by Dan Davis
The docks were chaos. Thousands of people swarmed there, looking for a way out. Some were Greek residents, some merchants and workers, others were foreign soldiers or their servants.
Of all the thousands of soldiers left alive, most of the militia had returned to protect their homes and their families. It would do them no good. They would be overwhelmed and killed, their homes looted, their wives and daughters raped, and the survivors taken as slaves. But the foreign soldiers had to either fight to the death, surrender, or flee. And they had nowhere to go but home and they were the ones fighting each other for access to the ships in the harbour. The many gates had been forced open and crowds pushed and shoved through, shouting and wailing at each other. Others called for calm but the panic could not be contained.
“There is an entire army here,” Rob said. “If these fools had stood, the city would not have fallen.”
“Why don’t you explain that to them,” Walt said. “I’m certain they would welcome your observations, sir.”
“Come on, let us stay together,” I said. “Tight together, everyone. Hold on to each other, protect our mortals. Rob, take up the rear, will you? See we do not lose any of our fellows in the crush.”
Using our strength, we pushed through protesting soldiers and batted down any outraged hands who attempted to hinder us. We were armoured in steel and had immense strength and so we were irresistible. Salvation lay beyond in the water and I would not stop for anyone, even if he was a desperate Christian soldier looking to make his way home. The noise of the crowd filled my ears.
Pushing through the Neorion Gate, we came out to the docks ringing the harbour where a dozen ships were moored. The Golden Horn glittered in the light of dusk and the lights on the hundreds of ships on the water. Far to my left was the Turkish fleet, many of which assaulted the walls. In front, across the Horn, lay the Genoese town of Galata. Ships and small boats headed straight across the Horn toward it, while others came from there to the harbours to collect refugees and take them to relative safety.
Most of the moored ships around the harbour before me were taking on scores of desperate people and those would be no good for us. But one galley further up the arm of the harbour was defended by sailors with pikes who fended off those attempting to swarm the pontoon and board the ship.
“Venetian,” I said to my men. “Do you see it? We shall make our way there.”
“How?” Stephen asked. He was keeping very close to me at all times, which was sensible but irritating. I ignored him.
“With me, men, with me! Stay fast together, come on!”
I pushed forward through the crowd, drawing irate curses. When they saw that we were foreign mercenaries, some flinched away in fear and space opened around us so that we advanced swiftly. Some of those same people cursed us for abandoning our posts and betraying the city. That they were doing the very same thing perhaps had not occurred to them. In no time, I approached the galley I was aiming for. In front of me, an Italian man shouted at the sailors to let them on, shaking his fist at them. He had lost his helm but was otherwise very well armoured.
“What are they waiting for?” I asked the armoured man.
“We are Venetians,” he replied. “They must take us, they must.”
I grabbed him. “Why do they not?”
He sneered. “They wait for the Catalans. Bastard sailors care only about money.” He raised his voice again. “We are your countrymen. We serve Cardinal Isidore! We are your brothers, you dirty bastards!”
“Come on,” I said to my men and pushed through the angry men.
“Keep back,” a Venetian sailor shouted at me in Italian. “Keep back, I say.”
“We come from the Catalans,” I said. “We come with a message.”
“Lies!” the man next to me shouted. “He lies!”
I elbowed him in the face and he dropped down in a clatter of steel, out cold.
“I will give you their message, sir,” I shouted. “I will give you the message from my friend, the Catalan commander Pere Julia, and then I shall go.”
“Just you,” their commander said, pointing to me.
I pushed forward with my hands up and palms open, slipping through the points of the spears they brandished.
“I was with the Catalans,” I said to the man. “They were cut off at the Great Palace when the Turks broke through. The Catalans are certainly cut off and surrounded. None shall escape. None shall come here.”
He scowled. “You lie.”
“I do not. Besides, the Turks are through the walls at the Saint Romanus Gate which they held. They are likely within the city already.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and the Venetian’s eyes looked at the walls behind me. “At any moment, you shall see the enemy attacking the rear of this mob and then your ship will be swarmed and you will not leave at all.”
He nodded and glanced at me, sneering. “So you are telling me to flee. Without my payment. Without my protection, should the ship be boarded.”
I looked him in the eyes. “I will pay. I will bring my men. A score of knights, just as many squires, and as many servants again. But we must be gone before it is too late to do so.”
He scoffed. “You will pay? What will you pay for your sixty men? I am awaiting the payment of five hundred Catalan mercenaries.”
I turned and called to Stephen. “Let my man there in the Italian armour come forward and offer you our gold.”
The commander nodded to his men and Stephen stepped up and pulled a heavy purse from his belt. With an unhappy look, he passed it over.
“All ecus,” I said. “All gold.”
He hefted it and was impressed, though he attempted to hide it. “Hardly what I am due.”
“You will not get what you are due. The Catalans are dead or captured, I swear it to Christ. If not by now then certainly by morning. If you do not wish to take us, please return my gold and I shall seek another vessel. I see dozens ferrying men across to Galata. The Genoese know a good deal when they see one.”
He snorted at my jibe as he hefted the bag. “Your men only. A score of knights you say?”
“Twenty-three soldiers and their squires, all experienced fighters, and those that serve us must come also.”
With a last look at the crowds and the gate beyond, the Venetian nodded and took my hand. “My name is Alvise Diedo.”
“Richard Ashbury.”
“Get your companions onboard, Englishman.”
We boarded quickly as the men on the dockside cursed and damned us all. Once we were through and onto the ship, they began to push off while men rowed us out onto the black waters of the harbour toward the fleet in the Golden Horn. The desperate soldiers on the dock surged forward and grabbed for the sides of the galley as it departed. Some were fended off by the sailors, falling into the lapping water.
“You said you had five hundred Catalans,” I said to the master as we watched the scene in silence. “This boat would not hold even one hundred packed to the gills.”
“That is my ship also,” he said, pointing to a great three-masted cog out on the water, with a high sterncastle and forecastle. “And two more, beyond.”
Silently, I thanked God.
“Was it true?” the master asked. “What you said about the Catalans?”
“I wish it were not,” I said. “Pere Julia is a good man.”
“They are all good men.” He sighed, looking me up and down. “You were at the walls?”
“I was.”
“They say the Emperor is dead. Did you see it?”
“I heard it also but I did not see. I believe he fled southward along the wall. Later, word spread as we ran that he had fallen. Whether it is true, I cannot say.”
The master grunted. “Small fleet of Genoese ships by the Golden Gate at the south, leading into the Sea of Marmara. Going for them, I would wager. Should have stood and died for his city. What of Longo?”
“Wounded. His men drew him back and it caused the rout. He was alive l
ong enough to order a full retreat, I heard the trumpets sound. Or perhaps one of his men gave the order. His men were taking him to a ship but we went on separate roads and I do not know where they went.”
The master shook his head as he gazed back at the dark city. “She has fallen, then. She has truly fallen.”
His eyes glittered with tears.
“How shall you break through the Turkish fleet?” I asked him. “And before that, the great chain?”
“Word was that the Genoese in Galata would pull in the chain but it has not happened yet. I doubt the useless bastards shall do it, fearful as they are of breaking their oaths of neutrality. But if they do it, we shall be ready for the Turks. Their ships are weak, they cannot sail.”
“I heard they hired Christian crews.”
He smiled a little. “But we are Venetian.”
We were transferred to the great cog, with its slab sides and square sails on the masts. Many of the Greek lords had sailed or were sailing across to Galata but everyone knew they could not stay there. The Genoese might have sworn to remain neutral but they had sent men to the defence of the walls and they were assisting in the evacuation of the city and so they would soon surrender to the Turks or have their gates broken and their people slaughtered. Through the swarming ships of all sizes in the Horn, word was passed that Longo had indeed survived and he was on one of the ships. Though he had failed in his duty, he was still loved by the Genoese, the Venetians, and the Greeks, and they were pleased to find he yet lived.
“I know you are all tired,” I said to my men as we bobbed at anchor. They lay in heaps, half tangled with each other, on the deck of the cog, relieved to be away but afraid of what might come. “And we will take what rest and sustenance we can. But we must be prepared to fight once more. When the ship sails, we shall keep well away from the crew and we will not obstruct them in their work. But if a Turkish ship attempts to board us, we must be ready to repel them. Do you understand?”
They did and I left them to rest.
“I’d rather have died on my feet,” Walt muttered beside me as we looked out at the burning city. “Than get sunk out here and drown beneath the waves.”
Drowning was a great fear of my own but a leader must show confidence at such times. “We must have faith in our Venetian friends. They are the masters of these waves.”
“If you say so.”
The night drew on and the fleet signalled to each other by lamps and by whistles, bells, and trumpets and by shouting across the waters. Small boats were rowed between ships and gradually, some sort of plan was agreed upon. The darkness made it hard to see what was happening but soon our ship was underway. To the east, the great chain was broken by Genoese ships and in several groups the fleet of Christian survivors sailed out toward the Turks beyond the Horn.
There were hundreds of us, and the Venetian master had not been lying when he said their skill outweighed that of the enemy. Some of our ships fell to enemy assault. Arrows flew and guns fired, flashing and banging in the night. Men were killed and ships boarded, even sunk in collisions. My men were called to arm themselves and to stand ready many times through the night but the enemy ships were always avoided before they could close with us.
We made it through the strait and south into the Sea of Marmara, and from there we forced our way through the Dardanelles into the Aegean. Once there, we had days out away from the coast and our small fleet aimed for Greece and the few free Venetian port cities that the Turks had allowed them to keep when they took Greece.
We spoke little during the journey. Even of what would happen next. The fighting had been hard enough but the defeat was far harder to bear.
The city was sacked for three days. Some quarters resisted the Turks for a time before surrendering but the Catalan mercenaries fought to the last man. The Turks looted homes but focused of course on the churches and monasteries, desecrating them with their heathenry and stealing their wealth. Constantinople was looted on a massive scale. The richest lords of the city and their families sought sanctuary in the Santa Sofia, hoping that the sanctity of that greatest of churches would save them. Instead, the vile Turks broke down the doors, raped the women on the floor of the holy church, and dragged the survivors off to be ransomed or sold into slavery or defiled until death.
Later, Mehmed rode into the city and into the Santa Sophia where he had the building converted into a mosque and held afternoon prayers that very day.
That was the Turkish way. They had stolen everything from the Byzantines by force. Stolen her cities and her towns, her fields and orchards. Stolen her sons for their Janissaries. And now they had stolen the most beautiful, the most magnificent building on earth and defiled it by worshipping their false god within.
Genoese Galata surrendered. The terms were negotiated by William himself, no doubt because he spoke the language so well. The thought of William’s red Janissary regiment forcing their way through the walls and into the city turned my stomach every time I recalled it. The fact that William had not fought alongside them enraged me further, but I did not know why.
In return for winning him the city, Sultan Mehmed made William his official Grand Vizier, the second most powerful man in the Turkish Empire.
“What now?” Eva finally asked me, days later as we approached Negroponte, on Euboea.
“What will William do?” Stephen said, when I did not answer. “Where will he strike next?”
“Where else is left now for him to conquer but to the north?” I replied, finally. “Whether he strikes at Serbia, Wallachia, Moldavia, Hungary, the line must be held.”
“But how can we stop William?” Stephen said. “How can we stop his Janissaries?”
“You urged me for so long to build a great company of immortals but I resisted. For good reasons, I thought. And then we made our Company of Saint George into members of the Order of the White Dagger. I had hoped it would be enough.”
“We know now that we need more,” Stephen said. “More than two score. We need as many as William has. Five hundred at the least.”
“And yet the problem remains. How can we find and support and supply so many? Already, I worry about the men we have.”
He nodded, warily. “We would have to trust the men completely. We would need enormous amounts of mortal blood. And it would need to be done in secret, lest we are challenged, declared enemies, outlaws, expelled from Christendom.”
“All great challenges that must be overcome,” I said. “I see it now, with my eyes clear and open. Because the only way we will ever stop William from conquering all of Christendom is with our own army of immortals.”
7. Wallachia
1456
Of course, creating an army of immortals was more easily said than done. It was a clear goal but how we could accomplish such a thing was far from resolved.
It took months to make our way back to Hungary in safety, first by sea and then by land.
In Buda, the court was subdued and focused on internal issues. When we told our friends and contacts, whether merchants or knights, that we had been in Constantinople for the siege, few seemed interested in discussing it further. It was a matter that people already seemed to believe best forgotten, even though the implications were enormous. It was as though they could deny it had ever happened, if only it was never spoken of.
The Turks continued to reinforce the frontier. And all the Christian lands under Turkish authority continued to be subjected to the devshirme, the Blood Tax. Hunyadi had a report compiled by a group of monks who believed that fifteen or twenty-thousand Christian boys were being incorporated into the Janissaries every single year. Twenty thousand of our strongest boys, every year, taken as slaves and used against us. That says nothing of slaves taken from the Rus and other people of the north by the Golden Horde.
Our Albanian warlord Skanderbeg made a swift and secret visit to his allies in Naples to discuss the strategic implications of the loss of Constantinople and discussions were begun regarding a
new crusade to retake the city. We long held out hope, for all of the years 1454, and 1455, but it came to nothing. In the meantime, I trained the survivors of our company and we sought new armour and weapons and supplies. Hunyadi was glad enough at my return to fund us once more so that we would be on hand, though he did not have much use for us. Still, we took the opportunity to regain our strength and improve our skill. The new immortals delighted in their new abilities and they gave me little trouble.
Eva and Stephen re-established contact with their agents and brought many to our company’s house to provide regular reports of enemy activity.
By 1456, the Sultan had about ninety thousand soldiers in Edirne and a fleet of sixty ships at the mouth of the Danube. Agents provided word that the Turks were producing cannons in new foundries in Serbia, which would save them the time and effort needed to bring them up from Greece or Anatolia.
It became ever clearer the Turks meant to take Belgrade.
Swiftly, Vladislaus II the Voivode of Wallachia turned even further toward the Turks and was said to be making ever more promises to the Sultan. If Wallachia could not be brought to heel then it would soon fall, perhaps without a fight. More immediate a problem though was that Vladislaus had begun raiding across southern Transylvania with Turkish soldiers. This raiding tied down thousands of Hunyadi’s best men who were guarding against this new Wallachian assault.
“But I need those men,” Hunyadi said, after summoning me to his private chambers. I knew that it meant he had finally found a use for me and my company. “I need them for the defence of Belgrade. It is there that the Sultan’s hammer blow will fall next.”
“Why not remove Vladislaus now?” I asked. “You have known it needed to be done for a long time. But it cannot wait any further.”
“You are more right than you know. Vladislaus has stirred up the people of Faragas, encouraged them into a full rebellion against me. Against Hungary. They sent word that they are no longer my vassals but the vassals of Sultan Mehmed. This means they will throw themselves into the arms of the Turks when they arrive and so already we have a Transylvanian town lost to us and gained by the enemy. We cannot allow them to do this.”
