Constantinopolis Page 23

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “Not at this time Sultan.”

  “Leave me then.”

  The spy bowed and backed up to the tent entrance before turning to leave.

  He had not really learned anything new except how frustratingly close he had come to taking the city either through the tunnels or the attack at the palace. Could he have no luck? Must everything play in to Halil’s hands? Again the fear returned to him that Allah would let him fail, that he would suffer humiliation and execution. Every Sultan since the founding of his people had advanced the empire gloriously. Everything they had done was met with success. Was he to be the first to end in failure? He would not allow it! He would lose every man in the coming attack, he would bring the empire down with him at the walls of Constantinople if he must. The city would be his. He would prove them all wrong. He would prove Murad and Halil wrong. Allah willing.

  SATURDAY MAY 26, 1453

  A week passed. The grand council of the Sultan met again to debate the siege. Halil and many of the elder counselors arrived together, and late. Mehmet watched his Grand Vizier carefully. He appeared supremely confident. Clearly Halil felt this was his moment, and that Mehmet was already finished. Mehmet had nearly given up, but that moment had passed. Whatever would happen in the next few days, the Sultan was prepared to fight. For now it was time to implement Zaganos’s plan.

  Mehmet began by giving an update of the past ten days. He explained that no substantial breaches had occurred on the walls and so he had used the time to rest the men while keeping the Greeks busy in the Golden Horn with several minor attacks on the sea chain and on the fleet itself. None of the attacks had been intended as full assaults, but rather simply to keep the Greeks on their guard constantly.

  Halil rose to respond, bowing before the Sultan. Mehmet noticed his bow was shallow and quick. His blood rose. He wanted to leap forward and remove the Grand Vizier’s head right here and now. But he held his temper.

  “My Lord, we all appreciate your hard work and this aggressive attempt on the city. However, I think we must admit that it has failed. Two months have now passed without success. We are no nearer to taking the city than when we started, or when your father started for that matter. Each month that goes by, we are vulnerable to attack by the Hungarians, the Italians, or even our enemies in Anatolia or Persia. We have been lucky so far, no enemies have used our position to their advantage. This cannot last.

  Your father knew when to leave the city. You are certainly as wise as he is. As you know, I counseled against this attack from the beginning for all of the reasons we now face. The city will fall at the right time, my Lord. Let us force the Greeks to pay as much as can be negotiated, and leave them to rot. We can then offer favorable terms to the Venetians and Genoese. They will choose to trade with us instead of them. We can strangle the city slowly. It will fall as ripe fruit in to our hands.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement from the senior councilors. The Grand Mufti rose and added his own words in agreement with Halil.

  Mehmet rose to respond. It was time to corner his Grand Vizier. “Thank you Halil for your wise words. I agree with you.”

  There was shock in the room. Surprise came across Halil’s eyes, then quickly fled as he regained his composure. Mehmet smiled. Surely the Grand Vizier had not expected this. He had expected Mehmet to argue that he would never lift the siege, to throw a fit, to scream. Halil would then hatch his plot to remove him, or perhaps the plot was already well laid, and an attack was prepared for this very night. Whatever the plan, he clearly had not prepared for this.

  “Well my Lord, this is most welcome news. When can we expect to pull back our forces? I would suggest we leave a covering force, and slowly pull back our men at night. Or do you wish to negotiate the best tribute from Constantine before we pull back? That might be the most prudent course of action, as we would likely receive the best terms. I know this is a difficult time my Lord, but I think you are showing great wisdom. You are starting to grow up. Your father would be proud of you.”

  Mehmet seethed. How dare he make such a statement? Particularly in public. He wanted to attack the Grand Vizier here and now. But he controlled himself. Zaganos had been correct. They had discussed this night in detail. His general had predicted that after Halil recovered from the initial shock, he might try to goad Mehmet into doing something extreme. If he could get Mehmet to attack him, he might be able to depose the Sultan on the spot. He was thankful Zaganos had warned him ahead of time, as it took every ounce of his control not to order Halil’s head on a plate.

  He waited a few moments and then responded. “I appreciate your sentiments Halil, even if they are difficult to hear. But you did not let me finish my thoughts. I agree with your advice, but I would like to find out how the men are feeling. If they are up to it, I would suggest one more massive assault on the city. If they are up to it, we would attack in three days. If they are not, then we will leave in a few days. In the meantime, I am going to offer Constantine the most generous offer I have ever made him, but I am still requesting he leave the city. Perhaps we can still have the city at no further cost.”

  Halil looked around, gauging the level of support. He had been outmaneuvered and he clearly knew it. His eyes rested on Zaganos for a long moment, burning with hatred. Finally he turned to Mehmet and bowed. “All excellent ideas My Lord. I would be happy to assess the feelings of the men . . .”

  “Thank you Halil, but I need my Grand Vizier here for advice. I am going to send Zaganos.”

  “Excellent. I am sure the men will prove willing to mount another attack. If that is unsuccessful, hopefully we will not be too weakened to meet any other attacks that have been prepared by our enemies while we have focused on the city. With my Lord’s permission I will begin preparing the orders to evacuate the siege.”

  “That is fine, Halil. Just don’t prepare them too quickly. There is still one attack to mount.” Mehmet turned to the council as a whole. “Let us pray the attack is successful. If it is Allah’s will, the city will be ours. Allah willing, we attack in three days.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FRIDAY, MAY 25, 1453

  Constantine sat at his work table in his bedchamber in the early morning hours, reading reports by candlelight while he reviewed updates about the city’s defenses and estimates of the Ottoman forces and distribution.

  The Emperor was exhausted. He found sleep difficult, and the constant and rapid changes of fortune during the siege had frayed his nerves almost to the breaking point. Constantine had hoped Mehmet would lift the siege after the failure of his tunneling operation and the lost battle near the Blachernae Palace. Unfortunately, the Sultan had not done so. Days had gone by and with each, Constantine felt more depressed, with a creeping sense of doom. He could feel this sinking melancholy mirrored in the city and in his soldiers, as they slowly lost hope that the siege would ever end. Instead they endured day after day of bombardment and almost constant naval attacks at sea. His men could only handle so much before they would break. Constantine knew this. He only hoped Mehmet and his Ottomans would break first.

  He reopened the secret report from the Venetian vessel he had disguised and sent out looking for the relief fleets. He had not shared this news with anyone since he had received it two days before, although he was sure rumors would have spread in the city. The ship had returned after traveling out of the Dardanelles and through the Greek islands in mid-May. The fleet had searched but found no evidence or any rumor of a relief fleet. Any help that might be coming would be weeks, if not months, away. Unless the Hungarians were coming on land, or some Georgian or other force could battle through from the Black Sea, it appeared the city was on its own.

  Constantine was still stunned by the news. He had done everything he could to protect the city. His greatest sacrifice, forcing the union of churches on his people, had been nothing short of sacrificing the people themselves for the survival of the city. He had been sur
e this would bring a swift and substantial relief force from the Pope, yet nothing had appeared. Was this sacrifice to be for nothing? Further, he had sacrificed his love, his own happiness when he sent betrothal requests to Georgia. Where was the assistance from that Kingdom? He had given up everything important to him, which made his suffering and his people’s suffering during the siege yet that much worse. For what? Was God mocking him? Was it his curse to forever be disappointed? To give everything and in the end have everything taken away from him including the city for which he had sacrificed?

  He rose and wearily pulled on clothing, dressing himself rather than allowing others to do so, in marked contrast to previous emperors. Of course the limited resources of the tiny empire, even before the siege, had forced Constantine to be frugal. Would he have employed the hundreds or even thousands of slaves and servants his predecessors had if he had the vast resources of the old empire available to him?

  What would Constantine have done with a powerful empire instead of this empty, dead shell? He had fantasized about this before. He would have married Zophia certainly, he could have chosen anyone he wanted. Had not the great Justinian married a prostitute and made her Empress with equal power? He would not have been dependent on foreign aid. He certainly would not have ordered the union of the churches. Would he have been a great conqueror, leading huge Greek armies on the field of battle and acquiring huge new territories to bow before him and Constantinople? No, that was not like him. He would have been a man of peace, content to keep the empire and its people safe. He would have accumulated treasury reserves, maintained the city’s defenses, and perhaps built another great monumental work within the city, perhaps another great cathedral to mirror his St. Sophia.

  He smiled ruefully to himself, thinking of all his maneuvers and manipulations. What had they gained him? That question came again to his mind as he finished dressing and went to a morning briefing with Giovanni, Notaras and Sphrantzes. As he entered the dining hall, his laughter stayed with him. Somehow the irony of it all had improved his mood.

  “Good morning, what news do you bring to cheer me today?”

  “Some interesting developments my Lord, although others may not think so,” said Sphrantzes.

  “Tell me.”

  “We have received a stunning offer of peace from Mehmet.”

  “I thought the last offer was generous, but still impossible to accept. What could he add? Is he offering to lift the siege?”

  “Unfortunately not my Lord, but I do think you should carefully consider this offer. Mehmet offers again to let you leave the city with all of your people who wish to leave with you. He also offers to allow you to take the royal treasury with you, and everything else that may be carried.”

  “Hah! The royal treasury! I can certainly carry that in my pocket. What else?”

  “He offers to give you not only the Peloponnesus but also Attica and Macedonia as your Kingdom, with a fifty year guarantee of peace.”

  Constantine was impressed. Mehmet was offering to give Constantine the ancient mainland of the Greeks. Constantine could rule in Athens, still a great city, rich in history with an excellent nearby sea port. The Sultan was offering not only peace during Constantine’s lifetime, but peace for 50 years. This plan would give any successor peace also, at least for many years to come. He could marry Zophia, have sons, and pass a peaceful kingdom onto them.

  “What say you all?”

  “I think you should carefully consider this my Lord,” said Sphrantzes. “What use is Constantinople to us? We live with 90,000 people in a city built for a million. Even if we hold the city, our trade is cut off from the east by the Turkish forts and most of the trade from the West goes to Galata in any event. I think we lose nothing.”

  “Nothing but honor and God’s blessing,” retorted Notaras. “This is God’s city, the first great city built to God. We cannot abandon it. The city has never fallen, except to other Christians and then it was recovered. If you abandon the city, you will be damned my Lord, and everyone with you. If the city falls, it is God’s will, but you cannot choose to abandon it.”

  “As usual, my friend acts with enthusiasm and faith not born out by reality,” responded Sphrantzes. “The city will fall, Notaras. And you will suffer for it, I assure you. Do not condemn our Emperor to your foolishness.”

  Notaras rose red faced, his hands balled in fists. “You dare to call me a fool!”

  “Enough!” shouted Constantine. “Can you two not discuss anything as men? Sit down and be peaceful at least!” He turned to Giovanni. “What say you?”

  “My Lord, I believe we can hold the city. I do not think we could hold it forever, but we must also consider the Turks’ position. They must be exhausted too from their efforts. They have been repulsed in every attempt to take the city. I believe this newest offer of peace reflects exactly how desperate their position has become. If we hold out but a few more days, we may wake and find them gone.”

  Constantine considered the views of all of his counselors for long minutes before responding with a question. “Are there any updates from outside? Any news from Hungary, or the West or the East?”

  “My Lord, we have heard nothing from anyone. We must assume we are on our own. I do not think any help can assist us at this point in time, at least in time for any immediate attacks.”

  So it truly had come to this? They were alone. Strangely, Constantine felt peace with this. He had always had to rely on himself, and on the pitiful resources available to him. Outside help had failed him again and again, especially against the Turks. So be it.

  What about this peace offer? It offered everything. But it offered nothing. The last offer was more than generous, a kingdom and a lifetime of security. But all offers required that he give up his city. His life had been devoted to the protection of Constantinople. He could not give it up. If he had one more victory at the walls, the Sultan and his people would leave. When they left he would slowly rebuild the power of the Greeks from the remaining possessions. He would never again rely on the West, the Hungarians perhaps, but never the Pope and these selfish Italian city states.

  “My friends, I believe we must reject this offer. I agree with Giovanni. If the city can hold out a few more days, perhaps one more assault, then we will survive. I cannot and will not give up the city to the Turks. I owe it to our people to protect our city, for their sake, for their children’s sake, for our future. But we need something to raise the spirits of the people after so much weariness. I am going to lead a parade along the land walls this afternoon. I want our Greek priests to accompany me. We will parade our holiest relic, our blessed icon of the Virgin, the Hodegetria.”

  Constantine looked at Notaras, his loyal and deeply religious friend. “Please make the arrangements my friend. I would like us to gather before the palace at mid-afternoon and we will parade on foot along the entire length of the land walls. Please also invite Zophia to attend, and to walk with me.”

  Constantine could see the happiness in Notaras eyes at this honor. He bowed. “Thank you my Lord.”

  After the noon hour, Constantine dressed in formal clothing with a purple robe. He placed a gold wreath crown on his head and took out a long walking stick made of olive wood with a shod beaten silver end. He summoned a few guards and made his way out of the gates of the palace. He was surprised at the throng waiting outside for him. There must be several thousand people, dressed in their best clothing and waiting for their emperor.

  A huge cheer rose up when they caught sight of him. He basked in their warm glow, surprised again at their love for him despite everything they had been through. He spotted Zophia near the front and walked over to greet her. She embraced him briefly, her fragrance driving him wild. She smiled at him and put her arm through his. He was surprised by her generosity; she was giving public approval to their relationship, even if he knew privately she would not do so. He smiled gratefully to her and whispered that he loved her. She smiled in return but did not respond. />
  A delegation of priests came to the front of the crowd, carrying on a litter platform the precious icon of the Hodegetria, a large painted talisman of the Holy Virgin. The Hodegetria had been carried before the walls throughout the history of the city including during terrible sieges like that of the Avars in 626 and the Arab siege of 718. Another cheer rose from the crowd as they saw their most precious relic and the symbol of the Virgin’s protection of the city.

  The delegation moved slowly away, carrying the icon from the walls of the Blachernae palace and along the land walls themselves. Constantine and Zophia followed immediately behind along with Notaras and assorted nobles. Following behind this delegation was the crowd itself, singing ancient songs and uttering prayers for the deliverance of the city.

  Constantine could feel the people responding. As the delegation passed the gates and towers of the inner wall, soldiers cheered. Civilians laughed and shouted from houses and shops. The city was coming together under this great symbol of God’s love and protection.

  For more than an hour the procession wound through the streets near the wall, bringing hope and joy to the people. Constantine was filled with peace and happiness, enjoying Zophia beside him and the love of his people and his city. He turned to talk to Zophia, telling her again that he loved her.

  “Constantine, no.”

  He was hurt by her response, but realized quickly that she was not responding to him but still looking forward. He turned his head and his heart sank. The precious Hodegetria had fallen from the platform that held it and was face down at an angle, sunk deeply in the mud. Priests scurried forward and were attempting to pick it up, but seemed unable to lift it again.

  Constantine heard a collective groan from the crowd, including the men on the walls. To the deeply religious and deeply suspicious people of his city, omens were carefully considered and often taken at face value. This event would be interpreted as a calamity, as an omen of terrible doom. The emperor ran forward and ordered the priests out of the way. He placed his hands on the heavy frame of the icon and lifted. He could not budge the icon. He heard more murmuring from the crowd. He ordered several priests to assist him and with their help he pulled with all of his strength. Slowly the icon moved, inch by inch until it pulled free of the sticky mud. The relic was covered with sludge. He assisted the priests in pulling it back into place and rope was found to lash the icon back onto the platform. But the damage had already been done.