you with open arms. I’m afraid you might be stuck with us for awhile, unless you care to brave the Turks again.”
“Thank you my Lord. I’m happy to have made the trip. I knew it was likely I would have to stay in the city for at least awhile after I arrived, although I must admit I had no idea the Turks had such a massive fleet. Had I known that, I would not have come here in the first place. Thank God they are as hapless at sailing as my Venetian brothers or I might not be here to tell the tale.”
“Do you have any other news?”
“Yes. When I left Rome the Pope had just sent a messenger to the Venetians to request additional aid. He also sent a message to John Hunyadi. It can only be a matter of time before a very large force arrives by either land or sea to assist the city. You must simply hold out for a month or two.”
“I think we can do so my friend. My main concern was not the land walls, although we have been surprised by their cannon, which have done some considerable damage to our walls. My greatest concern has been their fleet. Thankfully we were able to keep the Golden Horn clear with our sea chain, and now we also know that a relief fleet of any size should be able to fight off the Turks at sea and reinforce the city. A fleet large enough might even allow us to go on the attack and wipe out the Ottoman ships.”
“Surely we could do so with fifty or so ships. If we can put together a decent sized fleet, I would be happy to lead an attack.”
Constantine was excited. This was truly the greatest news he had received in months. Huge relief forces were apparently on their way. If he could just hold out he should be able to drive the Turks from the walls, and potentially even go on the attack. The next relief fleet, assuming it was large enough, would give him the fifty ships he needed to destroy the Turkish fleet. Without a fleet, Mehmet would likely retreat and if not… well, the Hungarians would soon be here as well.
He could not help falling into a bit of fantasy. What would he do if he ever caught Mehmet? Would he kill him? Would he hold the knife himself and slit the throat of this brash bastard? He had respected Mehmet’s father. He was a terrible force but also civilized. A man of his word. A man of culture and honor. Constantine’s feelings for Murad were complex and deep. He held Mehmet in much less regard, although he feared him greatly—even more than Murad, he realized. Mehmet could not be bargained with or reasoned with, at least not without giving up the one thing that defined Constantine, the city. Yes he would kill the Sultan if he ever fell in his hands. He would relish it. He prayed the Sultan never captured him—he was sure of what would await him.
Constantine considered additional opportunities. The incompetence of the Turkish fleet not only meant possible relief from Italy, but it also meant there could be aid from the Black Sea. This meant a Georgian relief fleet was a possibility. He had struggled with whether to drop the marriage proposal, at least publicly in the city. He desperately missed Zophia. To have lost the true love of his life at the moment he needed her most tortured him constantly. But he could not bring himself to do it. While the city had hope, he would sacrifice his happiness, his honor, his soul if need be, to protect his people. For now he was forgetting himself, and leaving his guest waiting.
“Welcome again Francesco. I will assure you that you and your men will be cared for, along with your ships. I have to attend to some other matters but please come to the palace tomorrow and let us talk further. I know my fleet commander Loukas Notaras will also want to discuss the entire battle with you in detail, so we understand Turkish tactics and how you held them off for so long.”
The Italian bowed. Constantine remounted and beckoned to a few guards to come with him. He rode casually through the streets accompanied by cheers from his people. He smiled and waved encouragingly.
He arrived back at Blachernae well past nightfall to learn that a message had arrived from the Sultan.
Constantine received the written message and reviewed it before dinner. He then had some wine and nibbled at his plate without much appetite, considering the offer from the Sultan. He had offered much. Much more than he had ever offered before. If Constantine would only leave the city he could take everyone with him. He would be given all of the Peloponnesus as his own. This grant had been offered before, but he was also given a guaranteed protection for life, and protection from any Italian or other force that might try to attack the Greeks. He would be like Moses. He would lead his people to safety. So what was more important, his people or the city? Why was he constantly left with these decisions? If the Sultan would just go away, or offer nothing, he would have simple decisions. Instead he had to decide what to do with this offer. If the city fell, he would have sacrificed his people and left them to murder, rape and slavery. Could he justify that? For what? For his ego? Or because he did not know anything in life except protecting Constantinople? What was Constantinople except a collection of stones on defensible ground? Certainly it had been the first great Christian city but other Christian cities had fallen and still the world moved on. Did he owe his commitment to the city itself, or to his people?
The city would not suffer if it was taken. Constantine had to be honest with himself, the result would be the opposite. Constantinople had been a dim shadow of its former self since the Latins sacked it in the thirteenth century. The city could house millions and stood astride two continents and two great waterways. The Ottomans were young and vibrant. They would populate the city and make it great again, rebuild it as a true capitol. Constantine could do little more than strip the churches to repair the land walls. There were no people to come here, no money to improve the city. If he left the city he could protect his people, without harming the city he loved.
On the other hand, there was this small chance. Not a small chance of holding the city, as he was hopeful he could do that. A small chance he could have it all, that he could drive the Turks from Europe forever, and restore the Greeks to a great empire again. He would not be the first emperor to have done so. Justinian had rebuilt the empire from a steady decline and so had Basil II. Time and again the empire had seemed on the edge of ruin and had been resurrected by the right man at the right time. Was Constantine such a man? Was now such a moment? Should he risk the people on the small chance he could restore the greatness of the Greeks?