Constantinopolis (37 page)

“Show me to Zophia and I will let you go.”

Sphrantzes breathed out heavily and smiled. “I will certainly do so My Lord. She is here in the sanctuary now.” Sphrantzes led Mehmet into the middle of the sanctuary. He was heavily surrounded by guards to assure no vengeful Greek would try to assassinate him. Sphrantzes led Mehmet up to a young beautiful woman with black hair. She had a tear streaked face and torn robes. She was tied to a young girl who clung to her, whimpering. “This is Zophia my Lord.”

The young woman’s eyes widened and she looked at Sphrantzes with anger. “How could you? How could you betray Constantine like this? What have you become?”

Sphrantzes bowed to her. “I have not become anything. You simply see me clearly now. Finally. I am a survivor. Without Constantine and the city I have no future, except to make my way the best I am able. You are unfortunately the price of my freedom. I do not do this out of any personal grudge.” Sphrantzes turned to Mehmet and switched to Turkish. “As you can see my Lord, this is in fact Zophia, Constantine’s greatest treasure. He was with her in the morning when your attack came. I am sure he had her. If you hurry, you can have her on the very same day.”

Mehmet swung his arm and struck Sphrantzes across the face, knocking him to the hard marble floor. “You are a worm and I see the best I can do for you is turn you on the west to weasel your way into some other court and spread your rumors and lies. You will not further dishonor this woman though or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you.”

He turned to his guards. “Drag this scum out of this holy place. Find him an Italian ship and let him escape while he can. Give him thirty pieces of silver, I believe that is the proper Christian sum.”

Sphrantzes was dragged away, his face bleeding and bruised. Mehmet reached out and gently lifted Zophia to her feet. Then he gestured to the girl tied to Zophia. “Who is this girl?” he asked. “Do you know her?”

Zophia looked at Mehmet with eyes widening. She hesitated then answered. “I do not know her my Lord. She was tied to me. Her mother was torn from us about an hour ago. Her father is dead.”

Mehmet turned to another guard. “Take this girl and try to find her mother. They are to be freed, returned to their home, given some gold, and protected. I want a guard at their door until all slaves have been removed from the city. Arrange for proper paperwork for them as well.”

The guard removed a dagger and cut the cloth tying Zophia to the girl. Zophia spoke to her in Greek and explained what Mehmet had ordered. She hugged her tightly. The guard led her slowly away. “Thank you my Lord. That was a great act of kindness.”

“I but do honor to you. You are the love of my great foe. I wish he would have survived but I fear that he has not. I wish he would have accepted my offers and left the city. I wanted his city, not his life.”

“This city was his life. He sacrificed everything for it. He was not capable of leaving it behind. Now he can finally be at peace.”

“I will honor him by protecting you. You will come into my household and will be given a monthly allowance and quarters. You may choose to marry someone of appropriate station in time. You may also consider converting to Islam. I will tell you everything I know about it. I will not force you. You will be protected and honored to the end of your days. I will want to talk to you from time to time about Constantine. I want to understand everything about him. I also want your advice about this city. I have dreamed of the city but you have lived here. I intend to bring Ottomans and Greeks from throughout the empire to rebuild the city and make it great again. I will restore Constantinople to its former greatness, and eventually we will exceed it. This city will be the center of the world. Will you accept my proposal? I will force no choices on you.”

“You are generous beyond words My Lord. I am happy to share with you everything I know about the city and our people. I will however never give you information about free Greeks. I will not identify captured Greeks for you. I will not convert to Islam. If you intend these things I ask that you take my life now.”

Mehmet bowed. “I agree to your terms, as I said, nothing will be forced on you. Now I must thank Allah for this wondrous day.” He gave additional orders and Zophia was led away with a number of guards. The other Greeks were also led out of the sanctuary. Mehmet could not and would not free the others. He had made promises to his people that must be kept. When all of the slaves had been removed he gathered the council near the great altar in the east.

“This is the moment we have dreamed and waited for. The city is ours. This great cathedral is ours, the greatest building on earth. I rededicate this as Aya Sofia, our great mosque for the glory of Allah. Let us now pray together and give thanks.”

The Grand Mufti came forward. He went to the altar and then turned slightly to the right, to face Mecca. He began his preparations. Mehmet and the council members ritually cleansed themselves and returned with the call to prayer. They began the first holy prayers, thanking and praising Allah. Mehmet smiled as he praised him. He was home.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 30, 1453

Captain Uberti stared out impatiently over the sunny and calm waters near the entrance to the Dardanelles. The wind simply would not cooperate.

He had stood off the straits for a day now, waiting for a favorable wind to push his fleet into and through. He had oars within the ship but they could not carry his fleet quickly enough and with the narrow straits not much more than a mile wide in places, and dominated by the Turks on both sides, he must wait for a strong wind to make the run into the Sea of Marmara.

He looked out at the remaining ships of his fleet, watching other sailors, soldiers and the ship captains pacing about just as he was. They were impatient to reach the city and assist in the destruction of the Turks.

A shout caught his attention and he looked out quickly toward the straits. A single ship had appeared on the horizon. Uberti sounded the alarm and the sailors sprang to, preparing cannon and setting their sails in case they had to fight this ship, or even a fleet that had not yet appeared. Uberti noted all of the ships in his fleet were preparing for whatever this potential threat might be.

After the initial flurry of activity, there was little that could be done except watch the ship slowly approach. The captain kept a close look on the horizon and was relieved that no additional ships were appearing. If this was a threat, his fleet could certainly handle a single ship.

As the ship ranged closer he could make out the sails and flags. The ship was Genoese. He ordered the news called through the fleet and the men stood down from their defensive positions. He ordered his ship sailed forward in the light wind on a path to intercept the Genoese vessel.

Soon the ship was in hailing distance and the Genoan sailors shouted that they had important news. The captain, after verifying in a few exchanges that the men were in fact Italians, ordered a long boat roped down in to the water. He climbed down himself with two armed sailors and four rowers, and set out over the fifty yards of open water to the Genoan ship. He decided to go himself. He often took the risks himself, to assist in his reputation with his crew.

They pulled up to the hull of the vessel and Uberti climbed up a rope net and aboard the ship. He immediately noticed the fear and excitement among the crew. A captain gained an almost supernatural sense of his crew after years at sea, where fear or anger could lead to the loss of his ship. This crew was rattled and it immediately heightened his sense of awareness, and of potential danger. Perhaps he should have allowed one of the mates to come after all.

“Who is in command here?” he demanded, a trifle more arrogantly than usual. He needed to assert his authority here.

A thin and short Italian stepped forward, bearing the same haunted look in his eyes as his men. “I am the Captain and this is my ship. I bear terrible news.”

Captain Uberti relaxed a little. The men had suffered some sort of trauma, which meant they were probably not dangerous, only rattled. “What sort of news?”

“The great city has fallen.”

Uberti had not expected that. They were on their way to save the city, and so were the Hungarians. “What do you mean? We are a relief force. Are you talking about Constantinople?”

“Yes. I was not part of the battle but I was docked in Galata when the siege began. When the city fell I took my ship over to the harbor and loaded some of the people fleeing, including the commander of the defenses. His name is Giovanni Longo. He is badly wounded but still alive.”

“Where is he?”

“Below.”

“I need to speak with him immediately.”

“He comes in and out of consciousness. I do not know how much longer he will live. You are welcome to speak with him if he is awake.”

Captain Uberti was led down into the hold of the ship. A small area in the hold had been cordoned off with blankets. He lifted the sheet and passed through. A wooden bed was nailed to the corner and on the bed and covered by a blood soaked sheet was Giovanni. He was covered in sweat and twisted restlessly back and forth, moaning in pain. He was pale and appeared near death.

Uberti shook the Genoan gently. The commander appeared in such terrible condition that he did not really expect him to be conscious but the Genoan opened his eyes and stared with shock at the captain.

“I lost the city!” he shouted, eyes wide in fear. “I lost it. I fled like a coward. If I had stayed at the wall, the city would have survived. I am damned! I lost God’s city to the infidels.”

“What do you mean
you
lost the city? What happened?”

“The Turks! The Turks are here!” Giovanni reached out and grabbed Uberti’s shirt, pulling him down. “Run! You must run! The city has fallen. I lost the city!”

The Captain tried several more times to speak to Giovanni but he would not respond. He called out a last time then his body was wracked with a terrible cough and he passed back out of consciousness. Uberti stood over the Genoan for awhile longer, and finally whispered a prayer. He turned and left the hold of the ship, climbing back to the deck.

“Were you able to get anything out of him?”

“No, he was too far gone. He blames himself for the loss of the city. Poor devil. What can you tell me?”

The Genoan captain described the siege of the city to Uberti, the multiple attacks, the Greek victories at sea, the portage of the Turkish fleet into the horn, and the final battle and loss of the city. Particularly terrifying was the description of the desperate panic at the harbor, with thousands of Greeks trying to board the few available ships as the Turks closed in.

“What will you do now?” asked the Genoan finally.

Uberti was not sure. Should he continue to Constantinople and attack the Turks, or see if he could gather more refugees? He quickly dismissed that idea. If there were truly hundreds of Turkish ships, it would be suicide no matter how poorly the fleet was handled. He could turn the ships north and try to connect with Hunyadi to see if he could render assistance. Uberti realized the Hungarian would not likely proceed with the distraction of the siege over. He did not have enough men or ships to operate independently. He made his decision.

“I will turn the fleet and travel to Rome to report what has happened here. You are welcome to join us as far as you wish to go.”

The commander was obviously relieved and grateful. “I would appreciate some assistance, I have feared for my ship and my crew since the moment the city fell. I do need to stop and unload the wounded. I am going to stop at Chios.”

“I will join you. We leave in the hour.”

Uberti quickly left and was rowed back to his ship. He told the story to his crew and ordered the message and the change of course passed to the rest of the ships. In less than an hour the fleet was ready and began a slow rolling turn to port. Soon it was heading south with a light wind. Uberti stood long at the stern of his ship, staring at the entrance to the Dardanelles as it slowly faded away. He wondered if he would ever travel through them again, or sail through the Marmara to the great city of Constantinople.

SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1453

John Hunyadi paced back and forth in front of his tent in the early misty morning. He was impatient to get started and his men were taking longer than he wished to pack up their supplies and line up for the next march.

He had camped his army up against a steep ridge. He was protected on two sides by the “v” shaped hill, allowing a strong defensive position. His roughly 30,000 men were spread out in the valley in an assortment of tents. The army was only a few days away from Constantinople, and he wanted to press on as quickly as possible to relieve the city.

He knew his force was not nearly large enough to assure victory against the Sultan in the open field. However with the promised aid of the Pope and the Venetians and the remaining Greeks in Constantinople, there was a rare, perhaps unique opportunity to deal the young leader a fatal blow. Hunyadi knew just how dangerous the Ottomans were to his nation and to all of Europe. If there was a chance they could be stopped it was worth considerable risk. He would have liked to take more time and build a force at least twice this size. It was possible that even with aid from Constantinople and the Italians, he would still be defeated. Hunyadi had always taken calculated risks, and they had nearly always paid off.

He read the letter from Pope Nicholas again. The letter absolved him for the second time from his agreement with Mehmet. The Pope also promised a relief fleet of ships and at least 10,000 Venetians. With such a force and command of the sea, the Ottomans could be surprised against the walls of Constantinople and pressed from all sides. The Turk advantage in numbers would be useless if they were pressed tightly together, and they would hopefully panic and begin to surrender en masse. In such an instance he would have no mercy. He would kill them all and their Sultan with them, then swing around and take Edirne. He would run them out of Europe forever and set up a renewed Greek state as a buffer. The Greeks would not be his allies forever, but they would be weak and grateful, a combination that should keep them at arms’ length at least for the rest of his life. His children would have to fight them perhaps, but that was not for him to worry about.