City of God

by S. J. A. Turney

  Meanwhile, Constantinople and its enemies both prepared.

  The Venetians wasted no time in accessing the Golden Horn. Though they stayed at the far side of the channel, away from the artillery on the walls, they were now docked threateningly on the Galata shore facing the city, and any time a Byzantine ship moved from port, it came under attack and was forced to retreat. There the Venetians spent their time building unidentifiable constructions in the privacy of the docks.

  Arnau and his friends had received reports regularly as the Franks moved slowly upstream from Galata, consolidating their control as they went, setting up lines of supply and communication from Galata to their proposed new position. As the Crusaders became visible from the city itself, the two knights, standing at the window of their apartment, fumed over how easily the Franks had moved into position, using the bridge over which the Byzantine survivors had fled. In fact, the Laskaris brothers had done what they could to halt the advance, given the lack of time and poor resources. They had demolished the bridge and put small units of archers and skirmishers nearby to harry the Franks. But the Crusaders were strong and confident now, and brushed aside the meagre defenders with little difficulty, repairing the bridge swiftly. All the measures had done in the end was to delay the army by a few days.

  The window at which the Templars stood looked west from the city walls that also formed the palace wall to the west, across the lesser defences at this end of the promontory. The gradient of the land denied the possibility of a moat, and centuries of rebuilding about the palace had seen the walls cobbled together over numerous separate periods with various stages of military architecture in place.

  The Crusaders were visible from the window now. Just half a mile away an ancient monastery stood upon a low hill, and the Franks had made camp about it, using the monastery itself as their headquarters. The sprawling camp was fortified with palisades and ditches, and what seemed an endless array of off-white tents.

  It was as Arnau, Ramon and Sebastian stood at the window, pondering their immediate future and the idiotic obstinacy of Bochard in refusing to leave, that there came a knock at their door and the source of most of their information over the past week made his latest visit.

  Alexios Doukas, the political prisoner who wandered the palace with his Waring shadow, and who seemed better informed than most courtiers, greeted them as Sebastian opened the door, and strode across to stand in the window with them.

  ‘I feel more could have been done at the Barmyssa bridge,’ Ramon said, frustrated. ‘Not enough men to cause them trouble, and they simply rebuilt the bridge. Had you left it in place, you could have fielded a major force and kept the Franks funnelled through the narrow bridge, trapped and at the emperor’s mercy.’

  Doukas shook his head. ‘You are thinking like a Frank, de Juelle. Not like a citizen of the empire. Gone are the days, sadly, of Roman generals fielding armies that win great lands and destroy whole empires. Our manpower is low, spread out, and often reliant upon foreign mercenaries. Witness the failures of every force the city has fielded since the fleet arrived.’

  ‘That was poor planning and generalship.’

  Doukas shrugged. ‘To some extent, yes, but there is more to it than that. We have not been a conquering empire for centuries. We fight mostly to stop rebels seceding from the empire.’

  Arnau glanced momentarily at Sebastian’s troubled face. That was precisely how his father had died, after all.

  ‘Much of our foreign policy for centuries has been one of negotiation and pacification,’ Doukas went on. ‘And now, with a strong and violent enemy at our gates, we simply have not the skill to meet them in the field. But we do have walls that have kept this city safe for a thousand years. Yes, the hinterland has been sacked once or twice, but still the walls hold strong and the city has never fallen. The people remember that and rely upon it. Better not to waste men at a bridge we cannot hold, but put them on the walls and make sure the Franks begin to starve in the winter and finally desert their cause.’

  ‘But the chain is gone now,’ Ramon reminded him. ‘The Horn is filled with Venetians.’

  Doukas shrugged again. ‘Others have done the same. Vile Rus and imperial rebels have both got past the chain in their time, only to founder against the walls. No, with good leadership, relying upon our fortifications is still the way. As long as our weak-livered emperor relies upon good men like the Laskaris brothers, then we can hold and eventually drive them away. The loss of Stryphnos is a boon, but mind that the emperor himself is every bit as foolish and impulsive. We have a chance, but we are not out of danger yet.’

  Ramon nodded, and Arnau kept watch on the camp full of Franks. They looked a little too close and too powerful for comfort, regardless of the massive walls behind which the Templars stood and upon which Doukas seemed content to rest his hope.

  * * *

  The next five days were tense and unpleasant, yet fascinating and often eye-opening. As with all sieges, events began slowly and moved with ponderous progression. The Crusaders spent much of the first week gathering supplies, cutting wood, fortifying their continued settling in for the duration. The secretive Venetians continued to build and prepare on the far side of the water, performing some kind of arcane works on their ships that no one could identify from the walls. Daily, a deputation was sent from the enemy camp to just outside bowshot from the walls, displaying the young pretender and warning the city that denying his claim would be their undoing.

  Within the city, the people still seemed surprisingly calm and confident. The walls thronged with men, all of whom continued to spit at the prince when he appeared and who were prepared to hold out as long as they could. The walls were strengthened wherever Constantine Laskaris identified a weak spot. Gates were shored up and some blocked. Tower-top artillery was kept primed and with plentiful ammunition in place. All was made as ready as possible.

  One thing that surprised and impressed the watching Templars was the piety with which every heart seemed filled. Every day, a great icon of the Holy Mother was brought forth from the church in the Blachernae palace and paraded around the city before the defenders, escorted by a dozen priests, several nobles and officers and a score of Warings with hands on axe handles. Wherever the icon passed, there were cheers and prayers, and the spirit of the defenders lifted noticeably. Their closeness to the Virgin Mother, when placed against the incessant violence and pressure of the Crusaders, made it ever easier for Arnau to see these so-called ‘heretics’ as the innocent and godly victims of temporal aggression. Like Zadra before it, Constantinople was besieged by men who should know better. Like Zadra, Constantinople was truly a city of God.

  The Byzantines did not limit themselves to bolstering their defences, though. By the third day, when the Crusader siege engines began to loose and test the city, it became clear that their weapons were outsized monsters developed solely for the destruction of castles and with an impressive range, while the city’s artillery was more incisive and accurate anti-personnel equipment, but with a much shorter range. The Franks set up siege weapons halfway between their camp and the walls, each with their own small defensive circuit and garrison. There, with skilled artillerists, they were just within range of the city, as the first shot they loosed proved. The closest missile launched from Constantinople, however, fell eighty paces short of its Frankish target.

  Consequently, the new, dreadful counterweight trebuchets of the Franks began to pound the city walls with impunity while the city weapons fell silent, conserving their ammunition. Having sought the emperor’s permission, Theodoros began leading a series of cavalry sorties at night. Carrying pots of what they called ‘Greek fire’ and torches and jars of pitch, they managed to reach several of the larger siege engines the first night and set fire to them. Arnau had been impressed to watch them burn throughout the hours of darkness, leaving only charred bones in the morning. He pressed Doukas on the matter.

  ‘Why do they not just wet the timbers and use water to ex
tinguish the flames? The fires burn unassuaged.’

  Doukas had smiled an unpleasant smile. ‘The secret of the ancient fire handed down through the generations. The fire sticks to surfaces and defies water. It even burns on the sea. Nothing can extinguish it. Once the engines are alight, they are doomed.’

  Arnau had been horrified at the notion of a fire that could not be extinguished but was still, in a way, grateful at least that it was being used by the city and not against it. Over the next three nights, repeated forays met ever-increasing resistance from the angry Franks, but Theodoros was clever and his sallies were rarely unsuccessful. By the sixteenth of the month, every engine the Crusaders had fielded had become ash, leaving only a few small dents and cracks in the city walls to show they had ever been used.

  Every day half a dozen funerals were held for men who had died in the forays, yet they were not seen as sombre signs of loss and failure, but as the joyous celebration of deceased heroes who had helped their empire defy the invading army. And their success was notable. For the first time since the fleet had arrived, Byzantium had bloodied the enemy nose and achieved an unqualified success. The enemy’s siege weapons had been destroyed, and the sorties had taken enough Crusader lives that they began to pull back their pickets and foragers, keeping their men within the safety of their camp whenever possible.

  And while this dreadful war progressed, every day saw a procession of junior priests, administrators and nefarious characters visiting Bochard and leaving, Arnau suspected, with fat purses.

  The city hailed Laskaris as a hero, and even the somewhat dour and fatalistic Doukas lauded the actions of Theodoros. That last day, the sixteenth, all activity among the enemy ceased, as their plans for assault were rethought. Clearly siege engines were not going to win Constantinople for the Franks. A new tactic had to be found.

  The morning of the seventeenth of July saw that tactic come into play. Doukas arrived at the Templars’ room with his Waring escort, the taciturn and menacing Redwald, just after first light.

  ‘I fear the true siege is about to start,’ the prisoner said with a mix of trepidation and anticipation in his voice.

  ‘There is movement?’ Ramon crossed to the window. ‘I can make out a little activity in the camp, though this view is not the best.’

  Doukas gestured upwards. ‘Lookouts atop the towers have warned that several divisions have formed up within the camp as though for battle. Moreover, the Venetian ships have been made ready and are being loaded with equipment and men.’

  Arnau breathed slowly, deliberately. ‘This is it, then.’

  ‘It would seem so.’ Doukas narrowed his eyes. ‘The Order of the Temple, of course, has no place in this war on either side.’

  Ramon nodded. ‘Of that I am painfully aware. But having been, in a former life, an advocate for the Church of Rome in the courts of Iberia, I am more than a little familiar with legal minutiae, loopholes and how to exploit them. There are at least half a dozen rules in our order that prevent us taking any action against your enemies, though in court I would utterly destroy all arguments based upon them. The only unbreakable rule holding us back is obedience to our master. Bochard will have the final say, and there is little I can do about that.’

  ‘But you will find a way,’ Sebastian said suddenly.

  Ramon turned in surprise and the squire, his face a picture of fury, gestured at him, icon gripped tight. ‘You will find a way. Because when I came to the Order, it was made clear to me that you were men of God. That you had vowed to protect the innocent and God-fearing from the wicked and the vicious. I turned from the Church of my birth and embraced Rome’s teachings because you took us in, and you were noble and just and right. And if that is true, and you are all those things, you will find a way to help. And if you are not, then I am done with the Temple.’

  Arnau blinked in surprise. Sebastian had ever been quiet and accepting. He had never shown a hint of pride or defiance, yet here he stood, tall as a giant, making demands of his superiors. But Arnau had watched as the months rolled by and the young squire slipped ever further into the arms of his people. And he was right. Arnau walked over and stood beside him. ‘Find a way,’ he added, simply.

  Ramon looked at them for a short while, his brow furrowed. Then he nodded. ‘Sebastian, have our war gear made ready. Arnau, come with me.’

  Moments later, Ramon was hammering on the preceptor’s door. It opened quickly, Bochard’s wary, dark eye appearing at the crack.

  ‘What is it, de Juelle?’

  ‘The Crusaders are making ready for a great assault, and we must stand with the soldiers of Byzantium.’

  ‘No, de Juelle. This is not our fight.’

  Ramon snarled. ‘It never was, and we should not even be here. We should have left for Acre months ago, but you insist on our remaining so that you can… what? Gather icons and relics? Is that why we are here? But you’ve left it too long. We’re part of it all now, because you kept us here. We either throw in our lot with the Crusaders or with the empire and, heresy or not, I cannot in conscience take arms with our Roman brothers against these men. Remain locked in your room if you wish, Master, but you must give us permission to do our part.’

  Bochard shook his head, drawing the door open a crack wider. Arnau could just see past him where his squire was packing things carefully into a chest.

  ‘Out of the question,’ the preceptor snapped. ‘I forbid it.’

  ‘You forbid what?’ growled Ramon angrily.

  ‘You will not fight the Crusaders. You will not draw your sword against any son of the Church. Do you understand me?’

  Ramon growled again. ‘Perfectly.’

  With a sharp nod, Bochard slammed his door closed and Ramon marched away, Arnau at his heel.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now?’ Ramon hissed as they returned to their own apartment. ‘Now we obey Bochard’s commands. To the letter.’

  ‘What?’

  Doukas and Sebastian looked up as they entered.

  ‘We obey Bochard,’ Ramon repeated. ‘We will not fight Crusaders, and we shall not draw a sword against a son of the Church.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Ramon reached for his arming jacket and began to pull it on over his tunic. ‘The enemy will come on two fronts, Vallbona. The Franks will hit the walls near this palace where they are weakest and there is no moat. The Venetians can only assault by water, but they will do so close to the Blachernae, so that both attacks hit the same sector of the city at once from two angles. We are forbidden to fight the Franks on two counts: they are Crusaders and sons of the Church. The Venetians, however, are fair game, not being men of the Crusade, but simply their transport, and no sons of the Church since their excommunication remains in place. Bochard’s rules apply only to the Franks.’

  Arnau broke into a savage grin and hurried over to where Sebastian had laid out his gear, grasping his arming jacket. The squire was also collecting up his own meagre equipment, bearing an expression of grim determination.

  ‘Fight if you will,’ Ramon told him. ‘These are your people, after all. But keep yourself safe. Be careful and stay close to us.’

  Sebastian nodded and held up his icon proudly. ‘The Theotokos watches over me this day, fear not.’

  Ramon laughed darkly. ‘Would that we all had such a treasure, Sebastian.’

  Doukas smiled a weird smile. ‘War makes for strange bedfellows, does it not, Brother de Juelle?’

  Ramon nodded. ‘Tell us where the weakest point on the Horn walls is,’ he said. ‘The Venetians are cunning enough to strike there.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later, with a three-man Waring escort, the Templars ascended a staircase at the bottom of the steep slope of the so-called ‘Sixth Hill’, where the walls towered above the Golden Horn and a narrow verge of marshy land that lay in between.

  Already a few of the tower-top artillery pieces were thudding, throwing out missiles, and as they emerged onto the wal
l top close to a gate and hurried to the battlements, Arnau could see why. The Venetian fleet was mid-channel, sailing for the city en masse. Truly the invaders intended to take the city today. This section of wall had been identified by Doukas as the most likely trouble spot, and it seemed the city’s commanders agreed, for he could see along the wall, close to the next tower, the figure of Constantine Laskaris, his banner flying atop that tower beside the imperial flag and several others.

  ‘They come,’ Laskaris bellowed as he saw the Templars arriving. Ramon nodded. ‘Your noble brother?’

  ‘With the emperor, dealing with the Franks at the land walls,’ Constantine replied.

  Arnau took in the other defenders with a sweeping gaze. They seemed strong and confident. Many were armed with long spears or similar pole arms, ready to use them to fight off men down below. Interspersed were archers, and each tower held a piece of artillery. Braziers burned along the defences, supplying fire to the archers should they need it. Here and there he could see pots of pitch too. Briefly, he caught sight of Sebastian among a unit of Byzantine spearmen some distance down the wall, saw the young man kiss his icon of the Holy Mother, and then lost sight of him as men moved about once more.

  ‘How will they attack?’ Arnau breathed, watching the ships getting ever closer.

  Ramon shrugged. ‘They will have to land and raise siege ladders, I think, unless they mean to pound us with missiles from the water.’

  ‘Then surely there is no real danger?’

  The older knight frowned. ‘These are Venetians. There is always danger. Be ready.’

  The two knights waited tensely, Sebastian close by, as numerous warships closed on the walls, keeping pace side by side. The artillery atop the towers began to fire in earnest now, stones and bolts hurtling from the defences to slam, thud and crash into the ships. There were screams and the sounds of shredding timber, but the ships kept coming.