Constantinopolis Read online

  “Welcome again Francesco. I will assure you that you and your men will be cared for, along with your ships. I have to attend to some other matters but please come to the palace tomorrow and let us talk further. I know my fleet commander Loukas Notaras will also want to discuss the entire battle with you in detail, so we understand Turkish tactics and how you held them off for so long.”

  The Italian bowed. Constantine remounted and beckoned to a few guards to come with him. He rode casually through the streets accompanied by cheers from his people. He smiled and waved encouragingly.

  He arrived back at Blachernae well past nightfall to learn that a message had arrived from the Sultan.

  Constantine received the written message and reviewed it before dinner. He then had some wine and nibbled at his plate without much appetite, considering the offer from the Sultan. He had offered much. Much more than he had ever offered before. If Constantine would only leave the city he could take everyone with him. He would be given all of the Peloponnesus as his own. This grant had been offered before, but he was also given a guaranteed protection for life, and protection from any Italian or other force that might try to attack the Greeks. He would be like Moses. He would lead his people to safety. So what was more important, his people or the city? Why was he constantly left with these decisions? If the Sultan would just go away, or offer nothing, he would have simple decisions. Instead he had to decide what to do with this offer. If the city fell, he would have sacrificed his people and left them to murder, rape and slavery. Could he justify that? For what? For his ego? Or because he did not know anything in life except protecting Constantinople? What was Constantinople except a collection of stones on defensible ground? Certainly it had been the first great Christian city but other Christian cities had fallen and still the world moved on. Did he owe his commitment to the city itself, or to his people?

  The city would not suffer if it was taken. Constantine had to be honest with himself, the result would be the opposite. Constantinople had been a dim shadow of its former self since the Latins sacked it in the thirteenth century. The city could house millions and stood astride two continents and two great waterways. The Ottomans were young and vibrant. They would populate the city and make it great again, rebuild it as a true capitol. Constantine could do little more than strip the churches to repair the land walls. There were no people to come here, no money to improve the city. If he left the city he could protect his people, without harming the city he loved.

  On the other hand, there was this small chance. Not a small chance of holding the city, as he was hopeful he could do that. A small chance he could have it all, that he could drive the Turks from Europe forever, and restore the Greeks to a great empire again. He would not be the first emperor to have done so. Justinian had rebuilt the empire from a steady decline and so had Basil II. Time and again the empire had seemed on the edge of ruin and had been resurrected by the right man at the right time. Was Constantine such a man? Was now such a moment? Should he risk the people on the small chance he could restore the greatness of the Greeks?

  What about his responsibility to God? This was God’s city. It was not a Latin city, or an Eastern city: it was a Christian city, the very first city built specifically to Jesus and to God. The Virgin Mother was their sacred protector. Could he abandon the city at this greatest moment of need? Was not the bible full of desperate situations that in the end were saved by a faithful servant’s trust in God’s power? Surely if God did not wish the Turks to enter the city, they would not.

  And if he could drive the Turks from the walls and then from Europe, he would have great territories again. He could slowly rebuild the wealth of the empire. He could make the city great again. It would take time, but it could be done.

  He extinguished the candles at his table and knelt on the cold marble floor in the darkness. He prayed fervently for God to give him the right answer, to tell him, please, what to do. This was all too much for him. He prayed all night in the darkness, an agonizing, lonely, freezing evening. His knees throbbed in pain, his back ached. He was exhausted.

  As morning light peeked through, he arose, stretching out his sore muscles and threw warm robes on to eliminate the chill. He had not received any message, any sign as he had hoped. He knew it was not his place to demand one. Without a sign, he felt he must carry on the best he could. He would do all he ever knew to do. He would defend the city.

  Constantine breakfasted with Notaras and Sphrantzes. He reviewed the offer of peace with them and his intended response. Notaras agreed entirely. Sphrantzes was surprisingly vocal in opposition.

  “I think you should consider this offer My Lord. The city is going to fall. It might not be now, but it will be sometime. If you take the people with you, you will be a hero. Who could blame you for the city falling? The West? Who cares! What have they done for us? Even when we give them everything they want, they have not come. And I don’t consider that paltry fleet that arrived yesterday aid. That was a token, nothing more.”

  “Again Sphrantzes, he cannot abandon the city. This is God’s city,” responded Notaras.

  Sphrantzes scoffed. “You were quick to suggest that Constantine should leave the city and go get aid. Better for him to leave with everyone.”

  “You misunderstand me as always. If Constantine left alone, he could gather additional aid to defend us. And even if the city fell then, he could bring forces to drive the Ottomans out. It is never and will never be my belief we can abandon Constantinople to the Turks. This is the first city of the Christian world. We have a duty before God to defend it.”

  “God has abandoned this city you idiot! If it is not clear to you, it is clear to just about everyone else. We should save the Greek people. I cannot believe we have received an offer like this. Years of protection from the Turks. Protection from everyone else. Money and safety for everyone. We should take it. I implore you to consider it my Lord.”

  Constantine was surprised to hear his own internal arguments repeated so accurately in the positions of his two friends. He was about to respond when they were interrupted by Giovanni Longo, who rushed into the room out of breath. He bowed quickly. “My Lord. Important news. We have picked up significant activity near Galata. Troops are pulling up and moving. Thousands of them.”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  “It could be a number of things my Lord. This could be a simple reshuffling of forces. On the other hand, it could be the beginning of a withdrawal.”

  “A withdrawal? Is that possible?”

  “I do not want to speculate about the reasons they might leave. But if I was pulling back, I certainly would start with forces that are the furthest away from the walls. That way you can delay for the longest possible time the enemy’s knowledge and any potential counterattacks.”

  “I want to see it myself,” said Constantine.

  “What? We cannot risk that My Lord. What if you were captured?”

  Notaras and Sphrantzes murmured their agreement.

  “I am going. If they are leaving, I want to see it. I am tired of sitting here doing nothing. Notaras, make the arrangements.”

  Constantine left and returned to his private rooms. He changed into innocuous clothing, including a hooded robe and returned to the council room. He knew he was being reckless, but he was tired of inaction. Even on the day of the breach, he had been too far away to actually fight the Turks. With Giovanni in command, he was even removed from making direct orders related to the defense of the city. He suddenly felt the deep desire to take some action, take some risk. He wanted to share the danger of his people directly.

  “I’m ready. Giovanni, I want you to come with me. Notaras, you will deal with things until I return.”

  Constantine left with Giovanni. They rode quickly from the palace to the harbor where they were met by a Greek Captain who was charged with bringing the Emperor across the Horn to Galata. He quickly boarded the ship and the two men stood at the rail looking out across the horn
as the ship slowly left the dock and headed to the Genoese Colony. Constantine was not sending word ahead, and did not intend to. He did not want his presence in Galata announced.

  He was silent during the short journey across the Horn. The distance from the harbor to Galata was measured in hundreds of yards. When the ship docked at Galata’s quay, Giovanni and Constantine quickly disembarked and disappeared into the small city, heading to the north where he could observe the Greek forces. So far no one had challenged them, or recognized the Emperor.

  Eventually they reached the landward walls and were able to climb up without interference to look out over the Ottoman forces below. Constantine saw immediately that the Turks were not retreating. It was time that they had pulled away from the walls and concentrated a mile or so off to the North. But the Turks were not leaving. They were constructing something. Even from this distance he could see frantic activity. Large groups of men were dragging hewn logs into place and laying them down in flat lines together. Other men appeared to be lashing the logs together. The Ottomans were clearly fashioning some sort of road. This log road extended down from the Bosporus and up a gradual hill. It appeared to be a supply road, although Constantine could not imagine why it was needed. What was clear was that the Ottomans were not going to lift the siege. He was disappointed. He did not have to make any decisions if the Turks were leaving. He watched for a few more minutes and then beckoned Giovanni to leave.

  Soon they were back aboard the ship and sailing back toward Constantinople. Constantine watched his city as they moved slowly toward it. This was the first time he had been out of Constantinople since the siege began. If he took Mehmet’s offer, he would soon sail out of the Golden Horn for good. If he did not, he might never leave the city again.

  He soaked up the view, enjoying a moment of peace as he watched his beloved City. As he drew closer he felt clarity. He realized he could not abandon Constantinople. Not now anyway. He loved it too much. His people and the city were the same. Scrawling out a living in the Peloponnesus might be appealing but really all Constantine would be doing was saving his people for a few years. Even if Mehmet kept his word, which he might or might not, Constantine was only receiving an offer for his lifetime. Once he was dead, the Turks would be free to storm in and occupy the Peloponnesus, and the Greek dream would die. The only way he could preserve his people, his empire, was to hold the city and then try to drive the Turks out of Europe.

  The ship docked again at the city’s harbor and Constantine and Giovanni made their way back to the palace. They met again shortly with Sphrantzes and Notaras and filled them in on what they had seen. Notaras went pale. He asked Constantine to describe in great detail what he had seen.

  “What’s wrong Notaras?” asked the Emperor.

  “I’m sure I know what’s going on My Lord.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not building a supply road. I know what he’s doing. I’m just shocked that he is trying it. Our crafty young Sultan surprises me again and again.”

  “What are you talking about Notaras?” asked Constantine impatiently.

  “Come to the council chamber and I’ll tell you. I’m afraid it is the worst possible news, and I do not think we can stop him.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1453

  Mehmet sat in his tent late at night going over some documents he had brought along with him from Edirne. He had ordered treatises be pulled from the archives and brought along on a variety of topics from military tactics to sewage problems. He had searched these treatises for several hours until he had found the one that he was looking for.

  The document was only one page long and did not give him the level of detail he had hoped for. Still, he had remembered seeing it in the past and he was happy now to have found it among the documents he brought. He spent several hours reviewing the details and thinking over the questions in his mind. He then summoned Zaganos to his tent.

  The Pasha arrived an hour later, he looking tired, as if he had been shaken awake. He eyed Mehmet carefully, obviously determining whether he was in any danger. Mehmet smiled to himself, always enjoying a little the fear he was able to cause even in those closest to him.

  “Thank you for coming tonight. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

  “What is it Sultan?”

  “As you know, the fleet has been an utter disaster for us. I feel at this point it has caused almost more damage than benefit. I had hoped it would be the deciding factor, and would break into the Horn and wipe out the Greek fleet on the first day. We could then have attacked the vulnerable harbors and perhaps captured the city right away.”

  “I know this was your plan and I was as disappointed as you that it did not work out. We did not anticipate the sea chain.”

  “Yes, the sea chain and the incompetence of that fool Baltaoglu and the entire fleet! A commander with more guts would have battled through that hole in the boom regardless of the losses. He would have found a way! That embarrassment today is beyond measure! Not only have we gained nothing at sea, we have hurt the morale of our overall forces in the bargain.”

  “But surely you have remedied that by replacing Baltaoglu? The new commander will surely do better.”

  “I am not sure. The miserable failure was not all Baltaoglu’s fault. He cannot lead each and every ship. The rest of the ships could not stop the Greek ships any more than he could, fool that he is. I fear the problems are much greater. We do not possess the skills or the proper ships for this job. We have to face facts Zaganos or we cannot solve the problem.”

  “I think you show great wisdom by admitting the truth Sultan. But what can we do about it? We can’t fix these problems overnight.”

  “No. Of course you are right. We must make do with what we have. But it occurs to me that we can take defeat in this case and make it victory by doing something bold. And it must be the fleet that does it.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “We must get the ships into the Horn.”

  “Another attack on the chain? I agree it would be a great victory if we could do so. But how will you assure we are not defeated again? If we lose the fleet at the sea chain we will have to lift the siege. We cannot afford another significant defeat.”

  “I cannot assure we can get through the chain. We must go around it.”

  “What?” Mehmet saw Zaganos was completely confused by this suggestion. Again Mehmet smiled to himself. Zaganos was a brilliant land commander but like almost all Ottomans, he had little use for the sea.

  “We will port the ships.”

  “What do you mean port them?”

  “We will move them over land, on the land side of Galata, and into the Horn.”

  Zaganos looked doubtful. “Can such a thing be done? I am ignorant, Sultan, forgive me. But are not ships built for the water? How can they sail over land?”

  “Yes it can and will be done. Take a look at this document. I had read it before but did not remember all of the details. This paper describes the process itself. We should be able to do this. It is more manpower than wit, and I have an abundance of the former although apparently not enough of the latter.”

  Zaganos read the treatise with great interest, his eyes widening as they scanned each detail. “I have never heard of such a thing. I didn’t know it was possible.”

  “It is possible and we are going to do it. We are going to shock the Greeks yet again, and our own men as well. We will strike a tremendous blow to their morale.”

  “I hope so Sultan. We have not had much success with this navy so far, regardless of your brilliance in creating it. We do not need to win at sea to win this siege. Is it worth the risk?”

  “I have considered that. It is a risk but I think it is one we can control. If we pull it off, we will startle them.” Mehmet smiled. “Besides, the ships will be on land. We know what we are doing there.”

  Zaganos laughed. “True enough. When will we begin?”

&nb
sp; “Immediately. Tonight. Now.”

  “All right. I’ll start gathering men near the fleet docking. We are also going to need a force to cut down trees and we’ll have to secure a large amount of grease and rope to pull the ships. Do you want me to take care of these details?”

  “Yes. I will be there later.”

  Zaganos bowed and left the tent. Mehmet conducted his prayers and then sat for a long time in the darkness, going over the details of his plan in his mind. Zaganos was right, he was taking a tremendous risk. If he failed, he would have to lift the siege. If he lifted the siege, he would probably be deposed. He might make it back to Edirne, but once Halil gathered the council and discussed the failure, Mehmet was sure his life would be forfeit. Death or a puppet.

  Was the port too much of a risk? What were his alternatives? He could try another attack on the walls but his cannon had not scored another breach. He also could attack the sea chain again, but as Zaganos had said, he trusted his ships on land at this point more than at sea. On land he could control the process. He could stand nearby and put his hands on things. If there was a problem, his orders would be immediately followed. It might be foolish to believe so, but he felt he could not fail if was directly in charge.

  He re-read the description of porting again a few more times by flickering candlelight and fell asleep early. He would need his rest for the long day ahead.

  The next morning the Sultan set out from his tent early. The cannon continued to fire at the walls as soon as each could be reloaded. Mehmet checked the damage to the walls, mentally measuring the progress since yesterday. There had been no significant new breaches but the cannonade continued to damage the walls and also serve to keep the defenders awake and on edge. He left orders that if there was a significant breach, then fast riders were to gallop to his position at Galata and inform him immediately. There was to be no attack until he was informed and had returned. After assuring his orders were in place, Mehmet mounted his horse and departed.

  Mehmet and a retinue of his guards traveled around the end of the Golden Horn on to the Galata peninsula and then across to the Bosporus where the fleet lay in anchor. As he approached the harbor he noted that Zaganos had not been idle. Huge piles of logs were already stacked along with vats of animal fat that would serve as grease. At least five thousand men were working on the road that would port the ships. Mehmet was impressed with the work his friend had completed in just one night. As always, Zaganos was a force to be reckoned with, and Mehmet reminded himself that he must be both praised and controlled.