The Prince of India; Or, Why Constantinople Fell — Volume 02

by Lew Wallace

  CHAPTER VI

  MAHOMMED AT THE GATE ST. ROMAIN

  In the city April seemed to have borrowed from the delays of Mahommed;never month so slow in coming. At last, however, its first day, dulledby a sky all clouds, and with winds from the Balkans.

  The inertness of the young Sultan was not from want of will or zeal. Ittook two months to drag his guns from Adrianople; but with them thearmy moved, and as it moved it took possession, or rather covered theland. At length, he too arrived, bringing, as it were, the month withhim; and then he lost no more time.

  About five miles from the walls on the south or landward side, he drewhis hordes together in the likeness of a line of battle, and at atrumpet call they advanced in three bodies simultaneously. So a tidalwave, far extending, broken, noisy, terrible, rises out of the deep,and rolls upon a shore of stony cliffs.

  Near ten o'clock in the forenoon of the sixth of April the Emperormounted the roof of the tower of St. Romain, mentioned as at the leftof the gate bearing the same name. There were with him Justiniani, theCardinal Isidore, John Grant, Phranza, Theophilus Palaeologus, DukeNotaras, and a number of inferior persons native and foreign. He hadcome to see all there was to be seen of the Turks going into position.

  The day was spring-like, with just enough breeze to blow the mists away.

  The reader must think of the roof as an immense platform accessible bymeans of a wooden stairway in the interior of the tower, andbattlemented on the four sides, the merlons of stone in massive blocks,and of a height to protect a tall man, the embrasures requiringbanquettes to make them serviceable. In arrangement somewhat like aship's battery, there are stoutly framed arbalists and mangonels on theplatform, and behind them, with convenient spaces between, arquebuseson tripods, cumbrous catapults, and small cannon on high axles readyfor wheeling into position between the merlons. Near each machine itsmunitions lie in order. Leaning against the walls there are alsospears, javelins, and long and cross bows; while over the corner nextthe gate floats an imperial standard, its white field emblazoned withthe immemorial Greek cross in gold. The defenders of the tower arepresent; and as they are mostly Byzantines, their attitudes betray muchmore than cold military respect, for they are receiving the Emperor,whom they have been taught to regard worshipfully.

  They study him, and take not a little pride in observing that, clad insteel cap-a-pie, he in no wise suffers by comparison with the best ofhis attendants, not excepting Justiniani, the renowned Genoese captain.Not more to see than be seen, the visor of his helmet is raised; andstealing furtive glances at his countenance, noble by nature, but justnow more than ordinarily inspiring, they are better and stronger forwhat they read in it.

  On the right and left the nearest towers obstruct the view of the wallsin prolongation; but southward the country spreads before the party acampania rolling and fertile, dotted with trees scattered and in thingroves, and here and there an abandoned house. The tender green ofvegetation upon the slopes reminds those long familiar with them thatgrass is already invading what were lately gardens and cultivatedfields. Constantine makes the survey in silence, for he knows how sooneven the grass must disappear. Just beyond the flooded ditch at thefoot of the first or outward wall is a road, and next beyond the road acemetery crowded with tombs and tombstones, and brown and whitemausolean edifices; indeed, the chronicles run not back to a time whenthat marginal space was unallotted to the dead. From the far skylinethe eyes of the fated Emperor drop to the cemetery, and linger there.

  Presently one of his suite calls out: "Hark! What sound is that?"

  They all give attention.

  "It is thunder."

  "No--thunder rolls. This is a beat."

  Constantine and Justiniani remembered Count Corti's description of thegreat drum hauled before the artillery train of the Turks, and theformer said calmly:

  "They are coming."

  Almost as he spoke the sunlight mildly tinting the land in the farnessseemed to be troubled, and on the tops of the remote hillocks thereappeared to be giants rolling them up, as children roll snow-balls--andthe movement was toward the city.

  The drum ceased not its beating or coming. Justiniani by virtue of hisgreater experience, was at length able to say:

  "Your Majesty, it is here in front of us; and as this Gate St. Romainmarks the centre of your defences, so that drum marks the centre of anadvancing line, and regulates the movement from wing to wing."

  "It must be so, Captain; for see--there to the left--those are bodiesof men."

  "And now, Your Majesty, I hear trumpets."

  A little later some one cried out:

  "Now I hear shouting."

  And another: "I see gleams of metal."

  Ere long footmen and horsemen were in view, and the Byzantines, broughtto the wall by thousands, gazed and listened in nervous wonder; forlook where they might over the campania, they saw the enemy closing inupon them, and heard his shouting, and the neighing of horses, theblaring of horns, and the palpitant beating of drums.

  "By our Lady of Blacherne," said the Emperor, after a long study of thespectacle, "it is a great multitude, reaching to the sea here on ourleft, and, from the noise, to the Golden Horn on our right; none theless I am disappointed. I imagined much splendor of harness and shieldsand banners, but see only blackness and dust. I cannot make out amongstthem one Sultanic flag. Tell me, most worthy John Grant--it beingreported that thou hast great experience combating with and againstthese hordes--tell me if this poverty of appearance is usual with them."

  The sturdy German, in a jargon difficult to follow, answered: "These atour left are the scum of Asia. They are here because they have nothing;their hope is to better their condition, to return rich, to exchangeragged turbans for crowns, and goatskin jackets for robes of silk.Look, Your Majesty, the tombs in front of us are well kept; to-morrowif there be one left standing, it will have been rifled. Of the latelyburied there will not be a ring on a finger or a coin under a tongue.Oh, yes, the ghouls will look better next week! Only give them time toconvert the clothes they will strip from the dead into fresh turbans.But when the Janissaries come Your Majesty will not be disappointed.See--their advance guard now--there on the rising ground in front ofthe gate."

  There was a swell of ground to the right of the gate rather than infront of it, and as the party looked thither, a company of horsemenwere seen riding slowly but in excellent order, and the sheen of theirarms and armor silvered the air about them. Immediately other companiesdeployed on the right and left of the first one; then the thunderousdrum ceased; whereat, from the hordes out on the campania, brought to asudden standstill, detachments dashed forward at full speed, anddismounting, began digging a trench.

  "Be this Sultan like or unlike his father, he is a soldier. He means tocover his army, and at the same time enclose us from sea to harbor.To-morrow, my Lord, only high-flying hawks can communicate with us fromthe outside."

  This, from Justiniani to the Emperor, was scarcely noticed, for behindthe deploying Janissaries, there arose an outburst of music in deepvolume, the combination of clarions and cymbals so delightful towarriors of the East; at the same instant a yellow flag was displayed.Then old John Grant exclaimed:

  "The colors of the _Silihdars!_ Mahommed is not far away. Nay, YourMajesty, look--the Sultan himself!"

  Through an interval of the guard, a man in chain mail shooting goldensparkles, helmed, and with spear in hand and shield at his back,trotted forth, his steed covered with flowing cloths. Behind himappeared a suite mixed of soldiers and civilians, the former in warlikepanoply, the latter in robes and enormous turbans. Down the slope theforemost rider led as if to knock at the gate. On the tower the cannonwere loaded, and run into the embrasures.

  "Mahommed, saidst thou, John Grant?"

  "Mahommed, Your Majesty."

  "Then I call him rash; but as we are not ashamed of our gates andwalls, let him have his look in peace.... Hear you, men, let him look,and go in peace."

  The repetition was in
restraint of the eager gunners.

  Further remark was cut short by a trumpet sounded at the foot of thetower. An officer peered over the wall, and reported: "Your Majesty, aknight just issued from the gate is riding forth. I take him to be theItalian, Count Corti."

  Constantine became a spectator of what ensued.

  Ordinarily the roadway from the country was carried over the deep moatin front of the Gate St. Romain by a floor of stout timbers wellbalustraded at the sides, and resting on brick piers. Of the bridgenothing now remained but a few loose planks side by side ready to behastily snatched from their places. To pass them afoot was a venture;yet Count Corti, when the Emperor looked at him from the height, wasmaking the crossing mounted, and blowing a trumpet as he went.

  "Is the man mad?" asked the Emperor, in deep concern.

  "Mad? No, he is challenging the Mahounds to single combat; and, mylords and gentlemen, if he be skilful as he is bold, then, by the ThreeKings of Cologne, we will see some pretty work in pattern for the restof us."

  Thus Grant replied.

  Corti made the passage safely, and in the road beyond the moat halted,and drove the staff of his banderole firmly in the ground. A broadopening through the cemetery permitted him to see and be seen by theTurks, scarcely a hundred yards away. Standing in his stirrups, hesounded the trumpet again--a clear call ringing with defiance.

  Mahommed gave over studying the tower and deep-sunken gate, andpresently beckoned to his suite.

  "What is the device on yon pennon?" he asked.

  "A moon with a cross on its face."

  "Say you so?"

  Twice the defiance was repeated, and so long the young Sultan, satstill, his countenance unusually grave. He recognized the Count; onlyhe thought of him by the dearer Oriental name, Mirza. He knew also howmuch more than common ambition there was in the blatant challenge--thatit was a reminder of the treaty between them, and, truly interpreted,said, in effect: "Lo, my Lord! she is well, and for fear thou judge meunworthy of her, send thy bravest to try me." And he hesitated--anaccident might quench the high soul. Alas, then, for the Princess Irenein the day of final assault! Who would deliver her to him? The hordes,and the machinery, all the mighty preparation, were, in fact, less forconquest and glory than love. Sore the test had there been one inauthority to say to him: "She is thine, Lord Mahommed; thine, so thoutake her, and leave the city."

  A third time the challenge was delivered, and from the walls a tauntingcheer descended. Then the son of Isfendiar, recognizing the banderole,and not yet done with chafing over his former defeat, pushed throughthe throng about Mahommed, and prayed:

  "O my Lord, suffer me to punish yon braggart."

  Mahommed replied: "Thou hast felt his hand already, but go--I commendthee to thy houris."

  He settled in his saddle smiling. The danger was not to the Count.

  The arms, armor, weapons, and horse-furniture of the Moslem wereidentical with the Italian's; and it being for the challenged party todetermine with what the duel should be fought, whether with axe, sword,lance or bow, the son of Isfendiar chose the latter, and made readywhile advancing. The Count was not slow in imitating him.

  Each held his weapon--short for saddle service--in the left hand, thearrow in place, and the shield on the left forearm.

  No sooner had they reached the open ground in the cemetery than theycommenced moving in circles, careful to keep the enemy on the shieldside at a distance of probably twenty paces. The spectators becamesilent. Besides the skill which masters in such affrays should possess,they were looking for portents of the result.

  Three times the foemen encircled each other with shield guard so wellkept that neither saw an opening to attack; then the Turk dischargedhis arrow, intending to lodge it in the shoulder of the other's horse,the buckling attachments of the neck mail being always more or lessimperfect. The Count interposed his shield, and shouted in Osmanli:"Out on thee, son of Isfendiar! I am thy antagonist, not my horse. Thoushalt pay for the cowardice."

  He then narrowed the circle of his movement, and spurring full speed,compelled the Turk to turn on a pivot so reduced it was almost a halt.The exposure while taking a second shaft from the quiver behind theright shoulder was dangerously increased. "Beware!" the Count criedagain, launching his arrow through the face opening of the hood.

  The son of Isfendiar might never attain his father's Pachalik. Therewas not voice left him for a groan. He reeled in his saddle, clutchingthe empty air, then tumbled to the earth.

  The property of the dead man, his steed, arms, and armor, were lawfulspoils; but without heeding them, the Count retired to his banderole,and, amidst the shouts of the Greeks on the walls and towers, renewedthe challenge. A score of chiefs beset the Sultan for permission toengage the insolent _Gabour_.

  To an Arab Sheik, loudest in importunity, he said: "What has happenedsince yesterday to dissatisfy thee with life?"

  The Sheik raised a lance with a flexible shaft twenty feet in length,made of a cane peculiar to the valley of the Jordan, and shaking itstoutly, replied:

  "Allah, and the honor of my tribe!"

  Perceiving the man's reliance in his weapon, Mahommed returned: "Howmany times didst thou pray yesterday?"

  "Five times, my Lord."

  "And to-day?"

  "Twice."

  "Go, then; but as yon champion hath not a lance to put him on equalitywith thee, he will be justified in taking to the sword."

  The Sheik's steed was of the most precious strain of El-Hejaz; andsitting high in the saddle, a turban of many folds on his head, astriped robe drawn close to the waist, his face thin, coffee-colored,hawk-nosed, and lightning-eyed, he looked a king of the desert.Galloping down on the Christian, he twirled the formidable lancedextrously, until it seemed not more than a stalk of dried papyrus.

  The Count beheld in the performance a trick of the _djerid_ he hadoften practised with Mahommed. Uncertain if the man's robe coveredarmor, he met him with an arrow, and seeing it fall off harmless,tossed the bow on his back, drew sword, and put his horse in forwardmovement, caracoling right and left to disturb the enemy's aim. Nothingcould be more graceful than this action.

  Suddenly the Sheik stopped playing, and balancing the lance overhead,point to the foe, rushed with a shrill cry upon him. Corti's friends onthe tower held their breath; even the Emperor said: "It is too unequal.God help him!" At the last moment, however--the moment of thethrust--changing his horse to the right, the Count laid himself flatupon its side, under cover of his shield. The thrust, only a littleless quick, passed him in the air, and before the Sheik could recoveror shorten his weapon, the trained foeman was within its sweep. In aword, the Arab was at mercy. Riding with him side by side, hand on hisshoulder, the Count shouted: "Yield thee!"

  "Dog of a Christian, never! Do thy worst."

  The sword twirled once--a flash--then it descended, severing the lancein front of the owner's grip. The fragment fell to the earth.

  "Now yield thee!"

  The Sheik drew rein.

  "Why dost thou not kill me?"

  "I have a message for thy master yonder, the Lord Mahommed."

  "Speak it then."

  "Tell him he is in range of the cannon on the towers, and only theEmperor's presence there restrains the gunners. There is much need forthee to haste."

  "Who art thou?"

  "I am an Italian knight who, though thy Lord's enemy, hath reason tolove him. Wilt thou go?"

  "I will do as thou sayest."

  "Alight, then. Thy horse is mine."

  "For ransom?"

  "No."

  The Sheik dismounted grumblingly, and was walking off when the cheeringof the Greeks stung him to the soul.

  "A chance--O Christian, another chance--to-day--to-morrow!"

  "Deliver the message; it shall be as thy Lord may then appoint. Bestirthyself."

  The Count led the prize to the banderole, and flinging the reins overit, faced the gleaming line of Janissaries once more, trumpet at mouth.He saw t
he Sheik salute Mahommed; then the attendants closed aroundthem. "A courteous dog, by the Prophet!" said the Sultan. "In whattongue did he speak?"

  "My Lord, he might have been bred under my own tent."

  The Sultan's countenance changed.

  "Was there not more of his message?"

  He was thinking of the Princess Irene.

  "Yes, my Lord."

  "Repeat it."

  "He will fight me again to-day or to-morrow, as my Lord mayappoint--and I want my horse. Without him, El-Hejaz will be a widow."

  A red spot appeared on Mahommed's forehead.

  "Begone!" he cried angrily. "Seest thou not, O fool, that when we takethe city we will recover thy horse? Fight thou shalt not, for in thatday I shall have need of thee."

  Thereupon he bade them open for him, and rode slowly back up theeminence, and when he disappeared Corti was vainly sounding his trumpet.

  The two horses were led across the dismantled bridge, and into the gate.

  "Heaven hath sent me a good soldier," said the Emperor to the Count,upon descending from the tower.

  Then Justiniani asked: "Why didst thou spare thy last antagonist?"

  Corti answered truthfully.

  "It was well done," the Genoese returned, offering his hand.

  "Ay," said Constantine, cordially, "well done. But mount now, and ridewith us."

  "Your Majesty, a favor first.... A man is in the road dead. Let hisbody be placed on a bier, and carried to his friends."

  "A most Christian request! My Lord Chamberlain, attend to it."

  The cavalcade betook itself then to other parts, the better to see thedisposition of the Turks; and everywhere on the landward side it wasthe same--troops in masses, and intrenchments in progress. Closing theinspection at set of sun, the Emperor beheld the sea and the Bosphorusin front of the Golden Horn covered with hundreds of sails.

  "The leaguer is perfected," said the Genoese.

  "And the issue with God," Constantine replied. "Let us to Hagia St.Sophia."