Constantinopolis Page 15

  “We are in rare agreement Notaras, even if I do not agree at all with the way you approach the problem.”

  Constantine looked at his two friends for a few moments. “It is settled then, we will renew our previous offer and see what ultimately comes of it. I agree that there can hardly be a negative effect. Any other updates Sphrantzes?”

  “We haven’t heard anything from the Pope yet, or from the Georgians. I believe we would have heard back if the Turks had sunk our ship sent to Georgia. It is always possible I suppose that it was sunk in the Black Sea away from land, but that is somewhat unlikely as we can maneuver more effectively with wind power, which allows for speed and maneuverability in open water. If all went well, our ambassador should be there and hopefully on the way back by now.”

  “Nothing back from the Pope? How frustrating. I had hoped we would have a relief fleet by now. Still, I can only assume it is a matter of days before we receive at least a vanguard fleet. It would be nice to hear from Gregory as well about Hunyadi. I wonder if the Pope sent him a message as I requested? We wait on those issues. Perhaps we will not have to worry about it at all. Perhaps this peace gesture will end our problems. Tell me Sphrantzes, and I apologize for returning to an earlier issue, but is there any possibility that we could simply wait a little longer, and not increase our tribute? We can scarcely afford an increase.”

  “My Lord, I think we have to take the option of making an offer. Halil has directly requested our assistance. It is likely he would be instrumental in any future regime, it is even possible he could replace Mehmet himself. We need to look to future cooperation as well as short term strategy.”

  “All right, Sphrantzes, send the message. This is under the same terms as before. Let us see whether our young cub has bitten off more than he can chew.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  WEDNESDAY APRIL 18, 1453

  Mehmet watched the darkness fall and his men stumbling back from the land walls, exhausted, many of them wounded. He could see the frustration in their faces. He felt the same. They had been so close! The walls had shattered under the first few cannon volleys. When the giant cannon blew a breach in the outer wall he thought the city was his. He immediately ordered his Janissaries into the breach, to battle through and take the city. He watched, expecting his forces to stream through the hole. Instead, he watched hours of log-jammed pushing at the breach. The bodies piled up, and his elite forces made no real progress. As darkness approached they began losing momentum and he was finally forced to order a retreat.

  Was he cursed? This was to be his moment. But like so many “almost” moments, his men failed him. They had failed at the sea wall, failed in the initial cannon volley on April 6, and had failed him now in this critical attack.

  Perhaps he should kill some of the attackers as a lesson for the rest? No, what could it prove? He had watched the attack. The men had fought as courageously and aggressively as was possible. The breach was simply too small, and apparently the Greeks on the other side had fought even more desperately than his own men. He needed a bigger breach, or multiple breaches.

  He had been unlucky. Life at times depended on good or ill fortune. Unfortunately he had no time for luck. He had gambled everything on this venture. His council had reluctantly approved it, but he knew he had pushed it through, far earlier than anyone advised. He needed results and he needed them now, before Halil could rally his enemies against him.

  Zaganos was back with him. The Sultan had called him over at the moment of the first breach, not to lead an attack but to watch his moment of triumph. Halil had appeared as well, and looked dejected at first, until it became obvious the attack would fail. Now all three stood together, watching the retreat.

  “A noble attempt my Lord,” said Halil. “Surely we will succeed next time.”

  Zaganos added, “I agree my Sultan. It was but a moment’s fortune that the Greeks have held out this time. The cannon will make other breaches, and we will battle through. Perhaps we should wait next time for a bigger breach?”

  “Yes. Next time we will succeed,” said Mehmet, not really sure he felt that way. “I agree that we will need a bigger breach. All of our advantages are taken away by a small hole in the walls. The Greeks are able to bring equal numbers and to fight us to a standstill. I also suspect we will wake up tomorrow and find the breach has been repaired. I understand that this Giovanni Longo who leads the Greek forces has substantial experience in siege warfare.”

  “Yes, bad luck he arrived so shortly before the siege,” said Zaganos.

  “Well let us not dwell too deeply on a minor setback. Let us have our evening meal and talk about the future.”

  The men followed the Sultan into his tent and they were soon dining on a rich variety of food and drink. Mehmet had spared no comfort in his tent and had assured that a steady supply of food was brought from Edirne both for his troops and for himself. They enjoyed their meal and then stayed up late into the night, discussing the strategy of the siege and also the past and future of the Ottoman people. Mehmet noticed Halil would not speak about the future in any detail. He smiled to himself. There is no sense dwelling too much on the future is there my friend? Neither of us intends to share it with the other. So be it. You can serve my father again in paradise, since you will not serve me in this world.

  In the early morning a messenger disturbed them and handed Halil a note. The Grand Vizier read it.

  “Well this is very interesting news my Lord.”

  “What is?”

  “I have received a letter from Constantine. He offers the same terms he offered on the first day of the siege. He will double his tribute to you if you lift the siege.”

  Mehmet was incensed. He did not need additional pressure. “Bah,” he said, “They offer the same terms after we almost take the city. He is afraid. He should be begging me for any terms of mercy and handing the city to me now. He knows it is just a matter of days.”

  “With all respect my Lord, I would beg you to consider the offer more closely. You were brilliant to have developed your navy and also these cannon before the siege. But again, we find Constantinople somehow escapes us. The Greeks block us at sea with the sea chain. Your cannon have shown some benefit but they have not opened up a useable breach. Your men must be exhausted and frustrated by the attack today. I certainly would not say that we are in a position where we must lift the siege now, but if another month goes by with no additional progress, the men will grow very restless. If we are forced to lift the siege you certainly will get no more money from Constantine. Instead he will cut off all tribute. He will have defied you and in defying you he will have won sympathy with the west. We know he already agreed to their ridiculous church union, as if one infidel’s church is better than another. Their differences may seem silly and incomprehensible to us, but apparently the Pope is very impressed with their decision to implement this Union. We could face considerable forces from the West, even from Hungary, in just a few short months.”

  Mehmet had expected this argument. “I am not surprised to hear this from you. But again, I disagree. There is no point in putting our attack off for another season. We do not need the money from the Greeks. There is far more wealth available by taking and rebuilding the city. We can then regulate the trade from the Black Sea and we will be in even a better position to deal with the Venetians, Genoans, and the rest. The key argument is aid from the West. I do not think any measureable aid can come in time. Our cannon will blow another hole or two in the walls tomorrow. When they do, we will rush in and take the city.”

  He realized he should placate Halil somewhat, and stall for time. “I will hold off on any decision for a few days, and see what our progress is. Hopefully, by the end of the day tomorrow, the city will be ours and our problems will be solved.”

  Halil was pleased with the decision. “Thank you my Lord, I think you should carefully consider the offer and I agree another day or two should make no difference. I sincerely hope you are successful in
taking the city before we have to respond to Constantine.”

  No you do not, thought Mehmet. You want me to fail. Beyond that, you know what will happen if I succeed. You are positioning yourself to destroy me, now that you know I cannot be led. Mehmet felt grim satisfaction that he understood Halil so well but also a nagging disappointment he had felt many times in the past and could never force himself to subdue. There was a part of himself that yearned for Halil’s acceptance. Why would the Grand Vizier not respect him and follow his commands? Must it always be the disappointed Halil, sitting back disapprovingly and waiting for his moment to intervene? He hated Halil deeply. Hated himself for needing his approval. When Halil’s head sat on a pole on the palace walls, he would think of him no more, he promised himself. For now he needed to deal with his Grand Vizier as best as he was able.

  “What do you think Zaganos?”

  “I think you have a wise plan my Lord,” said Zaganos. “With Allah’s will we will break through the city today or tomorrow. If not, we will consider the terms again.”

  Mehmet was satisfied. He dismissed them and took a few short hours of sleep. In the mid-morning he arose and ordered a renewal of the bombardment. He noted that Constantine had succeeded in rebuilding portions of the wall overnight, which he knew would happen although he was surprised by the extent of the repairs. This bastard Giovanni truly was a misfortune on his plans. He must keep the Genoan busy.

  Mehmet’s cannon kept up a continuous attack on the walls for the rest of the day, but while it caused cracks and chips all along the outer wall for several hundred yards on either side of the Sultan’s command tent, the cannon failed to significantly breach the walls again as it had done so spectacularly the day before.

  Mehmet met with Orban at the end of the day, and ordered that the cannon fire be concentrated on a small area of the land wall the next day. He hoped by firing all of the cannon simultaneously at a small portion of the wall, he would force a more significant breach. He also ordered his Janissaries to form at dawn and prepare to storm the city. He then fell into a restless sleep.

  He was awakened at dawn but not by cannon fire. A frantic messenger begged permission to enter. Mehmet beckoned him inside and opened the message. A hastily scrawled note from Zaganos informed him that ships had arrived in the Sea of Marmara and were heading toward the Golden Horn. A relief fleet from the West.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 1453

  Mehmet rushed out of bed. He ordered the messenger out of his tent. He felt shaken, dizzy. Was he to lose everything after all of his plans? He had worked so hard and he had nearly taken the city only two days before. Now he faced a relief fleet that could be bringing supplies, food and thousands of men to defend the city. He finished dressing and quickly left his tent. His guards were already mounted and his horse had been saddled. He mounted and took off at a gallop toward Galata.

  He arrived on the Bosporus shore several hours later. Zaganos was anxiously waiting for him. Mehmet looked out past the Galata walls and in to the Sea of Marmara. He strained his eyes to see at first but eventually could make out a few masts in the distance. Much more closely, he saw ships of his fleet sailing out of the Bosporus to intercept the enemy fleet. He was relieved to see that the number of enemy ships seemed small, only three or four that he could make out.

  “I see you ordered the fleet to attack Zaganos. Thank you, that was exactly my order.”

  “I assumed as much my Lord. I kicked that fat Baltaoglu out of his tent and sent him after the Italians. He moved very quickly. I think you may have made your point with him the last time around!” Zaganos smirked.

  “Do we know how many ships are out there?” asked the Sultan.

  “Well as you can see, there appear only to be a few. I would think this is just a small enterprise, unless it is the vanguard of a larger fleet.”

  Mehmet was greatly relieved, at least for now. This did not appear to be some great fleet with thousands of reinforcements. There might be a few hundred men aboard, and perhaps food and supplies, but nothing that could hold back his army if they were able to break through the walls. In addition, he saw real opportunity here. Just like the razing of the small castles in the first days of the siege had raised the morale of the land troops, so the destruction of these ships could serve a similar purpose. If his fleet could sink the enemy ships, particularly in full sight of Constantinople, he would strike a great blow to the morale of the Greeks, and restore his own men’s faith in the siege.

  “What orders did you give Baltaoglu?” Mehmet asked anxiously.

  “I ordered him to sink all of the ships before they gained the city. Was that incorrect Sultan?”

  “No that is excellent. Good thinking Zaganos. Is there any chance they can escape us?”

  “As you know, I really have no idea. But I cannot imagine how they would. I think you will have a victory today to celebrate.”

  Mehmet was pleased and excited. He impatiently watched the loading of the ships. Men struggled in small groups to carry cannon onto the ships. Groups of soldiers, including Janissaries, were also boarding to supplement the compliment of sailors. The men were armed to the teeth with bows, spears, swords, and firearms. The Sultan shouted encouragement to the men and received confident cheers in return. Soon the majority of the ships were departing. Mehmet remounted his horse with Zaganos and his guard to find a place to watch the impending battle.

  They rode together along the shore near the walls of Galata, moving as close as they could to the Golden Horn so they could observe the destruction of the fleet. They returned to the same point where they had previously observed the fleet on the high ground near the walls of Galata with a commanding view of the Golden Horn and the ships. They were close enough to the ships departing that Mehmet was able to shout orders to Baltaoglu as he floated by. “Take the ships Admiral or do not come back!” He received a grim bow in response.

  The Italian galleys drew closer to the city. Mehmet was able to make out the red cross and white background of the city of Genoa. There were three merchant galleys and what appeared to be a heavy transport that flew the imperial double-headed eagle symbol of the Greeks. No additional ships had appeared on the horizon so Mehmet was satisfied that this small relief fleet was all that was coming at the present time.

  As the Ottoman fleet moved out to meet the Italians, Mehmet could hardly contain himself. He had at least 100 ships heading out to intercept them. 100 against four. He looked out over the Horn to Constantinople. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people had gathered on rooftops and at the Acropolis and the crumbling Hippodrome to watch the relief fleet. His fleet would crush the Italians in full view of the city, and prove in no uncertain terms that it was impossible to reinforce the city. This victory was exactly what he needed to relieve the pressure from Halil and ensure the extension of the siege.

  At mid-afternoon the fleets finally met. A single cannon shot quickly turned into dozens. The din of cannon fire and the screaming of men floated across the sea and could be heard clearly. Mehmet strained his eyes to see what was going on but it was difficult to make out the individual ships as they smashed together. He expected shouts of victory any moment.

  As time passed however, he could make out the Genoese flags and see that these ships continued to sail toward the Horn, seemingly cutting through his fleet. The wind whipped in his face, it was blowing favorably for the Italians and Greeks, allowing the Genoese ships and the imperial transport to use their sails while the Ottomans had to rely on oar power. The ships kept coming, their speed under wind power allowing them to press through the Ottomans and the choppy water preventing Mehmet’s ships from closing quickly enough to board them.

  Mehmet was furious. How could this be? All of the odds were in his favor. He had to crush these ships. If they were able to somehow get through, it would be a disaster for him personally, and for the morale of his men. What was this idiot Admiral getting at?

  Then a miracle occurred. Mehmet could feel the wind slacken and then
the air became entirely still. He could see the sails of the Frankish fleet falter and the ships slowed to a halt. They were quickly surrounded by Ottoman ships on all sides, that now could pull up closely and throw hooks, ropes and ladders aboard the ships.

  The screaming and shouting increased. Mehmet could see the battle more closely now as the ships floated slowly toward the Horn. The Genoese ships sat higher up, with tall decks. This appeared to give the Italians an advantage as they battled with the Ottomans. Mehmet’s men were forced to climb upward in to a forest of shields and spears. Crossbowman hung from ropes and masts above, firing bolts into the Turks as they struggled to gain control of the ships. Cannon shot rained against the ships but seemed to have no effect.

  Still there could be no doubt of the final decision. Without the wind the ships were surrounded. There were multiple Ottoman ships pressed against each ship of the enemy. Mehmet could see Turks battling with grappling hooks and with ladders, and there was fighting aboard at least two of the Italian ships. It would only be a matter of time before they were all captured. Capturing the ships was even better than sinking them. He would parade the provisions in front of the city and perhaps even impale another round of prisoners to reinforce his earlier point.

  The ships battled for hours, floating ever closer to the Horn and to Mehmet. Baltaoglu’s ship, which was connected now along with a number of other Ottoman vessels to the imperial transport, had floated into earshot.

  Mehmet spurred his horse down the hill and into the waters of the Bosporus. He wished he could ride out and take control of the battle. What was this fool of an admiral doing? He screamed commands at the flagship, ordering the admiral to take the ships now, threatening, encouraging. He felt a mixture of helplessness, anger and excitement. If he could only be on one of the ships. Why did he not board one this morning when he had had a chance? If he was on the Admiral’s ship, he would have already destroyed these Italians. His commander clearly did not know how to motivate his men. He was being failed again.