by Dan Davis
“Surely not, sir,” I said, thinking him far too fearful.
Eva and Stephen exchanged a look and Stephen began scratching down notes. Walt leaned on the merlon and looked out at the landscape beyond, pointing down at the lower, outer walls and muttering something to Rob and Serban.
“Four hundred Turkish ships in the straits, so they are saying. Eighteen great warships, another twenty galleons and a score or more built only for transporting horses across the straits. They have made a fleet and made it for the sole purpose of contesting the Bosporus and for moving an army across the waters.”
Stephen stopped writing for a moment to stare, Serban crossed himself and Rob muttered a short prayer or an oath.
“Even so,” Stephen said, “the Venetians alone could defeat the Turks, could they not?”
“That is assuming more Venetians come than have already,” Michael said. “They are not a people to be trusted, as I am sure you know. They care only for gold, for making wealth. They are a people without honour.”
“They are Christians, sir,” I said. “They will come. All of Christendom will come.”
He scoffed openly. “An easy thing to say. Yet, where are they?”
Stephen answered. “Constantine has promised to heal the schism between the Roman and the Orthodox Church, has it not? And the agreement allows the Pope in Rome to be the lord of all Christians in the East.”
The soldier sucked air in through pursed lips. “Old Constantine has promised it, yes, and the leaders of the Church have agreed. But ordinary people will not have it. Mark me, sir, the people will not be subject to Rome.”
“They would rather be destroyed by the Mohammedans?” I said, irritated by his obstinacy, and that of his people.
“They would rather be free to worship as they believe in their hearts.”
“But if it is a choice of surviving or being destroyed, surely they can see they would be better off changing the form of their worship somewhat rather than seeing their sons murdered and their wives and daughters raped and sold into slavery.”
He shrugged. “They see it as subjugation also. But they believe the walls will save us. And God will save us. This is God’s city. He will not let it fall.”
I shook my head in disbelief, and Eva placed a hand on my arm.
“Who has come so far, sir?” Eva asked him, smiling pleasantly. “We have seen Venetian ships in the harbour and men of many nations in the city.”
His face flushed as he answered, annoyed at being addressed by a woman. Normally, she held her tongue amongst strangers but we were not in normal times. “Catalan mercenaries have been hired but silver was stripped from the churches to pay for them and the people are not happy. Not happy at all, madam. Some of the silver went on repairing the walls, at least, and few men complain about that. The Venetians, though, already lost ships to the great guns of the Rumelia Hisar fortress and so they are keeping clear of it until the battle is won. To that end they have sent us the ships you see, along with two transport ships now departed which was filled with Venetian soldiers.”
“So they have come,” I said. “In numbers.”
“A few hundred soldiers, perhaps. But will they stand or will they set sail when battle is joined?”
I had no answer for him. “Who else has come?”
“Cardinal Isidore arrived yesterday and his men are now disembarking. I believe he has brought hand-gunners and archers but a mere two hundred soldiers. In the streets, the people are rejoicing and saying that this is the vanguard of a vast army which comes even now to save us. After all, why not think this? The Pope could send tens of thousands but he demands Constantine publicly heal the schism first. Outrageous. I tell them that the Pope’s army is not coming but few have listened. Even my own family tell me to have faith. Ha!” He turned and spat over the wall, the wind catching it and sending it flying away horizontally. I guessed he had spent a lot of time up on that wall.
“And what of the Genoese? Is there word?”
“They say that they will come. But will they? They are almost as bad as the Venetians and perhaps they are even worse, for they occupy the Galata quarter, across from the Golden Horn, and many are saying that they must remain neutral if there is a battle. Neutral! Can you imagine it? Almost as bad as the Hungarians.” He eyed me, watching my reaction, for he knew that we had come from that very place and that my company had been in their employ.
I spoke lightly. “You have reason to hold the Hungarians in contempt, sir?”
He lifted his chin. “I do. We have had word back from this jumped up poor knight made Regent of Hungary, named Hunyadi. He lost the battle at Varna, the bloody fool. And now he sends word in reply to a request for aid from the Basileus himself. Do you know what he says to my lord?”
“I was the one who bore the letter,” I said.
Michael scowled. “So, you know. You know that your master Hunyadi says that he will only send soldiers here if we promise him land in Greece in return. Land that is not even in our possession now that the Turk has taken it! It is as if he has intended an insult. Is that what he intended, an insult to the Emperor?”
“I do not know.”
After leaving Vlad Dracula in the province of Transylvania, I had returned to Buda and asked Hunyadi how many men he was sending to protect Constantinople. He told me it had yet to be decided and that I was to wait. It soon became clear that the Hungarians were interested only in making the most of it as an opportunity to extract concessions from the Emperor. In truth, there was little he could give, for he had no territory, no men, and no money. He did have historical claims to certain territories and other rights and these were what Hunyadi asked for.
“So, you will not go?” I had asked Hunyadi. “Truly?”
“We may go, by land or by sea, but there must be the will of the council and the lords see Constantinople as a lost cause. We may bring them around yet, Richard. Have patience, sir.”
But I did not have patience and could not sit around waiting while the last bastion of Christianity in the East was at risk. And so I had begged that he allow my company to go, at least. When Hunyadi agreed, I had the distinct feeling that he did not expect to see me ever again. At least he had paid me and my men and had helped arrange our ship from Venice.
On the high, inner wall, I turned and looked in toward the city. Below me, protected by the ancient wall, was a huge plain dotted with fields and houses. In the distance, where the peninsular narrowed, I saw the massive dome of the Sancta Sophia and the other grand buildings with the sea around on all three sides. I had been there before, many times, and each time the venerable city had declined. It had become a collection of small villages, communes, dotted about, with the densest areas along the northern and southern walls and in the heart of the old city where the government administrators and merchants lived.
“What will Emperor Constantine do?” Stephen asked Michael.
“He has promised Hunyadi the land in Greece he has asked for. What else can he do? He has embraced humility and is willing to give all in order to save what is left. But these Christian kings think only of themselves. Do you know that Alfonso of Naples demands the island of Lemnos in return for sending his ships? As if it is not his duty to do so all the same.”
“I agree, it is madness,” I said. “But more men will come. I am sure of it. But how many men do you have in total?”
His face coloured and he looked out at the waters. “So far? Not eight thousand proper soldiers. More will come, yes. Yes. They have to.”
We exchanged looks. Eight thousand men to defend the greatest city in the world? It was ludicrous. It could not be done.
“What of the militia?”
He nodded. “Yes, we have thirty-five thousand militia under arms inside the walls. And they have been trained. But they are not soldiers, they are men with weapons.”
“Men defending their homes,” I pointed out. “Their families.”
“Yes,” he said, looking wistful.
“Of course,” he said, looking both offended and confused.
I thought it best to change the subject. “What of the walls? You are repairing and rebuilding certain sections, I see?”
The walls of the city were famous throughout the world. For a thousand years, they had helped keep the city safe. But they were old. Built for a time that was long gone.
Extending across the peninsula from the Sea of Marmara in the south to the Golden Horn in the north, they were four miles long and dotted with almost one hundred towers. The main, inner wall was forty feet high and the smaller outer one beyond it was thirty feet. Beyond that was an enormous moat sixty-five feet wide and thirty feet deep.
Where they reached the water in the north and south, the walls turned sharply and ran all the way around the peninsula so that the city was entirely encased in stone and brick, with battlements on top.
Repairs and additions had been made over the centuries, of course but there were few emplacements for cannon or firearms. Michael and his men escorted us along the top of the inner wall and showed us the sections they had repaired and other terraces where they had installed small cannons.
“What do you think?” I asked my men.
They were silent, looking in various directions.
“I think it is still a wonder of the world,” Stephen said. “Even after so many years of degeneration.”
“There are no defences like this anywhere else on earth,” Rob said. “The scale is… inhuman.”
“I think we were fools to come,” Walt said. “This place is doomed.”
“There is hope yet,” Rob said. “Think of the floating chain, with the massive buoys. It yet closes the Golden Horn, from the Acropolis Point to the sea wall of Galata. It is in place. It is functional. No assault can be made there.
“Stephen?” I prompted. “You saw it two hundred years ago, just as I did. It is much changed, is it not? The walls are still here, yes, but the people are so few. It is like the countryside in here, not a city.”
“And yet we must remember that this city has been besieged so many times, Richard, and almost always it has resisted. Look here, behind the walls. Yes, the people are fewer than they were. But we see vast fields under cultivation. Orchards. Livestock of all kinds being reared, sheep, pigs, even cows. Pasture for horses. They bring in great baskets onto the docks every morning, filled to bursting with fish caught just off the many harbours. There are cisterns all over the city storing more water than can be used. No siege can starve us out, that much is certain.”
Walt held his hand over his eyes. “But they ain’t going to settle in, are they, Stephen? You heard how many men the Turks are planning to bring here? That are already gathering beyond all four horizons.” He slapped a hand on the towering merlon beside him. “They mean to break through. Perhaps not these walls, perhaps instead by the sea ones there or there. But they mean to break us open. We should not have come here. Eight thousand proper soldiers, Richard. Look at this wall. Look beyond it. Imagine the plain filled to the horizon. How many will William and his pet Sultan bring here? A hundred thousand? Surely, knowing what we know, we must leave while we still can.”
I sighed and leaned on the top of the crenel, trying to imagine the army that Walt described.
“These walls have stood every assault,” I said. “Well, other than the madness of the crusade in my youth when the Christians of the West took the place by the power of deceit and confusion. But look how high they are. How broad. Of the hundred thousand they might bring, how many will be horsemen? What will horses do against this mighty fortress?”
For fortress it was, more than a mere wall. With its multiple layers, stairs, gates, tunnels, and towers, the word wall did not do it justice. It was a fortress complex, only one that was stretched across four miles.
“All they need do,” Walt said. “Is fill the moat with the bodies of their horses and climb over the walls. A hundred thousand against eight thousand? You ain’t thinking straight, Richard.”
“With the walls under our feet, we will even the odds.”
Eva sighed. “There is word that the Hungarian cannon maker named Urban has been casting guns for the Turks for months. Probably years.”
“Why is the bastard not making cannons for Hungary?” I asked, irritated.
“He was, and then he came here to do so. But the Emperor would not pay for the great cannons he wished to build, and they could not procure the metals and would not provide him men with the expertise. And somehow the Turks persuaded him to go to them.”
“So because of the weakness of our leaders, the enemy shall have the cannons that we should have,” I shook my head. “But surely there is not a cannon that has been made that could bring down these mighty walls.”
“Perhaps it has not been built yet,” Eva said. “But perhaps it shall be.”
I sighed. “William is bringing his Sultan here to destroy this city. It is our duty to stop him. We must stay. But our mortal company are not duty bound to do the same. I will speak to them and give them the opportunity to leave before it is too late.”
***
In December 1452, Constantine XI accepted that the only way he was going to get more men from Christendom was to go through with his promised union of the churches. And so a service was dedicated to the official union in the Santa Sophia, with all the heads of the Orthodox Church agreeing to end the schism with Rome.
The old soldier, Michael, had been right about the mood of the people, however, and that of the lower clergy. Immediately following the service of union, the city erupted into rioting as the furious people felt betrayed.
We stayed well out of it, of course, but it did not bode well. Instead of preparing for the fight of their lives, they were fighting each other. It was madness. It was as though they could not see what was coming.
Or perhaps they could.
Unseen beyond the walls, the Turks were busy. They reinforced Byzantine bridges and cut down Byzantine forests for timber.
All the men in my company had stayed with me and had not deserted. I called a meeting in order to give them a chance to leave with their honour intact and I did not lie to them about our chances.
“It does not look hopeful,” I said, looking over the sea of their faces.
We were crammed into the main chamber of a tavern near our quarters and every man had a cup of wine in his hand.
“What do you mean, my lord?” Claudin called out. “We not getting paid?”
I rubbed my eyes and sighed. “We will not get paid, Claudin, because we will all be dead.” That jolted them and they muttered unhappily.
“Is it truly so bad?” Jan the Czech asked. “There is no hope?”
The muttering died down as they waited for my answer.
“We are certain to be vastly outnumbered. The Turks are crossing the straits and massing to the west. We were expecting more soldiers to come. Many more.”
“Perhaps they will yet come here,” Garcia said. “Perhaps there are tens of thousands of soldiers on their way in this moment.”
“It may be so. Yet, it seems unlikely they will be here before the Turks close the trap.”
“So there is hope?” Claudin said, gesturing so vigorously with his cup of wine that he splashed it on himself. “Hope that help may come?”
“I am giving you all a chance to leave,” I said. “The Emperor has forbidden it but I have spoken to a merchant captain who is willing to take any and all of us in his ships, for a price I have agreed per head.”
They fell silent.
“What will you do, my lord?” Jan asked.
“I am staying. Black Walter, Robert, Stephen, and Eva are all staying, as are our servants. But I will not hold you to your contracts. You came here to save this city in the name of God, not to die here in a battle we could never win. I will pay each of you your due before you depart.”
Again, they fell silent. Some looked at each other, whil
e others looked at the floor or the ceiling above. Outside, a seabird screeched overhead.
“God knows, I do not favour their Church,” Jan said. “But I came here to fight for Christ against the heathens. If I run now, I could not be at peace with myself for the rest of my days.”
Heads around the room nodded.
“I had a feeling I would die here,” Garcia said. “So be it.”
Claudin raised a hand. “Could we get our coin paid out now anyway, Richard? If I am to die, I think I will spend my last days drunk as a lord in the brothel house by the Gate of the Neorion.”
Not one of them chose to leave. I was touched beyond words but also filled with sadness. It seemed likely they would all die.
Soon after, the first Turkish troops arrived on the horizon and began clearing trees, bushes, and vineyards so that their cannons would have a clear shot at the walls, and so that their horsemen could roam quickly across the peninsula.
Turks set up camps and began digging trenches, banks, and other groundworks. It was early spring 1453 when they brought their massive guns up and systematically took the last remaining fortresses outside the walls.
At the start of April, the great chain was drawn across the Golden Horn, closing it off to ships.
Before the chain was drawn, however, a Genoese captain named Giovanni Giustiniani Longo sailed into the Golden Horn with two enormous war galleys and seven hundred excellent troops. The soldiers were young and enthusiastic and it raised the spirits of all inside the walls to see them. I half hoped that it presaged a sudden deluge of Christian soldiers but in fact, Longo and his men were the last to arrive.
Longo was well known as an expert in siege warfare and his fame was such that he was swiftly given the rank of protostrator, made overall commander of all forces in Constantinople, and gifted the island of Lemnos for payment. It was a token, of course, for he would have to save the city in order to take possession of it and perhaps it spoke of Emperor Constantine’s desperation more than anything. But Longo seemed a sharp and capable man who knew his business. He treated me with respect and gratitude and gave me clear instructions about what he expected from my company. I liked him.
