Constantinopolis (29 page)

“And if the attack succeeds, or do you no longer think it possible?”

“If the attack succeeds we do not need a plan My Lord.”

Mehmet felt the warmth grow. He had chosen this man well. He was loyal after all. Not only loyal, but he did believe there was still a chance the city could be taken. Whether they succeeded or not, if Mehmet survived, Zaganos would be richly rewarded.

Mehmet embraced Zaganos, something he had never done before. He found himself sobbing, holding on tight, feeling the support of another person. He had held back so long, held himself in control. He eventually composed himself. “Thank you for your support. Whatever happens, I will not forget.”

Zaganos bowed. “You may always depend on me my Lord. What would I do? Betray you for Halil? Hah! My head would join yours the moment it was convenient. My star is tied to yours. I am your servant. And there is more. I believe in you my Lord. You have almost brought this city to its knees. You have done more than your father ever did against Constantinople. More than almost anyone. If the city falls or does not at this point, that is Allah’s will. But if we do fail, we will not go down without a fight. Halil may find it less than easy to depose you.”

Mehmet bowed back, his old self again. He would not surrender, either the siege or to Halil. He would fight.

The spy came again to Mehmet’s summons in the middle of the night. He bowed low and rose at Mehmet’s command. “What can you tell me?” the Sultan demanded.

“Your attack on the Blachernae Palace was almost successful Sultan. The attack caught us completely by surprise. The only reason it failed was again the timely reinforcement by reserve forces. Also, Constantine arrived rather unexpectedly with a large force of his guards. It is a miracle that the city held.”

A miracle for the Greeks. What did it mean to Mehmet? Was this another sign that Allah did not favor his victory? He had come so close so many times in this siege.

“What of the tunneling? Why did we fail? How were we discovered?”

“Apparently the tunnelors made too much noise and alerted the defenders. There is an expert in tunnel warfare in the city. He made his services available to Constantine and that is why your plan failed.”

An expert on tunneling magically appearing in the city? Again, was Allah against him? Was this false Christian God somehow real? The history of Constantinople was the history of miraculous good luck for the inhabitants. The city should have fell a dozen times but somehow again and again had been saved. Was this another example of the same?

“What is the situation now of the defenders?”

“It has changed some. Your ships in the harbor have required a repositioning of forces. There are now more men stationed along the sea walls near the Horn. Also the defenders as a whole have thinned out some because of battle wounds and illness.”

“Thinned out how much?”

“By hundreds Sultan, not by thousands. Most of the defenders are very well armored, and of course they have the walls to defend them. I can tell you that everyone is suffering from fatigue and most of the defenders near the main points of attack have suffered at least minor wounds in the fighting.”

Only hundreds of casualties? Mehmet had lost more than ten thousand men in the fighting so far. Was this man lying to him? He did know the Greeks were well armed, and of course the walls would assist them in reducing casualties.

However, Mehmet refused to believe that only a few hundred Greeks had been killed so far. He must watch for other lies. He again wondered what the purpose of this spy’s betrayal was? Was he even truly a traitor or was he here at Constantine’s command to beguile Mehmet with half truths and outright misinformation? Should he torture the man or kill him?

“Would another attack on the palace succeed?”

“Of course there is no way for me to predict that but I do not think so. I know there are now more defenders in that area, and I’m sure they are on guard. I think an attack on that portion of the wall would result in a quick defeat.”

“That is what I would have expected to hear but I wanted your opinion. Where should we attack?”

The spy hesitated. Was this more than he was willing to answer?

“Sultan, return to the attack before the Romanus and Charisius portions of the wall. You have nearly succeeded there multiple times. Blast a hole and battle through. That is the only way.”

So the best plan this man had was the same plan he had already followed over and over? All of the failed sieges of Constantinople, with the exception of the Latin attack by sea, had come down to an inability to break through the walls. Mehmet had advanced one level. He could get through the walls but only on a limited front. On that limited front his men were fighting on equal terms with the Greeks, because only a relatively few Ottomans could get through at one time. He knew he was running out of time. He had hoped the spy would give him some new insight but he had not. It all still came down to not only breaking through the wall, but breaking through the Greek defenders. He could only do this, if at all, through a sustained attack. If he had months he could keep wearing the Greeks down but he did not have months. He had weeks, maybe only days.

“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.

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 sure 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?