Constantinopolis Page 26

  “I have to go.” He kissed her back on the lips, smiling and running his hands through her hair. “I will tend to things and be back before breakfast. I want to spend all day with you today. I demand it.”

  She smiled back, pulling him close again and holding him.

  He pulled away and dressed quickly while she silently watched him. He then pulled her to him, holding her closely. “I love you my dear. You are my life.”

  “And you are mine.” He looked in her eyes a moment longer, and walked quickly out the door.

  Constantine made his way from Zophia’s home and found a large contingent of his personal guard mounted and waiting. He mounted his own horse and took off at a gallop toward the city wall. He arrived within minutes. At first he could only hear the din of the cannons, but as he came closer to the wall, he could hear the screams of battle and the clang of metal against metal, stone and wood.

  He dismounted along with his men and used his key to open one of the gates of the tall inner walls, allowing him out into the area between the inner and outer wall near the Palisade. As he approached the wooden keep, he was shocked to see the press of Turks against the walls. Before him there seemed to be thousands of Ottomans, all pushing relentlessly toward the walls of the Palisade. The roar of battle became deafening as he came closer.

  The Emperor finally reached the wooden walls and found Giovanni. The Italian was directing the battle from a chair, still apparently unable to stand. He had one hand holding a cloth over his wound. He recognized Constantine in the dim light and waved him over, grimacing from the effort.

  “You look unwell my friend.”

  “I feel unwell my Lord,” he joked. “Alas, what is to be done? These Turks seem unwilling to give me time to recover. I suppose I will have to follow their schedule, rather than mine.”

  “Are things holding up?”

  “Yes My Lord. Perfectly so far. The attack started about an hour ago. It seems very coordinated and primarily focused right here. I have had reports of attacks at other points on the walls, and even at sea, but they seem to be largely feints.”

  “Do you know the quality of the forces we are facing?”

  “They do not seem to be their best, at least not yet. They are poorly armed for the most part, and undisciplined. But there are many of them, and they keep coming.”

  “How are our men holding up?”

  “Good so far, but again, they can only fight for so long. We must hope that the Turks give up in a few hours. Otherwise I can make no guarantees.”

  The Turks pressed on, pushing hard against the walls. Constantine drew his own sword and motioned his guards to press forward into the battle as well. Soon he was lost in the excitement of the fighting, and everything simplified to the moment, all the worries of the city melting away as he directed men forward to points on the walls where Ottomans were forcing their way over a few at a time.

  Hours passed, Constantine was alert and felt focused. He always felt so alive in the middle of the battle. Everything slowed down. He experienced calm, almost peace, as if he was detached from this reality.

  A well-armored Turk broke over the wall and rushed through several Greeks, charging forward toward Constantine. The Emperor parried a heavy but awkward blow from the Ottoman warrior, ducked a second stroke and drove his sword up through the man’s throat. Hot blood splashed out, splattering Constantine. He choked in disgust and pulled his blade quickly out, kicking the Turk over into the dirt. He drew a cloth out and wiped his face clean. The Palisade was drenched in blood and the bodies of wounded and dead men. Most of the defenders were still alive, but many were wounded and Constantine could tell they were beginning to tire.

  There was a short lull in the fighting. Constantine left the immediate battle area and found Giovanni still sitting and obviously in great pain. “I see you still live,” the Italian observed on spotting the Emperor.

  “So far,” said Constantine, smiling. “These Turks seem to mean their business today.”

  “That they do. If I did not know better, I would speculate they intend to fight on until they take our fair city.”

  Constantine felt a chill of fear. “Do not even joke about such things!”

  “I am sorry My Lord. Just trying to make light of a terrible situation. I would say we have done well, and so have you. You fought for nearly three hours without any respite. The Turks certainly are giving it their everything. But they are pulling back now. I am hoping that is the end of it.”

  Even as Giovanni made this remark they heard a new flurry of shouting. A fresh wave of men were charging the walls. Constantine turned and rushed back into the fighting.

  New ladders were thrust against the walls of the Palisade. The Greeks and Italians pushed them back almost as quickly, but exposed themselves to musket and arrow fire when they did. Despite their best efforts, some of the ladders remained in place, and Turks streamed over the walls and jumped in among the defenders. Constantine noted these Ottomans were better armed, and he recognized the regalia and the distinctive white caps of the Janissaries. These men were fanatical and skilled warriors with the best armor and weapons. They wore chain mail with steel breastplates and helmets.

  The Janissaries attacked with relentless, almost suicidal ferocity. Moreover they were fresh and there were thousands of them. Constantine realized with growing panic that more and more of them were scaling the wooden walls alive, and moving into position to combat the defenders. Constantine’s men were slowly being pushed away from the walls themselves, and toward the middle of the Palisade. The Emperor could hear Giovanni screaming encouragement mixed with threats at the men, as the press of Turks became more and more overwhelming.

  Another hour passed. Constantine was exhausted and his arms bled from a dozen superficial wounds. The fighting was the most intense he had ever experienced. The Janissaries were ferocious fighters. Thankfully the tight fighting area allowed the Greeks and Italians to concentrate their fighting force and limit the number of Turks that could press the attack at any given time. The Emperor could barely lift his sword but kept forcing himself to fight. He felt dizzy, and wondered if he would pass out standing in the hard press of men.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and he ripped it off, turning with sword raised. He checked his stroke when he realized that Giovanni had joined him near the front of the attack. The Italian looked pale. His armor was blood streaked and he looked even more exhausted than Constantine felt.

  “You should be sitting down!” shouted Constantine over the roar of the battle.”

  “I am needed here now. There is no time for resting or nursing wounds! We have got to drive our men forward and back to the walls. The Turks are coming over now unchallenged. Soon there will be too many. We have to drive them back now or we are going to lose the Palisade!”

  Constantine assessed the battle and agreed with Giovanni. Janissaries had driven Constantine’s men back well beyond the wall. In the short time the Emperor could focus on the wall, several Turks had climbed to the top of scaling ladders and jumped down inside the Palisade. If they did not press the Turks back quickly, there would be too many inside and they would no longer be able to hold them back.

  “Let us pull my guard together near me and we will drive the men forward!”

  Giovanni did not answer. Constantine turned back and realized with horror his friend was on the ground, twisting back and forth and holding his leg. Constantine knelt over the Genoan and saw that there was a new and terrible wound. Giovanni had been shot in the upper thigh. Blood was spurting out of the gaping hole in red spurts. He was screaming in pain, and an almost animal-like terror. He grabbed a hold of Constantine’s arm. “Get me out of here, I need a doctor! I’m going to die! The battle is lost! The city is lost!”

  Constantine had never seen the Genoan like this. His eyes were crazed and he coughed and sputtered. He seemed to have lost himself in pain and fear. The Emperor had to act quickly. Constantine struck Giovanni across the face. “Quiet!
This is no time to lose faith! You must stay here and rally. We need you now, at this moment!”

  Giovanni looked up wild eyed at the Emperor. “I am sorry, I cannot. This is too much. It is over. I am in too much pain.” The Italian turned to several of his men. “Carry me away, I need aid.”

  The battle swirled on around Constantine. He had only moments to decide. He could try to keep Giovanni here, but it would cost the Italian his life. Not only that but he was in a panic and might create even more panic around him. Constantine waved the men forward. He grabbed Giovanni’s shoulder and pressed it slightly. “Farewell my friend. Fare thee well.”

  Giovanni smiled through the pain, recognizing Constantine’s gesture. He was lifted up between the men who carried Giovanni as gently as possible away from the Palisade. Constantine watched him for a moment and then turned back to the battle, which was becoming more desperate by the moment.

  He heard shouts from the men. “Giovanni is lost. The city is lost!” He shouted the men down to remain calm and focus on the battle. He stepped back into the heaving fighting and lost himself in the effort to rally the men. He was shocked again by the intensity of the fighting. He had never been in combat so savage. He hacked away with his sword, killing several Turks quickly and screaming for his guards and the men to rally with him and drive the Ottomans from the wall. He could see the banners of the Turks waving on the palisade now, and more and more Janissaries streaming over. He had minutes, maybe only seconds to stem the gap.

  He turned and was alarmed to see that men were beginning to stream away from the battle. Giovanni’s departure had apparently caused a more generalized retreat. He screamed at the men to stay at their posts, to rally around him. A number of men looked his way but none returned. He was losing them. He was losing his city.

  He turned back to the battle. There were only a few defenders now, all Greek, battling hopelessly against a surging tide of Janissaries. Constantine smiled. He felt a strange calm. The city was falling. He could do nothing more to stop it. He had done so much. He had done all he could do. Constantine reached back and ripped off his purple cape, and the imperial eagles from his shoulders. He tossed them out over the advancing Turks. He was just another Greek now. A Greek fighting for his city and his people. He slashed at one Turk and then another, driving them back with his fury.

  A flash of bright light erupted in his mind. He felt himself spinning and a terrible ringing in his ears. He could not see or feel anything except the roar of the ringing. Something had happened. He was not sure, could not think, could not concentrate. He felt his body hit the ground. He struggled to rise but he could not feel his legs. His ears rang and he could only see blurry shapes and bright flashes. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and ribs. The pain exploded. He coughed up blood and felt himself gasping for air. Another tearing pain burned through his right leg. He was fighting to stay awake, trying to process the pain and where it was coming from. He felt waves of darkness pouring over him. He felt the pain and the light slip away.

  He could see his city, his beloved Constantinople. All of it before him, below him. How could he be above it? The pain had fled and he felt more alive than ever. He sprang up from the walls and out over the city. The sky was beautiful. St. Sophia glimmered like gold below a shimmering sun. He floated above, gently wandering through the streets. The people below were busy with their daily labors. His people.

  He spotted a beautiful woman wearing a pure white gown, bathed in light. He glided gently to her. He realized it was Zophia. She smiled and lifted her hand, guiding him home. He was home. The worries were fading. He had his city and his love. He was at peace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1453 6:00 A.M.

  Zophia paced in the darkness, fraught with worry. She felt something must be wrong. She had prayed and prayed that Constantine would be safe, that the city would be safe, but she could not feel any comfort. She had faced all 53 days of the siege with anxiousness and fear, but never like this morning. Somehow when Constantine had left her she was convinced she would never see him again.

  At least they had been together. A few glorious hours making love and holding each other. He had finally given himself to her for the future, no matter what that future held or how long it would last. They had loved with an intensity neither had ever known. She had felt a deep unspeakable fear she had not wanted to face.

  Had she been correct in withholding herself from him during his time of need? This thought had tormented her throughout the siege. She felt terrible denying Constantine, keeping him at arms length. But she could not be true to herself otherwise. She was never happy as his lover, but it was acceptable when it was exclusive. Once he decided to find someone new, she could not be with him any longer, even with all the reasons he gave her. She understood why he felt he had to make those decisions, but she could not give into his compromise. For her, there was no compromise. One faith, one heart.

  She had been so happy when he finally let go of all of this false hope. Faith in false religion. False hopes of help from the West. False faith that a new bride would give him aid from Georgia that would lift the siege. She had known all along that they could only depend on each other. Depend on the city. Depend on their God.

  Was she right? Was the city falling even as she considered these thoughts? In her mind it did not matter. If they compromised everything for a few more years, just for a little safety, they gained nothing.

  But would God not give her a little more time with her love? A little more time with their beautiful city? She hoped so, but why this terrible feeling?

  She finished dressing and left her home. Her servants had saddled her horse at her request. She rode out in the crisp pre-dawn light, heading north toward the walls. She could see smoke rising from the walls, but then smoke had risen practically every day since the siege first began. That did not mean anything.

  However she now noticed a tense thickness about the air. Almost as if it sought to strangle her, or to hold her back. Maybe it was just her uneasy feeling. She rode North and soon neared the land walls. Now the light was breaking into the sky. She would approach the walls and hail some of the guards. They would be able to tell her where Constantine was, and hopefully pass him a message. Perhaps she could even climb one of the towers and wait for him there.

  As she came closer, she realized something was wrong. As she came in to direct sight of the walls she could see people running toward her. They were clutching clothes and possessions, terror in their eyes. Some were screaming. A woman less than a hundred yards from Zophia made eye contact with her. She had tears streaming down her face. She was reaching out to Zophia as if to plead with her. As Zophia watched the woman tripped. Behind her she was horrified to see an Ottoman running, almost as if directly at her. But the Turk stopped, and knelt down quickly, sword in hand. He grabbed the woman by the hair, yanking her half to her feet. He pulled her head around roughly and began dragging her away from the street toward a home. She screamed and tried to fight him but he was too strong for her. He kicked open a door and pulled her inside.

  Zophia was frozen with the terror of the scene. Greeks and Italians ran passed her. All she could think of was Constantine. If the Turks were in the city where was he? He must be at the walls. Could she not reach him? She needed him, needed to make sure he was alive. She started her horse forward a few steps but was not able to force herself any further toward the walls. She knew in her heart it was already too late.

  Another group of Ottomans were running down the street toward her, closing by the moment. A few men broke off from the group in different directions, kicking in doors or wrestling people to the ground. She watched a Turk behead an elderly Greek woman who had paused in the street to try to catch her breath. The head rolled down the street, teeth chattering. The body stood for several seconds and then fell, almost gracefully, to the paved stone.

  The Turks were closing quickly. She had to do something. She fought with herself for a few mo
re moments, considering charging through the Ottomans to try to get to the walls. She realized she would never make it. There were at last thirty men coming toward her now. Several had seen her and were shouting and pointing, obviously taking her for a prize.

  She reversed her horse quickly and kicked her heels, driving the horse forward at a gallop. She could not breathe. She was stunned, crying, barely able to see, but she knew she had to get away as quickly as possible. She did not know where to go but she had to flee from the walls, flee from these terrible men. Where was her Constantine?

  She wielded her horse off the main roads and into a vacant field. She galloped across the field and in to a forested area near some crumbling buildings. She turned at the edge of the woods to make sure she was not being pursued. She could not see any Turks in the fields or near the buildings where she had just come from. She let her horse rest for a few minutes and caught her own breath.

  Was it possible the Turks had only broken through in a small section? She wanted to believe desperately that the city could still hold, and more importantly that Constantine might still be alive. Should she ride back to the walls from another direction? She wanted to, but she realized that would be a reckless decision. Even if there were only a few Turks in the city, she would be placing herself in harm’s way. Whether the breakthrough was limited or widespread, she could not return toward the land walls.

  Why were there no soldiers running to defend the city? Zophia knew there were men stationed along the sea walls. They should be coming up the main roads to mount a secondary defense. Did that mean the attack had not really broken through? Or did that mean the city was completely lost and the defenders were abandoning their posts?

  Again she realized that the answer to that question did not matter. She could not assist in the defense of the city and could even present a valuable hostage to the Turks if she was captured. She needed to get away from the land walls. Perhaps the defenders on the sea walls did not even know about the breakthrough? Should she try to warn them? She could not imagine that the defenses had broken down so significantly that nobody had sent a warning back to the city, but it was possible. She realized she had to do something.