Constantinopolis (32 page)

Mehmet seethed. He wanted to kill Halil right this moment. At the same time he felt those conflicting emotions he had always felt. A part of Mehmet wanted Halil’s approval. A part of him wanted to give in. “What else?”

Halil seemed encouraged by this. “Please, Sultan I beg you. Let me guide you. Take my advice. It is not too late. We can be a great partnership. I have a master plan for the next ten years. The next twenty. If you let me guide you I promise you will achieve everything in your heart’s desire. But you most stop fighting me! If you continue to challenge me in all things, I cannot protect you. We are at the brink. The attack tomorrow is doomed. How can we succeed now when we have failed again and again?

You have done brilliantly Mehmet. You have exceeded my expectations in so many ways in this siege. But still we fail. And we will fail. We have wasted so many resources against these walls. We are not yet in danger but how much longer can we wait before Hunyadi pounces on us? Even if we get away from the walls, we will lose that many more men in a fruitless attack tomorrow. We need to retreat and regroup. Let me save the army! Let me save you!”

“I will consider what you have said. Thank you for coming.” Mehmet bowed to Halil and his Grand Vizier bowed in return and left the tent.

A part of Mehmet had listened. Even after steeling his heart against Halil and deciding he would take this gamble, a part of him wanted to listen. A part of him yearned to surrender. He had carried all of the worries of the world for so long, and done so not only with no direction but most of the time in direct conflict with his Grand Vizier. He was exhausted from the conflict. Exhausted and unsure of himself. He had forged his own destiny and had done so carefully but all of his plans had failed.

Halil was right. There was nothing special about the coming attack. In fact, he had to admit to himself, he had already mounted attacks under more favorable conditions than the one that was planned. He had already tried slamming troops at a breach for hours at a time. He simply could not get enough men into enough space, and this left the Greeks able to defend themselves and thwart his attacks. What was different about this next attack? He realized the only difference was desperation. He desperately needed the last attack to work, or he would lose everything.

Was Halil really his enemy? Certainly he had contacted Mehmet’s father and replaced Mehmet when the Sultan was first placed on the throne. But Mehmet had to admit to himself that the Grand Vizier probably had had to do so. He had been so young, so rash. If Halil had not taken action, Mehmet might have been killed then.

What should he do? He had felt such single-minded purpose for so long, he did not know how to react to this crisis. And the clarity that Halil might have been justified in some of his earlier decisions only made the present that more confusing.

What if he did follow Halil’s recommendation? Certainly it was likely the Grand Vizier would leave him in power if he backed off on the attack now. But what would the other ramifications be? He would probably have to remove his hand-picked council members. He might even have to execute a few of them, including Zaganos. Would that bother him? He cared for Zaganos but if it came down to it he could not sacrifice his own life for his friend.

And that would not be the end. With the council entirely behind Halil and with a public acknowledgment that the siege had been a mistake, Mehmet would be forced to follow all of Halil’s recommendations going forward. Would the Grand Vizier truly raise him to greatness? If he did assist him, would it be worth it? Would it be better to achieve greatness no matter what, or to be his own man or die trying?

Mehmet thought of his father. His father was a great man. Halil was his advisor, but never dominated him. Halil would not have dared. Thinking of his father filled Mehmet with anger and bitterness. Why had he left him with this mess? Why had he not trained him properly and mentored him? He had ignored him and he had thrust him into the forefront far too soon.

His father had done nothing for him. He would be damned if his father would remain above him. He had not shaped Mehmet. Mehmet would shape himself, as he had always done. If he died at the gates of Constantinople so be it. He would die attempting what his father was never capable of achieving.

Mehmet grabbed pen and began scrawling a note to Halil, a letter of explanation. After a few lines he stopped and tore up the letter. He owed Halil no explanation. He owed Halil nothing.

In the gathering dusk he severed the last ties to his father, and the last ties to his Grand Vizier. In a few hours all would be decided. It would be him or Halil. He felt a calm peace. If he died, he would die a martyr at the walls of Constantinople. Or he would live a hero. So let it be.

Mehmet left his tent and called loudly for his horse and armor. He was soon dressed and mounted. He rode out into his camp alone, calling his men to battle for the glory of Allah. He was cheered by his men who were gathering for the coming attack. He was ready. Ready for the great chance. To conquer or perish.

By the thousands, the men moved into position near the Sultan’s in the darkness. The cannon kept up a constant barrage against the walls, masking the sound of the men in the darkness as they assembled for battle.

Zaganos joined Mehmet shortly after midnight. He grasped the arm of the Sultan and held it tightly for a moment. “Glory to you on this night of fortune Sultan.”

Mehmet smiled. Zaganos was his warrior. He had always been. The Sultan had held him at arms length out of fear, fear bred from the experiences of his youth. No more. If he conquered, he would raise his friend to the greatest position in the land. He would trust this one man. He had earned it.

“Yes Pasha, tonight is our night. We must conquer my friend, or I fear we shall not last the night.”

Zaganos smiled. “I have no doubt you are right. I am not interested in handing my head to Halil. I think he deserves some dessert no doubt, but I’d rather deliver it than receive it.”

Not for the first time, Mehmet imagined exacting revenge on Halil. How sweet it would be. He realized his vengeance might only be hours away. The thought gave him even more strength. Again he felt the confidence, the strange peace. Such peace could only come from Allah. He was blessed. He would succeed. He must succeed. He clasped Zaganos on the back and drew his sword. “Constantinople is ours!” he shouted. “Allah wills it!”

The darkness erupted with shouting. The moment of destiny was here.

MONDAY, MAY 28, 1453

John Hunyadi rode ahead of his marching army down the narrow mountain trail. They had passed out of the territory of Walachia several days before, and were well within the area controlled by the Ottomans. The pass opened up before him into a flat grassy valley with periodic copses of trees and dotted by farms and villages.

An Ottoman force awaited them in the center of the valley on the high ground. Hunyadi could not accurately make out the size of the force but estimated five hundred. There were horses nearby but the Ottomans were on foot and apparently dug in at the rise of a small ridge.

Hunyadi immediately turned to one of his men and ordered that the main force be brought up as quickly as possible. It was before noon and the Hungarian leader believed an attack could be mounted well before dark.

His field commanders were soon assembled and Hunyadi quickly laid out an attack plan. He dismissed his commanders and then turned to give additional instructions to his personal guard. The Hungarian was excited: he had not experienced combat in a long while now, particularly against the Turks.

He led his cavalry, five hundred heavily armored knights, down the sloping trail, into the flat land of the valley and then across to the base of the central hill. The knights lined up quickly to his right and left, facing up the sloping hill to the Ottomans above. The Turks occupied the top of the hill in the center of the valley. The hill was unobstructed except for a few trees and rocks near the top. The Turks had dug defensive positions behind the rocks, and stacked wood and dirt before them to shield their position. Hunyadi eyed the defenses and then sent messengers to his commanders, making slight modifications to his plans.

As his knights remained in position facing the hill, his men at arms moved into position on each side of the cavalry, passing until they occupied forward positions to his left and right, facing uphill. The Turks were now surrounded on three sides. The men at arms were on foot, and armed with long swords and shields.

Hunyadi expected the Ottomans to break and run but they held their position even as his forces moved into place. He was impressed with the courage of the Turkish commander and his small force, who must surely realize their hopeless position.

Hunyadi drew his sword and gave a command. His men at arms began advancing up the hill on both sides. The knights remained motionless as the advance commenced. The Ottomans began firing arrows at the advancing forces, but there were few archers and the casualties were insignificant. Hunyadi called out again and the advancing forces broke into a double march, charging up the hill. The Hungarian raised his sword and yelled, his voice booming in the valley. Hunyadi and his knights spurred their horses, galloping up the hill at full speed, weapons drawn, hooves thundering.

A scattered volley of arrows flew down the hill at Hunyadi. A few struck knights and bounced harmlessly off their heavy armor. The distance to the Turks closed quickly and in moments they would be on them.

Hunyadi shouted again, even louder this time and drew his horse up sharply. His knights did the same as did his men at arms, drawing a tight circle around the fortifications, less than fifty yards away. Simultaneously a dark cloud appeared in the sky behind the Ottomans. Thousands of arrows arched through the air and crashed in among the Turks. Hundreds were wounded or dead in an instant. The Turks, distracted by the approaching forces on three sides, had not seen Hunyadi’s archers moving quietly into place at their unprotected rear.

The screams of the wounded echoed down the hill as volley after volley of arrows landed among the Turks. Half of the defenders were killed in less than a minute. A few Ottomans attempted to climb over the fortifications and escape down the hill but they were quickly cut down by the Hungarian foot solders.

The battle was over in minutes. Hunyadi had lost sixteen men. He ordered that the remaining Ottomans be disarmed but not harmed. He looked to the local villagers to take care of them. His men quickly buried their own dead and then formed up ranks and moved on. The entire attack from the moment he spotted the Turks to departing had lasted less than fifteen minutes. There was still plenty of daylight and Hunyadi ordered the men to move on, as they would stop long after nightfall. Now that he had passed into Ottoman territory, he wanted to arrive at Constantinople as quickly as possible, to minimize the risk of attack and to assure the element of surprise. He was still 200 miles away, and it would take a week of hard marching to arrive.

He had hoped to meet Gregory again on the trail. The Greek should have reported long ago and it made sense that Constantine would send him back as quickly as possible to continue the communication. He hoped word had at least reached Constantine that he was on his way. It was possible that information would lead Mehmet to lift the siege. That would be a blessing for the city, although it would complicate things for Hunyadi, particularly if Constantine broke his word and did not sally out from the city to aid in the decisive battle. The Hungarian hoped he had measured Constantine correctly. If not, he would be badly outnumbered again against an Ottoman force in Ottoman territory. No matter, he had no idiot King in tow this time to ruin his plans.

MONDAY, MAY 28, 1453

Captain Uberti anchored at Chios. He was at his fourth Greek harbor in as many weeks, slowly making his way toward the Dardanelles as he had been ordered to do. He was busy overseeing the loading of livestock into the hull of his ship.

He had delayed enough that he hoped to satisfy his Venetian overlords. He was tired of the slow progress and he could tell his men were anxious and beginning to question his commands. Many of the men on his ship had sailed with him for years, and they knew him well. He had never taken this long to complete a mission, particularly when they were supposed to be rushing men and supplies as quickly as possible to Constantinople.

He was having trouble sleeping. He kept dreaming of the Turks ravaging Constantinople. In his dream they ran through the streets of the city cutting down women and children while screaming in bloodlust. The warriors raped and murdered the citizens while Uberti looked on helplessly. For some reason he was on land and impotent to help them. He had no true skills as a warrior; his ship was his weapon. The dreams robbed him of sleep and he felt a growing guilt.

His first mate interrupted his thoughts. “The ship is nearly loaded. I do not think there is another place to stuff a single provision in this whole fleet. Pardon me sir, but was all this really necessary? Is it not more important to get to the city with something than to assure we provide every last provision?”

Uberti could see the look on the first mate’s face. He suspected something no doubt. This was the first time Uberti had ever had his men second-guess him. He grew angry. This complication was more than he had bargained for or was willing to put up with. It was one thing to play the game of politics for profit, particularly under duress. It was another to risk his reputation and the respect of his men.

He had had enough. He turned to the mate. “Sound the alarm. I want every man and every ship ready to sail in the next two hours. We are going to Constantinople without further delay, and the devil take the Turks if they try to stop me!”

The first mate grinned. “That is what I have been expecting to hear for weeks now sir. I will get our men moving. To hell with the Turks, whatever stands in our way!”

The first mate quickly left and the Captain stood by, watching the men on his ship and in the fleet ready the ships for immediate sailing. He felt better than he had in weeks. He had delayed enough to save face regardless of what happened now. What he intended to do was sail immediately to the great city, battle his way in if necessary and land his reinforcements. He would then set sail and wreak havoc with any ships the Ottomans cared to send his way. His blood was up and he enjoyed it immensely. Let the bastards come!