City of God

by S. J. A. Turney

  Another thud.

  The gate groaned inwards a few more inches. Now grasping arms and jabbing weapons were reaching through the gap, hungry for flesh. Mere moments remained.

  Regretting he could do no more, and noting a similar look in his brother’s eyes, Arnau de Vallbona withdrew from the defence of the gate, ducking an arrow and backing away.

  It was not his fight, had never been his fight, yet leaving it felt like the worst of betrayals.

  How in the name of God had it come to this?

  Arnau ran.

  Chapter 21: The World’s End

  April 13th 1204

  Barely had they turned and started back along the wall from the falling gate before they encountered a small party of men coming the other way, hailing them. Arnau had come to a stop with Ramon as a group of Warings halted and Redwald emerged from their number.

  ‘Templars, how goes the wall?’

  ‘Without the direct hand of God, the entire shoreline will be in Frankish hands by sundown,’ Ramon had reported bleakly.

  Redwald had nodded, his face betraying no emotion. ‘Theodoros Laskaris is at the imperial pavilion on the hill. He has asked for you.’

  Arnau had turned to Ramon, who simply nodded. ‘We were bound for the palace and the preceptor, but we will see the commander first.’

  The journey up the charred slope of the city was slow and laborious and the sun was beginning to slide from the sky as the two knights crested the burned-out slope and approached the imperial encampment. A small force of infantry was in evidence, along with half a dozen tents that housed the senior officers and nobles. At the centre stood a grand pavilion, guarded around its entire circuit by alert-looking Warings.

  As they neared the centre of Byzantine command, they paused and turned, looking back down the slope towards the Golden Horn. It was easy to see why Doukas had chosen to command from here under a temporary roof rather than the comfort of a palace. Between the two fires that had burned large swathes of the city flat and the general slope of the hill, from here the officers could view the entire theatre of war, from the Blachernae off to the left at the edge of the city, to the tower below the acropolis hill where the chain had once been anchored.

  And the view was disheartening. In the quarter of an hour in which they had trudged with difficulty up the detritus-clogged, burned-out streets of the city, things had gone from bad to worse down on the walls. Even at this distance it was clear that a stretch of walls containing three gates and perhaps a dozen towers was already under enemy control. For some reason, the Franks were still concentrating on keeping command of those walls and had not bothered sending forces further into the city, centring their attention on the breach they had created.

  Even to Arnau’s untrained eye it now looked hopeless. No matter how good the officers were or how brave the men, their chances of pushing the enemy back off the walls and securing them were next to nil. One glance at Ramon’s face told him that the older knight had come to the same conclusion.

  With a sigh, they turned and strode towards the great pavilion.

  ‘We have been called for by Theodoros Laskaris,’ Ramon told the Waring by the entrance. The guard nodded, clearly expecting them, and gestured to the door.

  The two men entered the immense tent, the biggest Arnau had ever seen.

  A great table stood in the centre, covered with a map of the city and a hundred wooden markers showing the position of units. It was notable that the black ones, which seemed from the positioning to represent the Franks, were predominant. Arnau immediately felt uncomfortable as there seemed to be an argument in progress and they had walked into the very midst of it.

  ‘You advocate terms?’ snapped the emperor, pointing an accusatory finger at a Waring with an impressive braided beard and ice-blue eyes. ‘You are my guard, loyal to the death. What gives you the right to dictate imperial policy to me?’

  The big man leaned on his axe with arms folded. ‘I command the Warings, Majesty, and we remain loyal, but the day you made it clear that we were to function as part of the city’s military in defence of Constantinopolis, you also put the city’s care partially into my hands, and therefore my duty is to inform you that we have lost.’

  ‘Never.’

  The big Waring waved a hand towards the door, causing everyone momentarily to look in the direction of the two Templars, who flinched at the attention. ‘The walls have fallen. We can throw every man at them to try and retake them, but we will lose. Once they breached, we lost. Everyone knows it. Now we can either fight on like some hopeless martyr’s last stand or we can save what we are able. What you are able. We are in a weak position now, but it may yet be possible to bargain with the Frankish leaders. Not the doge, but the Franks. Give them what they want. Buy time for us to work. It might take months, maybe even years, but this need not be the end. But if you insist on fighting to annihilation, then it will be.’

  Doukas roared at the man. ‘Ceolwulf, you are my guard and you will obey my commands.’

  ‘Of course, Majesty. But while we fight to the death to protect you, I will continue to advocate terms.’

  ‘Where can we hold while we regroup?’ Doukas snapped, glancing about him.

  ‘The Blachernae?’ a courtier mused.

  ‘Too close to the fallen walls. And too accessible from them.’

  ‘The Bukoleon,’ Theodoros Laskaris said.

  The emperor nodded slowly. ‘Separated from the main walls, waterfront, self-contained. And on the far side of the city from the enemy. Yes, there we can gather and plan while we hold any advance. How many divisions can we recall while keeping the Franks bogged down at the walls?’

  As several officers now involved themselves in the discussion, Theodoros Laskaris turned and hurried across the tent to the two knights. Gesturing for them to follow him, he pointed to an interior doorway that led to another section of tent. Inside it was rather gloomy, and it became more so as the commander let the flap fall closed behind them.

  ‘You called for us?’

  Laskaris nodded. ‘You have served the city and the empire nobly through your time here, my friends. What we face now though is extinction, and you cannot be a part of that. Your preceptor can say what he likes, but you cannot stay, or you will likely perish with the rest of us.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Stand by the emperor until he either flees or falls, and then, when that happens, raise another and another until the last grocer in the city wears a crown to defy the Franks. We will do what we must. The council of nobles remains at the Haghia Sophia, arguing about their own perils. The emperor will rally what forces he can at the Bukoleon with a view to securing the more important sections of the city and gradually forcing the enemy back. It will be hard fought and there is more than a strong chance of failure, but we are men of Constantinopolis, the last of the Caesars, and we will fight until we die and bow our necks to no Frank.’

  Ramon nodded. ‘In a perfect world we would stay and help, but our order cannot afford to deal with the repercussions of knights of the Order falling into Frankish hands in the defence of what the grand master will consider a heretical city.’

  ‘I have secured you passage,’ Laskaris said quietly. ‘Do not make it well known, for in the coming hours there will be many thousands seeking such a thing.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There is a small harbour at a place called the Hebdomon, just two miles along the coast from the Golden Gate. The place is both an imperial summer residence and the location of the external cavalry and infantry barracks. It has remained empty since the siege began, but I have arranged for a small fishing boat to dock there in secrecy. It will carry you across the Marmara Sea and to safety.’

  ‘Is it safe to travel?’

  Laskaris shrugged. ‘There should be none, or at least very few, of the enemy in that region, at the very far side of the peninsula from the fighting. In the coming hours the city’s people will likely begin to see the end and floo
d from the walls. You would be best served leaving now before that happens, lest refugees come across your boat and seize it for themselves.’

  Ramon smiled sadly. ‘Thank you, Laskaris. It has been an honour to know both you and your brother. I pray that somehow this day can still be turned and your people saved.’

  Laskaris shook his hand and then turned to Arnau and did the same. ‘Good luck, my friends.’ And with that he turned away and marched back into the tent to his emperor’s side.

  ‘I thought you were set on not leaving until Bochard did?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Bochard will not leave now,’ Arnau breathed. ‘The Franks will command the city within a day, and then he will feel vindicated and safe. He will not allow us to drag him away now.’

  ‘Then we must be as persuasive as we have ever been. His few cronies among the Franks might have helped him thus far and offered him protection, but you and I have crippled his chances. With the red cross shown defiant on the walls, neither the Franks nor the Venetians are going to consider giving any quarter to us. If he does not leave with us this evening, he will almost certainly fall foul of them.’

  Arnau nodded and the pair slipped from the side room, shuffling around the periphery of the great command tent and out of the main entrance. Once outside, Ramon broke into a jog, armour and weapons jingling, and Arnau picked up his pace and fell in alongside. They passed the smoke-blackened walls of the church and picked their way at speed through the burned bones of the city, making for the highest hill by the walls, where the top end of the Blachernae lay. As they ran, they kept their eyes on the walls down by the water. The sun was starting to slide towards the horizon, but there could be no doubt that the Franks were the masters of the shoreline now. No counter-attack was going to push them back off the walls, Arnau felt certain. Moreover, their struggle to take as much wall as possible had now brought them to the Blachernae Gate. Any time now, the great imperial palace at the western edge of the city might fall to the Crusaders.

  Would they pause when night fell, or would they push on to take the city entire during the night?

  They reached the Blachernae breathless from their run, a mile and a half of nervous tension, first through charred remains and then finally through the untouched region of the city. They spoke not a word on the journey. Everything they might have said, they had either already done so, or felt loath to do. The Blachernae reared up like an ornate mausoleum now to Arnau’s eyes as they reached the gate and were admitted without question by the Warings on guard.

  Arnau sucked in a deep breath as they crossed the courtyard and made for the apartments they had called home for a year. He knew this confrontation was going to be difficult. Indeed, he could see no way to succeed in persuading Bochard, but they had to try. One last time, they had to try.

  As they reached the doorway that led in to their rooms, Arnau heard an alarm raised, disturbingly close. He paused, hand going to Ramon’s shoulder. ‘Listen.’

  ‘They’ve reached the Blachernae,’ the older knight confirmed. ‘They will assume the emperor is here, or at least men of import. They will want to secure this place before nightfall if nothing else. Come on.’

  Arnau followed Ramon through the door and up the stairs. The corridor that led to their rooms was short, but poorly lit by the sinking sun, and Arnau watched the shadows with nervous eyes, half expecting enemy assassins to leap from them. Bochard’s door was shut, but there were noises within, and the thin line of golden light showing from beneath was repeatedly interrupted by moving shadows.

  Arnau almost leaped out of his skin as their own door opened right next to his shoulder, and his hand went to the mace at his belt, ripping it free as he spun.

  Sebastian stood in their doorway. His face was grimy and forlorn. His mail shirt was flecked with dirt and drying blood and his left arm was now strapped tightly to his chest, the most basic of ministrations, likely all the beleaguered medics would have time for on a day like this. In his right hand, the young man held a mace much like Arnau’s, which had clearly seen much use.

  ‘Is it over?’ he asked in a ghost of a voice.

  ‘For us,’ Arnau said quietly. ‘We must leave. The city is being overrun, and the Blachernae is next.’

  ‘My people.’

  ‘They will fight on, though the cause be lost. It would appear that the courage of ancient Rome still runs in your people’s veins, Sebastian. But we must go before the city is lost. Will you come?’

  Sebastian looked lost for a moment, and Arnau felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. The boy had fled west and found sanctuary with the Order only to be brought all the way back to the land of his birth and made to watch it destroyed. Would it be better for him to forget the Order entirely and stay with the Byzantines, or to turn his back on this for good and return to the Order with them? It had to be the boy’s choice.

  He said nothing, but stepped out of the room to join them. Arnau slid his own mace back into his belt as Ramon hammered on the preceptor’s door.

  ‘What is it?’

  The older knight pushed the door open and stepped inside, followed by Arnau and Sebastian. Bochard was standing at a desk with a dozen small books laid open and bookmarked. His squire was busy wrapping up a bundle in the corner.

  ‘De Juelle,’ Bochard said with distaste. ‘I see you continue to disobey me at every turn and throw in your lot with heretics. I should have known better.’ His eyelid danced with a frantic speed that made his face hard to watch without one’s eyes watering. ‘You have been an impediment and an embarrassment since the day we arrived. Upon our return to Acre I will speak with the grand master and have you punished appropriately. You and Vallbona both. And this young man, too. He could have been a good Templar, true to the Order, until you two got your hooks into him.’

  The three men moved further into the room, Ramon squaring up to the preceptor.

  ‘Whatever you think is going to happen when the Franks come, Bochard, cast it aside. Unless your three friends happen to find you first, no one else is going to give you quarter. Already the Franks overrun the southern edge of the Blachernae. They will be in these rooms within the hour at the latest. We must go. For a year now, Vallbona and I have been telling you this, but the time has come. We can no longer tarry. Gather your things and prepare to leave.’

  ‘No, de Juelle.’

  ‘No relic can be worth this. Even your most holy lance. Staying will not mean you save it from harm. It just means that you and I will perish in this city alongside it. We have to go. Laskaris has secured us a boat. We have a means of escape, but we will not have it for long.’

  ‘No, de Juelle. The spear remains in the Mangana. I will not leave without it.’

  ‘Do not be a fool, Bochard. This is prideful behaviour, not piety. Not a display of Christian value but one of sin.’

  ‘Sin?’ Bochard snapped. ‘You have the audacity to lecture me on sin?’ He took two forceful steps forward towards the three of them. ‘You who come here to my rooms bedecked for war? You who come fresh from fighting for the honour of heretics who deny Holy Mother Church? You who wear upon you the blood and gore of Christian knights in flagrant contravention of our order’s most sacred rules? By God, de Juelle, I should not demand your punishment. I should demand your excommunication or even your death for what you have done. Have you any idea how this will be seen at the mother house? They are not as forgiving as I.’

  He turned to Sebastian then. ‘And this one! Did you truly corrupt an innocent young brother with your madness, or has he been a heathen hiding in plain sight all along? See how he brandishes in front of his preceptor a mace still covered in the brains of a knight of God. Appalling. Unacceptable!’

  His hand darted out and snatched the wavering mace from the distraught boy’s hand.

  ‘A weapon of the Devil, used against Christians.’ He stepped back. ‘No, I am not done here, de Juelle. What you do is your own affair, since you have shown scant regard for my command throug
hout our time here. If you truly cling to that cross you wear, then you will hold this place against any troublemakers until those Franks who hold the Order dear can reach us and guarantee the safety of both our persons and all I have achieved. If you flee, like a coward, you forfeit both your honour, such as it is, and the last claim you can make to serving the Order.’

  Arnau glanced at Ramon. The older brother was enduring the most dreadful inner struggle. Ramon felt the preceptor was wrong. He knew that leaving the city was the right thing to do, but to flatly refuse an order from Bochard would mean the end of his life as a Templar. Should Bochard survive, he would see them all stripped of their mantles and punished, perhaps terminally. Should he fall, they would be beholden to reveal all that had happened to the masters in Acre, for lying about it would only compound their sins. Ramon was caught in the most awful quandary.

  ‘You have two relics left to find?’

  Bochard shook his head. ‘Already the shroud of our precious Lord lies with these treasures, ready to move. Only the spear remains.’

  Ramon huffed. ‘The Mangana is on the acropolis headland at the other end of the city. Already the Franks and Venetians will be swarming up there, for as the high point and the political and religious heart of the city it will be vital for their control. There is next to no chance of any of us reaching the Mangana. It is a fool’s errand, Bochard. Can you not be content with what you have?’

  Bochard glared at him. ‘We must not fear the soldiers of Christ, for is that not precisely what we are, de Juelle? No, we shall remain.’ He spun to his left, his hand thrusting out, still holding Sebastian’s mace, using it to gesture to the stacked boxes in the corner of the room, where his squire was carefully wrapping something in linen. Something wet flicked off the mace and spattered across the squire’s shoulder and face. Hugues jumped in shock and revulsion and dropped his burden, recoiling.

  Something carefully folded and ancient tumbled from the wrappings and Sebastian, eyes wide, ran over to his fellow squire to help with his good arm.