Constantinopolis Page 12

  The sea chain which was visible across the entire straight of the Horn was connected to a series of wooden booms. No ship could pass the chain when it was intact, but the weakness of the chain was the booms themselves. If his fleet could get close enough, then Mehmet’s men could climb onto the booms, hack them apart, and then they would be within the horn itself. If they could break into the horn and destroy Constantine’s navy, they would be able to attack the vulnerable inner harbors of the Horn, and potentially take the city immediately. They just needed a few minutes against the chain to be successful. That would mean neutralizing the Greek fleet, which seemed to Mehmet a simple task, as it appeared to be pitifully small.

  As the fleet moved slowly toward the chain Mehmet could see a number of these Greek ships leaving the two interior harbors and floating out toward the chain as well. They had a fairly strong backwind and with sails were moving very quickly. He realized with displeasure that they would arrive at the chains first. No matter, there were only ten or so, against his hundreds.

  The Greek ships floated out quickly, aided by both oar and sail power. They arrived swiftly at the chain and spread out, adjusting their sales and floating a few yards away from the chain. He was surprised by the speed of the Greek fleet and also the obvious skill with which the ships were handled, but ten could not stand up to two hundred. Mehmet watched anxiously as the minutes passed and the first Turkish ships arrived to challenge the chain. Soon they would be up against the booms and in range of the Greek ships.

  He was shocked to see streams of fire exploding from several of the Greek ships and in moments the first Turkish vessels were engulfed in flames. This sight was the famous “Greek Fire,” a petroleum-based and pressurized fire that could be shot from a tube. The fire could be directed at a distance and would quickly engulf any wooden ship, killing or badly wounding anyone who was exposed.

  The Greek fire had a devastating effect on the lead ships. Sailors writhed in the fire, jumping overboard into the water. One ship crashed into the chain and then drifted off toward Constantinople, unfortunately failing to set a wooden boom on fire as it smashed alongside.

  Mehmet’s fleet tacked sharply to the port side toward the city as more Greek ships shot the fire at them. Several more were hit and caught fire but the others had turned quickly enough and were out of range. The maneuver had been swiftly executed and no doubt protected the fleet but also meant the ships were not able to attack the sea chain.

  The Sultan was furious. Why were these cowards floating away? So a few ships were burned? So what if they lost half the ships and all the men? He had more men. He needed this sea chain down. He needed access to the Horn. Why was he surrounded by fools and cowards? He screamed out at the ships, ordering them to turn around and attack. The fleet was traveling away from him and was out of earshot. If they returned without any further attempt, he promised himself he would flay the skin from Admiral Baltaoglu the moment he docked to teach these sailors a lesson.

  Perhaps sensing the rage of the Sultan, the fleet executed a full circle and headed gradually back to the chain. This time the ships spread out well away from the chain and approached on a broad front, forcing the Greek ships to break formation and attack single targets.

  The Greek ships shot their fire again, burning a number of Turkish vessels immediately. However there were not enough ships in the Greek force to stop all of Mehmet’s fleet and one Turkish ship smashed into chain with a grating crash. Sailors were quickly lowered over the side and directly onto the boom. They began hacking furiously at the boom with axes.

  Mehmet called out to the men, encouraging them to break the chain. He could see the Greek ships turning and moving quickly toward the men on the booms. The men could see it too. They redoubled their efforts, trying to break the chain loose and escape back to the ship before the Greeks were in range. The Sultan could not see how much progress they were making, but the axes seemed to be cutting ever deeper and he hoped they would break through the wood and set the chain free in time.

  Fire streamed out of the Greek ship, landing about twenty yards short of the boom. A great cry came up from the Turks. The boom split in two. The chain was broken. They were through!

  The Greek ship shot fire out again. This time it hit the mark and the Turkish vessel exploded in flame. The Greek Fire completely engulfed the ship in moments. The burning vessel drifted away from the chain, falling apart as screaming men tried uselessly to extinguish the flame by jumping into the water. Even in the water they burned, writhing in agony as they roasted under the fire that would not go out.

  The Greek ships were closing on the point of the broken chain, threatening the Turkish ships just outside their range. Several ships tried to move closer but were hampered by their burning sister ship and by the looming Greek fleet. Another ship was dowsed in the fire when it tried to approach and soon the Turkish fleet was turning away, the Admiral apparently deciding they had tried enough for one day.

  Mehmet screamed out at the fleet, ordering them back. Again the ships were too far away to hear him. He spurred his horse and rode north along the Bosporus arriving at the fleet harbor long before the ships arrived. He paced his horse back and forth near the docks, fuming. He wanted the head of the admiral. They had broken the chain. They were through! All they had to do was send all of the ships in together at the same time and the fleet would have made it into the horn.

  Finally the ships made their way back to their moorings. Mehmet dismounted and hurried to the Admiral’s ship. Admiral Baltaoglu saw Mehmet and waved, he was smiling, obviously proud of the days work. “My Sultan, great news,” he announced as he hopped overboard and down to the dock. “We have tested the defenses of the enemy and very nearly broken through on our first day.”

  Mehmet charged the Bulgarian and struck him to the ground for a second time. “You did break through you fool! How could you flee from victory!” He drew his sword, fuming, his blood boiling in anger.

  The Admiral prostrated himself, face and hands pressed against the dock. “We could not break through today my Lord. There were too many ships with the Greek Fire. We did break one chain but it was not even wide enough for a single ship to pass through. We lost twenty ships today. If we had tried to force our way through, we might have lost the entire fleet!”

  Mehmet fingered the pommel of his sword, debating what to do. He wanted to see this fool’s head rolling around on the dock. Was he telling the truth? He had not considered whether more than one boom would have to be breached to get the fleet through. Would they have lost the entire fleet? He knew so little about the sea and proper sea tactics. He would have to remedy that as soon as possible after the siege. For now what should he do? Should he believe this man or kill him? Even if he did believe him, would killing him make the next commander more effective, or would it just make him reckless? He had taught himself that when he did not know what to do, he had to be patient.

  He knew what it was to be too rash, to push too hard. When he had assumed the throne at 12 he had wanted to do everything at once, and he had lost everything because of it. He had demanded that his orders be followed and when he was ignored, he started executing the leaders. Halil had stepped in and had him physically restrained and soon his father had been called back to take charge of the Empire. Patience for now, he counseled himself. He had time to kill this fool any time he wanted.

  “Get up! I expect you to follow my orders in the future. I ordered you to break through the sea chain! You have failed me. Your next failure will be paid for with your head. Now get out of my sight!”

  The Admiral bowed low again and backed slowly away. Mehmet felt calmer. He was sure he had made the right decision by not killing Admiral Baltaoglu. The Admiral certainly would do everything in his power to follow orders from now on. If he failed the Sultan again, he would get the chance to remove his head, which would give him joy. If he succeeded, then Mehmet would reward him and be glad he had spared his life.

  He remounted and bega
n the long ride around the west side of Galata and then around the end of the Golden Horn. He was still frustrated with the failure to break through the chain. He was convinced the city would have fallen if they had only broken through. Still he must have given the Greeks a tremendous blow to their confidence, and another major issue for Constantine to worry about.

  What did Constantine worry about? He often considered this question. How did Constantine think? He knew a great deal about the Emperor from others who had known him, from his spies. However it was not the same as knowing him personally. What did Constantine think about Mehmet’s massive army? What about the surprise fleet and the cannon? Surely he must realize that Constantinople was in greater danger than at any time during its history. Yet he wouldn’t surrender. Why not? There was no dishonor in surrender in an impossible situation. And the terms Mehmet had offered were fair. Everything would be so much easier if the city simply gave up. Then there was no risk. Yet somehow Mehmet felt the Emperor would never yield. He would have to take the city or fail trying. It would be Constantine’s life or his.

  In a sense he admired the Emperor. Mehmet knew what it was like to have everything taken away, to feel powerless. Mehmet had always had the resources of the most powerful empire in the world in his hands, but he had never been able to lead it. He had always been dominated by Halil, dominated and manipulated by a Grand Vizier who controlled the empire while he pretended to give power to Mehmet. Halil had essentially succeeded Murad, and Mehmet wondered if the Grand Vizier had even manipulated that situation, eroding Mehmet’s authority even before Murad died, by showing he was unfit to rule?

  Why can I not just kill him? Mehmet plotted the death of Halil every day. He wanted him dead so badly. But he was also afraid of him, and more importantly afraid of what would happen if he took that step. It would be no good to kill Halil simply to be usurped and executed immediately thereafter. Patience. He knew the key to Halil’s fate: he must become the true Sultan in the eyes of his people. Once he accomplished this goal he would have everything he needed, and he would take his sweet revenge.

  Mehmet returned to his tent exhausted and frustrated. He had hoped for another quick victory. Instead the Greeks had inflicted a humiliating defeat on the Sultan’s new navy. He had banked heavily on this fleet’s ability to dominate the Greeks, and to attack the Golden Horn. Instead, he had been surprised by the sea chain, and now he saw that the chain enabled the Greeks to protect the Golden Horn with only a few defensive ships to keep the Turks away from the wooden booms.

  The effectiveness of his fleet was vastly reduced. If the Greek ships could truly burn his entire fleet while it attacked the sea chain, then there was little point in attempting this tact again. He could still hope to stop a fleet of reinforcing ships, but the most vulnerable part of the city, the sea walls and harbors within the Golden Horn, were protected by the chain, and perhaps out of his reach.

  Part of his master plan was unraveling and he did not yet know how to deal with it. Why was there no one else for him to consult on this? Again he was frustrated by his weakness at sea, by the lack of knowledge of his council and top advisors on naval affairs. He must change that for himself and he must find experts to promote. But all of that would have to wait.

  On his arrival back in the main camp, he was met with some good news. Zaganos had returned and had succeeded in destroying the castle at Therapia, capturing an additional 40 Greek prisoners. Combined with Mehmet’s total this brought the number of prisoners to 76.

  Mehmet congratulated his friend and invited him to dine with him. They were soon drinking apple tea and eating lamb and rice while they shared stories about their two successful attacks. Mehmet also discussed the naval attack with Zaganos in detail and explained his frustration with his lack of experience and knowledge regarding the sea. Zaganos agreed that something must be done to change the situation, and suggested that some Italian captains be bribed to change sides and bring their ships, crews, and their knowledge to the Ottoman camp. Of course this change would have to wait for the result of the siege one way or another.

  Mehmet also discussed the issue of the prisoners. They debated what to do for several hours, and as dawn broke on April 10, he had made up his mind.

  He knew what to do. As usual he had conceived of a plan that would wring the maximum benefit from the situation, regardless of how barbaric. He needed to capitalize on the capture of these Greeks and also do something to eradicate yesterday’s naval failure in the minds of his own men, and the Greeks for that matter. The citizens of Constantinople needed to know fear. Fear was the best serum for these stubborn Greeks.

  He summoned a nearby guard and scribbled out a message. “Give this message to the Janissaries. Tell them to impale all of the prisoners. I want it done now, halfway between my tent and the walls.” The guard bowed and left.

  “Impalement, my Lord? A cruel death, even for an infidel. Will this not only encourage the Greeks to resist you even more? We discussed so many different options last night. You never even mentioned this. Why did not we discuss this before you made the decision?”

  Mehmet’s felt his anger rise swiftly as it always did when he was challenged. “It is not your place to question me, Zaganos. You are my servant, here at my pleasure. I am not here at yours.”

  Zaganos bowed. “That is of course true My Lord and need not even be said. However you have often asked my advice, and I cannot give you advice if I do not know what you are doing. Last night we agreed to release the prisoners as a show of good faith. Impalement will only anger them and harden their hearts to the possibility of surrender. They must not think us barbarians.”

  “I think not, my friend. The Greeks think us barbarians already. Let their worst fears be realized. I have offered peace if only Constantine will surrender the city. He has refused but others must be questioning him about this decision. If the population is terrified of what will happen to them if we do have to assault the city, perhaps they will put pressure on him to surrender now. We are not truly foreigners are we? We have millions of Greeks already living in our empire. They have religious freedom, provided they pay their taxes. Have we not heard from many of them that they are happier now then they were under the Latin and Greek masters? Are they not safer? Are they not actually more free to practice their own religious beliefs without interference? They know our tolerance and perhaps that is why they refuse to surrender. Perhaps they believe they will be treated gently if we ever manage to break into the city. They need to also know to fear. If they fear us and respect us, they may choose our mercy rather than our fury.”

  “I am afraid that they will more than fear us. I am afraid that this act of impalement will not only make them afraid, but will make them angry as well. If they feel they will all die horribly if the city falls, then I believe they will fight all the more desperately to keep us out.”

  “You may be right, but I do not think so. I will trust my instincts in this. I would rather have their fear than their love, at least for now. Let them be afraid.”

  Mehmet discussed a few more details with Zaganos, then dismissed his friend back to his position on the opposite side of the Golden Horn facing Galata.

  Mehmet knew Zaganos was frustrated about his assignment. The commander of the forces near Galata led more of a “containing force” than a true part of the siege: they could not take an active part in the actual assault on the city. Mehmet had placed Zaganos there on purpose. He was his friend, his closest advisor, but he would not become a rival. Zaganos was his greatest general, and widely popular. If he led the assault that took the city his fame would grow even greater.

  Mehmet would be the conqueror, and nobody else. This result was a necessity, an assurance of his own survival. If he needed his great general, he was close by, but he would play that card when and if he needed to.

  Mehmet returned to his tent and prayed. He relaxed, letting the worries of the day and the night pass away from him. He prayed for the Greek prisoners, the men wh
o would suffer so terribly, even if they were infidels. He prayed that Allah would help Constantine see the wisdom of giving him the city. He prayed that the city would fall, and that he would be able to restore Constantinople’s former greatness, to the glory of the Ottomans and Allah. He did not enjoy causing pain this way. It was necessary. Mehmet used cruelty like any other tool of survival. This was a game he had learned very early, and very hard.

  Later he heard the first screaming. He kept his eyes closed and sat motionless in his tent, listening to the increasing horror, the pounding sound of mallet to stake, the terrible screams of the prisoners as sharpened poles were slowly hammered through their bodies. After several hours the sounds began to dim. He came out of the tent. Before him, a distance toward the city, he counted 76 stakes, rising like thorns from the plains before the city, buried upright in the ground. On each pole, near the top, was one of the prisoners, skewered from their anus through their entire body and out their mouth. The bodies still writhed. An occasional moan or even scream came from the Greeks. Mehmet watched the men, and also looked out over the distance to the city walls, where he could see many Greeks gathered, grimly watching, some with hands to their faces, wailing in grief. Mehmet smiled grimly again. They would know fear.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MONDAY APRIL 9, 1453

  John Hunyadi greeted the weary traveler and welcomed him to his table. Unlike many noblemen, Hunyadi dined informally with members of his household at a large table near the kitchens. His hall contained a formal dining room as well, but he rarely used it, preferring to eat with his men. The conversation at the table was loud and raucous as usual, with much drinking and joking.

  Hunyadi grabbed an extra chair from against the stone wall and pulled it up next to him. He beckoned Gregory to sit down and enjoy a meal. The young Greek wished to talk immediately but Hunyadi ordered him to eat and drink first, messages could wait. He smiled to himself. He still found himself liking this Greek. He reminded Hunyadi of himself as a young man.