‘Not yet,’ whispered Ramon. ‘Look.’ His extended finger pointed to a small fortification at the far side of the water.
‘What?’
‘The Galata fortress. The great tower that guards the sea chain. It’s still garrisoned, and I can see that some of the men aren’t fleeing the field. Look, they’re running into the tower complex. If they can hold that tower, then the future is still unwritten.’
‘What difference does one tower make?’
Ramon frowned. ‘As long as the chain holds, the Venetians are limited to the Bosphorus, Vallbona. They cannot get into the Golden Horn, and therefore they are of limited use from here on. If they get through that chain, then we really are in trouble, but as long as the chain holds, only the Franks present a direct threat. And while if it’s these idiots still facing them the Franks alone might be enough, if someone with a little ability is put in charge, the Byzantine forces could win the day. A lot depends upon that tower, though.’
Arnau nodded, watching the fleeing soldiers bolstering the garrison of the Galata tower. Ramon was right, of course. But they needed someone capable commanding who would defy the Crusaders and not break and flee at the sight of confident cavalry.
‘We need to get an audience with someone important,’ Arnau said. ‘The emperor or Stryphnos.’
Ramon shook his head. ‘That won’t happen without Bochard present, but what we can do is try and meet with the Laskaris brothers and persuade them to take charge regardless.’ He turned to the Warings who escorted them. ‘Would one of you be willing to deliver a message for me?’
* * *
An hour and a half later they were seated in the common room of their apartment, with Sebastian cleaning their weapons and armour and looking extremely nervous, eyes flicking constantly to the small icon that sat on the table beside him, when the visitor arrived. There came a rap at the door, and when they answered, half a dozen guardsmen stepped back for Theodoros Laskaris to enter. Arnau looked at Sebastian and noted with interest that the lad’s earlier unease over Laskaris and his own father’s past seemed to have gone, replaced now with a confidence and respect. Another barely perceptible step the squire had taken back into the world of his birth, Arnau suspected.
‘Apologies for not having made a personal appearance before now, sir knights,’ he said in weary tones. ‘Sometimes the simple business of ruining an empire takes up all the court’s time.’
‘We saw what happened,’ Ramon replied, gesturing to a seat and proffering a cup of wine which Theodoros declined with a tired wave. ‘I need a clearer head than usual now.’ He gestured to the door and the Warings closed it, leaving them alone.
‘It was appalling. I think we could have held, regardless, and I think we should have held, but in truth I have never seen anything like that.’
‘It was incredible,’ Arnau agreed. ‘They went from aboard ship to charging you in the blink of an eye.’
Laskaris nodded. ‘Ungodly, even. Their ships turned side on, and then opened up. I could not have imagined such a thing, but they reached shallow water and dropped the entire side of the ship. The Franks were already mounted in the bowels of the ships. They charged as soon as the sides fell, even through the water. They reached an impressive speed even before they reached dry ground.’
‘No wonder your men panicked,’ Ramon sighed. ‘A Frankish cavalry charge is something no man would wish to face. They have a brutal reputation, and we saw what the mere sight of them did to the kataphractoi at Scutari.’
‘We could have held, though,’ Laskaris said again with a sigh. ‘We’d lost the men near the shore, for certain. Most of them died under pounding hooves, let alone by sword or lance, but we could still have held. I think the emperor himself panicked. The retreat call went up before the Franks had even finished with our vanguard. Now we have a narrow hold on Galata only. There is some discussion as to whether to break down the bridge at the head of the Golden Horn, but it is yet to be decided.’
Ramon leaned forward. ‘You have to take control, you know? You or your brother.’
Laskaris nodded. ‘Stryphnos is a constant worry. But he is currently at odds with the emperor. He didn’t want to field the army at all. He remains in command, but only by a hair’s breadth. And if he defies the emperor, then he will fall hard. The empire is not forgiving of failure. We have had a thousand years to become very inventive executioners. I once saw a former admiral who lost a squadron of ships hung on the wall of hooks. His agony was such that his family set fire to him to speed up his death.’
Arnau shivered. ‘That is what is in store for Stryphnos?’ The man was a fool, but no one deserved such a fate.
‘Perhaps if he fails. Most definitely if he refuses.’
‘And for you too?’
Laskaris nodded.
‘Then you had best not fail. What’s your plan?’
The Greek frowned and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. ‘My brother took two hundred of our best infantry, including a group of the Warings who are fearsome in battle, back to the Galata tower, which I believe is now crucial.’
Ramon nodded. ‘We had come to the same conclusion.’
‘I have sent out orders this afternoon, gathering the very best infantry in the city. We shall load them into ferries before dawn and ship them across the Horn. I plan to continue doing so until the place is impregnable, holding off the Franks and thereby preventing the Venetians gaining access to the Golden Horn. And once we have sufficient men in place, we will attempt to fortify what we can of Galata, even if we have to pull down houses and expand, creating a stronger and stronger bridgehead.’
‘To withstand a siege?’ Arnau mused.
Laskaris nodded. ‘We need only hold out until winter. The Franks are used to good farmland and rich pickings. Here they have access only to the relatively dry and unyielding Anatolian hills. With the horses they brought, whatever supplies they carry will not last beyond winter and they will be forced to withdraw. But to be certain of holding out, we need to keep the Venetians out of close waters. Thus, yes, we need to hold the tower and the chain. Is your master intending to leave? I had expected you long gone, since the reply to his letter seems not to be coming.’
Ramon shook his head. ‘I have no idea what the preceptor is doing, but I am beginning to think that he sent no letter, or not the one we thought, and I don’t particularly care any more.’ He straightened. ‘Send us a messenger before dawn and we will meet you at the docks.’
Laskaris raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean to join us?’
‘We have been forbidden to attack Christians, but not to defend ourselves from attack. It seems you will need every strong hand the good Lord can offer. Take ours.’
Laskaris smiled. ‘In the morning, then. I will show you how an imperial soldier can fight, and you can show me how a Templar knight defends.’
Arnau swallowed quietly. While he’d been itching to deal with the Venetians, the idea of holding a tower against marauding French knights was considerably less inviting.
Chapter 8: The Last Tower
July 6th 1203
Arnau, Ramon and Sebastian stood in the prow of a small skiff that carried nine men including the three Templars. This, the young knight realised, was what had become of the great Byzantine navy in this age of imperial failure: small ships, ferries and commandeered merchants. The fleet that carried the support for the Galata tower was little more than a ragtag flotilla of mismatched boats. It took every hull that could be rustled up in the Neorion harbour to carry the force across in one go, and it was not that large an army to carry.
They had sneaked through the streets onto the dock side in the pre-dawn murk, unobserved by any watchful eye across the water in Galata, slipping into the vessels. The chances of landing without being observed were small, but it was better to get as close as possible without attracting attention.
Arnau’s gaze slid past the nervous-looking young squire who was facing the prospect of his first proper fight, thum
b working furiously at the faded paint of his precious icon, and to the next boat along. Some twenty feet to their left the largest ship available ploughed through the water, carrying the commanders of the force.
One of the few surviving Byzantine warships, it had seen better days and had recently been patched up and refitted urgently at the coming of the Venetian fleet. A century ago, Arnau suspected, it would have represented one of the smallest and weakest vessels in the fleet. Here it looked like a lord of the sea next to the leaky ferries.
Riding high in the prow in the same manner as the Templars, but some ten feet above them, stood the two commanders of the relief army. Theodoros Laskaris was equipped for war, and though his appearance was probably informed by the fact that Arnau had met the man and knew him to be a warrior of old, he looked like some ancient Caesar, sailing to war against the barbarian. Beside him, the other man looked like some fop in ill-fitting, gaudy armour. Again, Arnau’s impression was informed by the stories he’d heard and the failures he’d seen with his own eyes, but already he did not trust Michael Stryphnos, the senior commander of the city’s military.
Laskaris had, apparently, confirmed with the emperor his intention to take a force in support of his brother at the Galata tower and there deny the marauding Crusaders any access to the Golden Horn and the city itself. The emperor had been in full agreement, but had saddled Laskaris with the senior commander in the process. Little could be done to oppose it. The empire clearly had as strict a system of obedience to the chain of command as did the Order.
So Stryphnos had been credited with Laskaris’s plan. At least it seemed the older man had not seen fit to make any changes.
Fewer than fifteen hundred souls were rushing to the aid of the tower, bringing the total defence to around two thousand. It would be cramped, although the word ‘tower’ hardly did the place justice, since it was in truth a small walled compound with several structures, turrets and towers all huddled at the water’s edge. They would manage. And this was only the initial force, after all. Once they had bolstered the garrison sufficiently to be sure they could hold against the Franks, they could look at expanding their bridgehead and improving the defence force. It was workable.
The skiff slid through the dark water in the early dawn light, the sun’s gleam sparkling on the surface like a sea of brilliant diamonds cut through by a fleet of war. The landing places and rickety jetties of Galata’s Golden Horn shore were coming close now. As yet there had been no sign of movement atop the hill, where the crusading army had encamped upon the summit overlooking the foreign enclaves. Either the Franks were still unaware of the relief force or, and this was highly likely, they were so confident now that they simply didn’t care.
The commanders’ ship, being the largest, most powerful and fastest, reached the shore first. By the time the Templars’ skiff touched a jetty, the cargo of that vessel was already ashore, forming up and preparing to move off to the tower a few hundred paces away. By pure chance, Arnau’s skiff took one of the right-most jetties, close to the tower, and so as they docked, he was able to take in the entire situation at close hand.
The Galata fortress, an outpost of the city walls that stood solely to guard the chain that sealed the water to shipping, was more or less a castle. With a strong curtain wall, it had three smaller towers and one huge square keep into which the sea chain disappeared through a slot. Though he’d not been told how the defence worked, it seemed clear that a windlass inside could tighten or loosen the chain. Unwound, the iron line would sink into the water and the skiffs that kept it near the surface when taut could move to let the chain drop further and allow access for ships. There were only two ways in or out of the fortress: by the main gate facing the hill and Galata proper, and a waterside postern gate in the great tower’s base that gave out onto a small private jetty at which sat two small skiffs. It was as defensible a site as any Arnau had seen, and more so than Rourell had been during that awful siege a few years ago.
Moments later he was gathering up his shield, his sword bouncing at his side as they clambered out of the boat and onto land. Arnau felt the uncertainty rise once more. He’d been feeling it a lot during the night. To fight Moors, bandits and Saracens was one thing, and positively lauded in the Order. The men up that hill were Christian knights from France, though, and although the Pope may have initially condemned them, they remained part of Mother Church. Fighting them was at best bending the rules of the Order, if not breaking them outright. It was the just thing to do, of course. The right thing. But at the same time very much the wrong thing. Arnau couldn’t quite reconcile how he felt about it. He had early on resolved not to take direct action, but only to defend himself when he had to, and even then he hoped not to have to do so.
The large gate of the Galata tower opened to grant access to the newly arrived force and, as they moved towards it, Arnau could see the face of Constantine Laskaris above the arch, watching his brother’s force land.
The three Templars were among the first to arrive, and hurried inside. Ramon turned to the others as they halted in the wide courtyard. ‘Fight, defend or withhold as your conscience sees fit, Vallbona. The Lord will judge you, not I. Sebastian, this is not your fight. It is my recommendation that you remain inside and perhaps help supply arrows and water where required. However, I also recognise that these are your people, and this your homeland. If you feel compelled to draw that blade by your side in defence of Byzantium, you will hear no condemnation from me. Just stay safe. I have become attached to my new squire.’
Arnau watched Sebastian’s expression as the young squire struggled with the decision. Every day made him more a citizen of Byzantium. He was still Ramon’s squire, and Arnau had no doubt that his loyalty remained staunch, but his heritage was taking an ever stronger hold now, and what he would do the day his duty to the order conflicted with his allegiance to the empire remained to be seen. ‘Shall we find a place on the walls?’ Arnau asked, eyeing the defences above them.
‘Let’s wait for Theodoros. He might want us somewhere specific. I doubt he wants us in grave danger. The emperor wouldn’t like to have to explain to the Order that their brothers had died defending his city from the Franks. It might not go down very well.’
Arnau nodded, once again silently cursing Bochard for not having the common sense to have taken them all back out of the city before the worst occurred.
They stood to one side as files of men entered – small groups of imperial infantry withdrawn from border garrisons and archers from the empire, as well as mercenaries from other, less Christian, nations. Finally, after several hundred men had entered and sought the best position for their skills, the commanders arrived, on foot and surrounded by veteran infantry. No Warings here though – with a remit solely to defend the emperor, they had not left the bounds of the city.
As the commanders entered, Stryphnos turned to a musician beside him and a man carrying the Byzantine flag just beyond. ‘Issue the orders. Have the army form up before the walls. All but the archers and a detachment of infantry.’
Theodoros Laskaris stopped in his tracks, his face folding into a frown.
‘What? No, they need to line the walls and begin to pull down local housing into barriers.’
Stryphnos turned a nasty look on his second in command. ‘The empire has been the power in the East and a God-granted bulwark against the barbaroi for a thousand years. If you think we are going to cower in a turret and let these Western thugs ravage Galata, you are mistaken. I thought you understood, Laskaris. We have crossed the water to do battle.’
‘What?’ Laskaris was incredulous.
‘To drive these Franks back into the water. Without their Venetian masters, they will break. They will soon see their folly. We will push them to the water’s edge and there accept their surrender. We will then offer them generous terms to leave the empire.’
Ramon turned a horrified look on Arnau as Constantine Laskaris hurried down from the walls and joined them. ‘Did I
hear you order an attack, Stryphnos?’
‘That’s Strategos to you,’ snapped the older commander. ‘I have overall command here, by the divine order of the emperor.’
Constantine pointed a finger, gesturing to the hill beyond the houses. ‘There are twenty thousand Franks up there. If you take every man in the tower, they will still face ten-to-one odds. You’re insane.’
‘And you are removed from command,’ snapped Stryphnos. ‘Stay out of this and I will deal with your insolence on my return.’ He spun back to Theodoros. ‘Unless you wish to join your brother waiting in the latrines, you will follow my orders. We will leave three hundred to hold the tower, which is more than adequate. The rest we will use to rout the Franks. They are animals. They understand only brute force and reckless bravery, not culture and sense. Thus we will show them we can fight every bit as hard as they. We will break them against the water.’
Already the force was forming outside, and Theodoros was clearly having difficulty keeping his composure. Carefully choosing his words and speaking through bared teeth, he addressed the general.
‘Strategos, it is my duty to advise against this. The odds are so poor we have little chance. There is no horse here, just infantry, while the Franks have heavy cavalry. This will fail and cost us valuable manpower needed for the city’s defence.’
Stryphnos nodded. ‘Your objections are noted. Fall in with the men.’
Laskaris threw one contemptuous look at his commander and then stomped off through the gate with the men who were forming up between Galata tower and the civilian houses. As Stryphnos turned and marched off with them, Constantine snarled.
‘Disaster. This is a disaster. They will all die and our efforts to secure this bank will be weakened.’
‘What will you do?’ Ramon asked him.
‘I certainly will not wait to be upbraided by that lunatic. We will deploy every man we have so that the fortress remains defiant when he fails. Go to the top of the main tower. You will be able to see what happens from there. I will join you presently.’
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