Constantinopolis (34 page)

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.

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 more 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.

Zophia paused for a few more minutes and thought things through. She decided she must try to warn the other defenders in case they did not know. She turned her horse and set off again, riding through the thin tree line and back out to the streets. She rode past terrified citizens that were trying to get a few possessions together and running out of their homes, trying to keep their families together. Everyone was stumbling around in stunned disbelief.

Zophia quickly realized that the news had spread far beyond her already. She also realized from the actions of the people around her that they had given up hope. The city had fallen. How had their blessed Constantinople fallen? Was there any way to save the city?

As she rode further away from the walls, the dome of St. Sophia began to rise up. Amid her tears and anguish she focused on the dome. She felt a moment of peace. She knew she had to go there. She wanted to be in her church. She hoped if Constantine had survived he might have made his way there. He would not go back to the palace, as it was connected to the walls and might have already fallen. If there was still any hope the city could be defended, she could use the church as a base camp to gather and send out information. She thought of stopping first to try to send a message back to the walls. She looked around for any soldiers or even a willing citizen but there was no one. The only people in the streets were citizens and they were running away in a panic as quickly as possible. She would not be able to do anything until she was further away from the land walls.

She started out toward St. Sophia but then decided she would first ride over to the harbor of the Golden Horn to see what was happening. She was able to reach the Horn in only a few minutes. The scene was chaos. Huge crowds had formed near the docks. The people were primarily Italians but also many Greeks, clutching a few possessions. They were pressed forward trying to climb aboard the Genoese and Venetian galleys. The sailors stood aboard the ships, weapons out, preventing most of the people from boarding the ships. The crowd was screaming, pleading for help, to be allowed to board the ships and escape from the city.

Zophia looked out over the horn and could see the Turkish fleet closing in on the city both from across the Horn and from the Bosporus. The sea chain was no longer defended and some of the Ottoman ships were already astride it. Sailors were hacking at the wooden booms that connected the links. The chain would be broken in a matter of minutes, and the full fleet would be in the horn. She also noticed that some of the Italian ships had already departed from the harbor, and some were sailing toward Galata, perhaps hoping for protection from the independent Genoese city.

With some luck, a few people were going to be able to escape by ship. Should she try to do so? She almost laughed in her despair. She would never leave her city, her emperor. God would protect her and the city, and if God did not, then it was his will that the city would fall and his will that the people would suffer. She accepted this, but like Jesus in the garden, she feared what was to come. She turned her horse slowly away and continued on to St. Sophia.

As she approached the great cathedral she saw others making their way to the church, some individuals, and many families, all streaming to St. Sophia. She remembered the ancient legend that the church would never fall, that even if the walls themselves were breached, God would intervene and save the city before St. Sophia fell.

She entered the nave of the church under the great doors and made her way to the sanctuary. Normally the women worshiped upstairs in the gallery but today men and women were huddled together on the main floor below the great dome. Fathers and mothers knelt in prayer, holding their children tightly. Tears streamed down many faces.

Many recognized Zophia and came forward to kiss her and touch her robes. They asked about Constantine, had she seen him? Did she know what was happening in the city? She did not. But she gave them what comfort she could. She led small prayers with clusters of people. She brought blankets to children and held them for a few minutes, feeling them shiver beneath her. She looked up at the great archangels above, and prayed to Jesus and the Virgin to protect them, to deliver them, to save the city.

A Greek soldier entered the back of the cathedral and shouted that the Turks were getting closer. He had lost his weapon and was wounded in the head, blood trickling down his face. A great wallow of dread rose out of the crowd. Zophia saw the terror. She tried to avoid the eyes of the children. Acolytes ran to the great doors, locking them closed.

The priests at the altar called the people together for prayer. The crowd moved closer to the altar, holding hands, keeping their children close, praying for deliverance, begging the Holy Father to keep the cathedral safe, to keep the city safe.

Zophia prayed with the rest of them. She prayed for the city. Her glorious Constantinople. The city had stood for 1100 years, a beacon of light amid the darkness. Certainly there had been much evil done within the city, as in all human cities, but amidst the dark terrors of the centuries, the city had kept the people safe and happy.

She prayed for the people of Constantinople. They were hardly a tithe of the former population but they were still the people of this city. They belonged to it and the city belonged to them. Everything was about to change forever. They were losing their city. And they were losing their freedom, their honor, their lives. Nothing would ever be the same for any of them again.

She prayed for Constantine, her only and great love on this earth. She was so thankful for every moment they had had together. She smiled as she thought of their time talking, enjoying the city, holding each other, making love. She could have asked for nobody and nothing better. She hoped to join him soon. Join him in heaven. She felt in her heart he was already gone. She whispered to him “I will see you soon my dear. Please help me through what is to come.”

As she prayed she could hear the banging begin behind her. Loud and deep banging on the doors. They were here. The lamenting of the crowd grew. She could hear crying, the whimpering of the children. There was a chopping sound, the Turks were beating on the doors with axes. She heard a crash. She kept her eyes closed, praying for them all. They were through.

Zophia whispered a final few words of prayer and turned to see. The great doors were ripped open and dozens of Ottomans were pouring in, well armored with swords drawn. A priest ran up to demand that they not defile the great church. A Turk stepped forward and cut his head from his body with one stroke. Zophia felt a tug on her arm. A little girl, no more than eight, was standing near her with her parents. They were all trembling in fear. Zophia smiled down at her as best she could. She wanted to hold Zophia’s hand as well as her mother’s. Zophia took the tiny hand and held it, trying to let some courage and comfort flow through to the child.

More Turks were streaming through the doors by the moment. They were spreading out. Soon they reached the families. They began by killing all of the elderly and the very young children. Zophia was horrified when one Ottoman ripped a baby out of the arms of her mother and dashed it against the wall. They were sorting the families for slaves, and it was clear the young, strong and particularly the beautiful women were the most desirable.