The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set 2

by Dan Davis

  “What do we do now?” Stephen asked behind me.

  “We wait.”

  The great guns sounded again, in another timed and almighty barrage that shook the walls over miles at once. As the echoes died away, thousands of Anatolian soldiers came charging out of the rain, attacking the breaches by our position at the Saint Romanus Gate.

  All the breaches made by their guns were too high and too narrow for them to walk through but still they tried. The Anatolians were armoured in mail and lamellar and good, steel helms. They crossed the moat and attacked the lower, outer wall and attacked our soldiers there. Longo ordered militia units forward to reinforce those positions.

  “Should we help?” Rob asked.

  “We keep our men back for as long as possible,” I said, and pointed at the breach in the inner wall and the fan-shaped hill of rubble that lead up to the broken top of the breach. “When the Turks come charging down that slope, we will stop them. Not before. Tell the men.”

  When the Anatolians retreated, our men cheered for a long time but there was sense of dread settling on the defenders. We were already exhausted by the struggle and yet the Turks had used only a fraction of their strength. Still, we had killed thousands of them and lost few ourselves.

  After the Anatolians retreated, we received yet another bombardment and a hit by the Basilisk brought down a massive section of wall at the breach, throwing up an enormous cloud of white dust and sending chunks of masonry and brick flying in all directions. When the dust settled, we realised that the walls were now beginning to crumble with almost every shot and I am sure the dread spread further.

  Beyond the walls, the enemy’s war drums started again and their horns sounded.

  “Here they come again,” Walt said, before raising his voice and turning to my company. “Here they come again. Prepare yourselves.”

  The Anatolians came back to assault the breaches in their thousands, swarming the outer walls. Our gunners shot down from the inner walls above us and the elite crossbow units shot and reloaded and shot again, with incredible speed. In every moment, I expected to see the helms of the enemy appearing at the top of the breach.

  And yet we threw them back again. Banners were waved and the men cheered their victory. The wounded and the dead were carried back from the walls and filed past us, heading east toward the rear.

  “Jesus Christ, there’s a lot of them,” Walt muttered, crossing himself.

  Riders came galloping in from the north, drenched and covered in mud kicked up by their horses, calling for Longo and other commanders.

  I caught Pere Julia, the commander of the Catalans, and asked him what the panic was.

  “They assault the Blanchernae Walls also, in force, and threaten to break through. Just Minotto and the Venetians there to stop them.”

  “Is that where your men are going?” I asked him.

  “No,” Pere Julia said. “I am ordered to defend the imperial family and the great and the good in the southeast.”

  “You what?” I said. “Why?”

  “The Turks are making an attack also on the Contoscalion Harbour. If they break through the walls there, we must stop them.”

  “Then God be with you. All of you.”

  “And with you,” he said. I watched him ride away with his men following through the rain. It was a long way and when they got there, they would be on their own and at the opposite side of the city from the ships that might take survivors away.

  “Shall I take some of our men north to the Blanchernae, Richard?” Rob asked. “Sounds like it’s in danger.”

  “Everywhere is in danger. And we must stay together. It is for others to guard that way. All we can do is protect this breach. This is where the hammer blows are falling. Here is where the Basilisk has done its work. The Sultan’s flag is flying behind it. Here is where we must be.”

  Later, we had word that the assault in the north was thrown back by the Venetians. Indeed, it had been a long day but we could sense it coming to an end. And we were still standing. There was fight left in the men, whether militia or professional soldiers, and despite the breaches, we had slaughtered thousands of the enemies who had attacked us. We had a sense now that it could be done after all. The Turks had thrown their worst at us and we had done what was necessary, and more. I saw Longo congratulating his men and drinking wine with them.

  But the Sultan had not thrown everything he had at us. There was one part of his army that had yet to engage.

  “Janissaries!” came the cry from atop the wall. Trumpets sounded and men jumped to their positions, racing back up to the tops of the walls. Our cannons fired again and again.

  “Wait here,” I said to my men and went forward toward the wall, pushing my way through the crowds. I was one of the few men dressed entirely in plate armour so they tended to let me through and so I stood at the top, looking out through the crenellations at the scene beyond.

  Thousands of Janissaries advanced from their defensive ditches. They came marching in tighter formations than I had seen from any infantry in my life until that point. Our hand-gunners fired from the walls and brought down the advancing Janissaries in their dozens but sill they came on without hesitation and without breaking formation. Arrows rained down on them, killing more and their lines became wavered. Still, they reached the filled in sections of moat and the half-burned pontoons and rafts and crossed without hesitation to the lower outer wall, where they threw up ladders.

  Our soldiers on the wall below stood ready to meet them either side of the great breach that led through the outer wall to the inner one.

  “Those bastards,” Walt said.

  “I told you to wait below,” I said, turning to see not only Walt but Rob and Eva, also. “All of you.”

  The Janissaries reached the breach, as we had known they would, and cut into the militia, spreading out even as they were shot and killed by the men in the towers and on the inner wall. On they came, relentlessly, as if they cared nothing for their own lives.

  “Our lads are getting nervous,” Walt said, nodding to the Greeks along the wall. I saw at once how right Walt was. The men were inching back, afraid of the assault. In no time, they would find false reasons to escape from the wall in ones and twos and then they would be in full flight.

  “We will hold them,” I shouted. “They are no better than us. They are weaker than us. We have the walls!” I turned to my men. “Take up the cry, lads. Spread the word.” I raised my voice again and called in Greek as loudly as I could. “We have God on our side. We have the walls. We have Constantinople! Constantine! Constantine! For the Emperor!”

  They took up the cry in time, and it spread along the wall until they were cheering themselves. The crossbowmen were a steady lot who took immense pride in their skill and they worked tirelessly. The soldiers with their halberds came forward and climbed down in their hundreds and fought the Janissaries hand to hand in the breach. Bodies tumbled down into the gulf between the walls. The white mounds of rubble turned pink with blood even with the rain turning it to rivers and washing it down. It was brutal, bloody work. Bodies piled up. Guns were fired from both sides and the air stank of filthy smoke and blood and entrails.

  We threw them back. The Janissaries cowered below the outer wall, afraid of attempting the breach again and they began falling back in pairs and then in dozens, trudging back toward their trenches beyond the moat.

  The day was almost over and the enemy were in retreat. Some of the men indulged once more in congratulatory cheering.

  “They did it,” Walt said, chuckling. “God love them, the mad bastards, they did it.”

  “They will have to do it all over in a few days,” I said. “And again a few days after that. Assuming the Turks did not break through today along the Marmara wall in the south.”

  Walt laughed and slapped me on the shoulder, splashing droplets of rain. “You know your problem, Richard, is you’re never—”

  “Wait,” Rob said, grasping Walt with one
hand and jabbing his stump out at the field, “there!”

  From the smoke and the rain advanced a new formation of Janissaries.

  These were clothed in red.

  “William’s immortals,” I said.

  “By God,” Eva said. “How can we stop them?”

  I cried for all guns to be turned on the advancing Janissaries, and all cannons too. Bring back the crossbowmen, I shouted. Return to the walls.

  But this next wave of attackers had caught us by surprise. Only two cannons fired, and one missed. The other ball cut a small swathe through the corner of the formation, felling no more than half a dozen, and the rest missed not a step. Crossbowman shot their bolts but they were running low and replacements had not reached us. A few hand-gunners fired but again their ammunition or gunpowder was wet or had been expended and more was not yet in place.

  “They are coming on fast,” Rob said and he was right. William’s red Janissaries crossed the moat and swarmed up the outer wall and spread out along it like a drop of blood falling into a bowl of water.

  “We will have to hold them at the inner breach,” I said to my men. “We cannot let them inside. You know who they are and what they can do. We cannot let them inside. Come, back to the company. Come, now.”

  Before I followed my men down the stairs, I turned for one last look at the immortal Janissaries. They breached the outer barricades and rushed forward in a surge, swarming up and over them. Our soldiers came on to meet them and raised their spears and swords and axes but were cut down in moments by the Janissaries’ inhuman speed and strength. Our defenders were exhausted and their enemies were faster than they could imagine and they stood no hope.

  Even so, they did not break. They knew that if the enemy broke into the city, all was lost. And so they stayed and they died in their hundreds.

  “Richard!” Rob shouted from below. “Come on!”

  “What is this?” a captain on the wall shouted to his men. “What are they?”

  “Whatever they are,” I said, “they will not break. Will not flee. They must be killed.”

  “How?”

  “One by one,” I said. “A score of ours for one of theirs. It is the only way.” I rushed down the steps as quickly as I could and ran across the open space by the breach. I saw Longo approaching the wall with his men around him and hoped that they would stand and fight with us. “This is it, men! Now, we do our duty. For Constantine! For the city! For Christ! Deus vult!”

  My men lifted their weapons and roared in response.

  “Deus vult!”

  The red robed immortals appeared at the top of the breach and began to descend the rubble pile into the city. Above on the wall, the Greeks shot down into the advancing men, no doubt stunned by the speed of this new enemy, and their resistance to arrow and lead. I led my company forward up the loose rubble to meet the enemy, pushing through the ranks of Greek soldiers who held back, no doubt in shock at the ferocity of the approaching red tide.

  Suddenly, they were there. With their long red, felt hats and red robes, they were big and powerful men with polearms and swords whipping up and down and thrusting forward. I caught the first one unawares as he descended, spearing my sword point into his face. Still, he fought even as he died and the axe blade of his polearm banged against my breastplate. More came behind him, cutting down the mortal Greeks with ease and stepping forward.

  But my men had arrived and spread out along the rubble to stem the rising tide. A part of me wondered if they were surprised to find enemies who fought as well as they did. Better, in fact, for my closest companions had fought more than a hundred battles and lived more than a hundred years and our armour was the best that could be bought and the Janissaries’ weapons glanced off when they struck. The rest of my company were as good as could be found anywhere, with decades of experience between them and now they fought with the strength and speed of immortals.

  In mere moments, a dozen immortal Janissaries soon lay dead before us, and then a score more. My company cut into them like a scythe, cutting down a field of red wheat.

  But we were outnumbered ten to one and my company was swarmed on all sides. They got around our flank and there was nothing we could do to stop them.

  “Stay together!” I shouted and cut down the Janissaries in front of me. “Stay together!”

  Suddenly, the immortal Janissaries simply pulled back from us. They retreated and avoided our position, like water moving around a rock in a stream, and they pressed on around us into the city.

  “With me!” I shouted, and pushed on up the rubble slope to where more came up over the top of the breach. If we could stem the gap, we could cut them off and stop any more mortal Turks from coming in behind them. As I pushed deeper into their ranks they could not so easily get away from me and I cut down all those who stood before me, slicing through their necks and chopping through their faces.

  Walt grabbed my shoulder, leaned in and banged his helm against mine and held it there while he shouted. “They have gained the wall!”

  I followed the line of his axe and saw dozens of red Janissaries swarming up the breach to the shattered tops of the wall on either side of it where they cut down the men at the top.

  “We must throw them down,” I shouted.

  But now we were close to the top of the breach, we were surrounded by immortals trying to kill us and for a time all I could do was defend from the men all around. Men in my company fell, overwhelmed by the numbers. Still, we held them close to the top until the pressure was relieved. Once again, the Janissaries pulled back and left us alone, refusing to engage with us.

  “William must have taught them this,” I said, cursing his cunning. “We make for the wall!” I called to my men, turning to see who was still alive.

  With shock, I saw that most of my company were gone. Many had been cut down behind me and lay dead on the rubble and others had been carried off down to the base of the rubble hill by the waves of immortals pushing forward. The ones who yet lived, half my company, perhaps, fought the enemy on both sides and behind us. I swore and cursed but nothing could be done. If the Janissaries took the wall then they would take the gate and if they opened it and held it, then all the Turks in Europe would pour through and end the city forever.

  “On!” I shouted to my remaining men. “On, on! To the walls!”

  I pressed through into the immortals that still came on, cutting down one man and then another. Hands grasped me and I cut off a hand and then sliced through a throat, spilling hot blood. I longed to drink mortal blood, longed for the strength it would bring. We slowed, as the press of men grew dense at the breach itself. Mortal Janissaries had joined the fray and they poured over the breach in their hundreds, mingling with their red brothers who yet fought. The mighty wall was right above me. How I would climb it with so many enemies around, I had no idea. I knew only that it must be done.

  A great cry went up and I glanced up, seeing through my helm a quick glance in the smoky, wet gloom. It was Longo’s personal banner, up on the top of the wall above the gate, advancing toward the Janissaries there.

  Praise God, I thought. Well done, Longo.

  He had seen the danger and thrown himself into it, to inspire his men by his personal leadership.

  It was a view gone in a moment, as the enemy crashed into me again with such force that I was lifted from my feet and thrown down onto my back, tumbling down the pile of masonry. Blades whipped down even as I fell, seeking to end me. I slashed at them and rolled to get up, grabbing at a Janissary and pulling him down. Together we slipped in the loose, wet scree. My sword was pulled from my grasp and I raised my armoured arms over my head as I got to one knee, feeling my armour bend and break from the blows that crashed down on me. Standing, I grabbed a spear and ripped it from my attacker’s hands and used it to fend them off, whirling it around until I broke the shaft across a Janissary’s face.

  There was a great commotion all around but I did not know what was causing it, whether
it was to do with me and my men or with the battle elsewhere.

  And then suddenly the enemies rushed beyond me. I saw that I was close to the ground once more, having fallen down forty feet of the slope. My men rushed toward me, sliding and falling down.

  I wheeled about, peering through the dented eye slits of my skewed helm to see what was happening.

  A mighty hand clapped me on the back, in a familiar way, and then Walt was before me, his helm gone and blood streaming down both sides of his head. Eva, Stephen, and Rob were there also and a mere dozen of my company. All around us were bodies, Greek soldiers and Janissaries in red and in white, many writhing and crying out.

  Beyond them, our army fled from the wall.

  Thousands of soldiers and militia walked or ran or rode away from the wall toward the distant city.

  “What in the name of God has happened?” I shouted.

  Walt spat a mouthful of blood before he answered. “Longo fell. His damned fool men lowered his banner and carried him off.”

  I looked at the wall and the Turk’s banners were held aloft by Janissaries atop the gate towers. The enormous gates themselves were being prised open.

  “Pull back to the city?” Rob said. “Fight them in the streets?”

  “We must flee from here!” Eva shouted at me. “Now!”

  Beyond the breach and through the rain and by the last of the daylight, I saw thousands of infantry and horsemen approaching.

  “The city is lost,” I said, turning to the survivors of my company. “We must escape.”

  6. Escape

  1453

  The protostrator Giovanni Giustiniani Longo had not been killed outright, merely wounded by a gunner’s shot. If his men had only withdrawn him a little way and held the line, perhaps we would have thrown them back. Perhaps we would have held the wall, and so held the gate, and so held the city. Perhaps Constantinople would be Byzantine to this day, if only the handful of men around him had chosen differently. If only they had loved their captain a little less.