Siege (33 page)

‘Your word will be quite enough, of course,’ Notaras said, although he took one last glance into her room before Sofia shut the door. ‘Still, leaving the palace in the early morning hours is hardly proper behaviour for a princess.’

‘And is that what you wish for me to be, Notaras? Proper?’

‘No, Sofia,’ Notaras said. ‘But I do wish for you to be careful. You are my betrothed, and my reputation is just as much at stake as yours.’

‘Surely you do not suspect me of carrying on some sordid affair by night. You know me better than that.’

‘Yes, Princess, I know you very well indeed,’ Notaras said. Sofia felt his sharp gaze burrow into her and looked away. ‘But not all the citizens of Constantinople know you as well as I do. You must be careful, Sofia. Come, at least let me escort you to wherever you are going.’

‘Thank you, Notaras, but I can find my own way. I have business that does not concern you.’

‘At this hour? What kind of business could that be?’

‘I have an important message to deliver. Trust me, Notaras. The safety of Constantinople depends on it.’

‘I do trust you, Sofia,’ Notaras replied. ‘But you must trust me in turn. Have I ever betrayed your trust? Tell me what you are doing, and I will help as I can.’

Sofia gave Notaras a long look. Perhaps he was right; perhaps she was wrong not to trust him. He was arrogant and prideful, but he would fight to the death for his city.

‘Very well, Notaras,’ she said. ‘I have discovered a tunnel that leads from beneath the palace to beyond the walls. I have told no one but Signor Giustiniani. As the head of the defence, I thought he should be the first to know. He is outside the walls even now, spying in the Turkish camp. I am going to tell his men so that they may prepare to destroy the tunnel.’

‘And Signor Giustiniani did not see fit to inform me of this?’ Notaras demanded.

‘He has just learned of it himself, Notaras. And I advised him to keep quiet. You of all people should know how difficult it is to keep a secret in this city.’

‘You are right. Thank you for telling me, Sofia. You will see that your trust is well placed. Allow me to deliver this message for you. The city streets are no place for a woman at this time of night.’

‘I will deliver the message, Notaras, but you may escort me,’ Sofia said. ‘After all, it appears that I could not stop you from following me even if I wished to.’

‘I watch over you only to protect you, Sofia.’

‘I can protect myself, Notaras,’ Sofia replied, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword. ‘Now come. Dawn is close. We must hurry.’

As Longo reached the Turkish ramparts he could hear a mounting commotion coming from the camp behind him. On his way through the camp he had stolen a brand from an untended fire and set a dozen of the gunners’ tents ablaze. The fire was spreading quickly amongst the closely pitched tents. All along the ramparts
the gun crews had ceased firing and had turned to watch. Some were already leaving their posts to try to put out the flames. Longo stepped up on to the platform where the Dragon stood. The cannon was huge: over twenty feet long and taller than he was. A dozen crewmen stood motionless beside it, gazing at the distant blaze. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Longo snapped at them. ‘Those are your tents on fire, men. Get down there and save them!’

The gunners responded immediately, rushing to save their possessions. Longo watched them go, then he stepped closer to the Dragon, looking for a way to disable it. He ran his hand down the long barrel to the mouth, where the cannonballs were loaded. Perhaps he could plug it, but with what? He turned and went to the back of the cannon. The powder chamber – a smaller barrel some three feet across that was connected to the rest of the barrel by a hinge – was swung open. If he could find some way to damage or remove the powder chamber, then the cannon would be useless. But again, how?

He stepped back and leaned against a wooden barrel, looking about him for something to use. He saw nothing promising: a shovel, several huge cannonballs, the winch for loading them, a bucket with a slow match burning in it, and these barrels. Wait – not just barrels, barrels of gunpowder. Longo had an idea.

Back in the camp, the gunners had begun to pull the intact tents away from the blaze, creating an empty space around the fire. It would burn out soon enough, and then they would return. Longo put his back against one of the heavy barrels of gunpowder and pushed with his legs, toppling it. He rolled the barrel forward until it rested against the side of the Dragon. He rolled another barrel over to the dragon, and then another. He looked back to the camp. The fire was dwindling and men were headed his way. Longo took up the shovel and prised the lid off one of the barrels, spilling black gunpowder on to the ground. He scooped up a double-handful and poured out a trail of gunpowder, leading several feet away. Longo took up the slow match and was just
about to light the gunpowder trail when he heard a voice behind him: ‘Hey, you! What’re you doing?’

Longo turned to find a short, squat man facing him. He was clearly not Turkish. The man’s eyes went from the slow match in Longo’s hand to the trail of gunpowder leading to the three barrels. His eyes were wide by the time they came to rest on Longo’s face. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he growled. ‘I’ll crucify you.’

Longo did not reply. He touched the slow match to the powder and sprinted down from the rampart and back towards the Turkish camp. The man hesitated for a second and then hurled himself after Longo. Longo had only made it a few steps from the rampart when the gunpowder blew. The deafening explosion knocked him flat on his face, while dirt and spent powder rained down around him.

Longo picked himself up and dusted himself off. Behind him, the frame that had held up the Dragon had been blown to pieces. The cannon lay on the ground, its barrel bent inward in the middle. The powder chamber was nowhere to be seen. It had been blown clean off. The Dragon would roar no more.

At the bottom of the rampart, a few feet away from him, the stubby man lay flat on his back, groaning. All around, men were arriving, rushing towards the smouldering ruins of the Dragon. ‘Quick!’ Longo yelled at them. ‘Get water! And a doctor!’ He was dressed as a janissary, and the men obeyed automatically. As they hurried off, Longo walked after them and on through the camp. Men rushed past him to the ramparts, but no one stopped him.

Chapter 16

WEDNESDAY 18 APRIL 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: DAY 18 OF THE SIEGE

W
illiam paced back and forth at the end of the tunnel. He and twelve of Longo’s best men had been waiting there for hours, guarding the tunnel while Longo was gone. The other men, veterans all, lounged about playing dice or even napping, but William could not hold still. He was no longer a boy now, but a man of nineteen, old enough to do more than keep watch in this tunnel. He wanted to be out there with Longo. He glanced at the light that filtered in through the rubble that blocked the tunnel’s exit. It was growing brighter by the minute. ‘It will be dawn soon,’ William said to no one in particular.

‘Don’t worry yourself, William,’ a thin, short man named Benito said from where he sat leaning against the wall of the tunnel. ‘Longo’s a tough nut. He’ll be all right.’

William nodded and kept pacing, his eyes on the light shining into the tunnel. Then the light disappeared and Longo’s voice called out in greeting from beyond the rubble. A few seconds later his head poked out from the narrow passage. His hair and face were blackened as if he had rubbed soot all over himself.

‘What happened to you?’ William asked.

Longo clambered out into the tunnel, then rubbed his cheek and examined his now blackened hand. ‘Gunpowder,’ he said. ‘I paid a visit to the Dragon. It won’t fire again.’

‘And did you learn anything?’

‘The Turks are going to attack tonight,’ Longo replied. ‘We have much to do. Are you ready to destroy the tunnel?’

William shook his head. ‘We need Tristo to set the charges, and he’s nowhere to be found.’

‘I know where to find him,’ Longo said. ‘Go to Croton’s tavern, just south of the Turkish Quarter. It’s his home from home in Constantinople. Bring him back quickly. I want this passage destroyed before noon.’

William went to the palace stables and took two horses. He reached Croton’s before the sun had climbed above the city walls. The tavern was a two-storey building, garlanded with banners of red silk. William tied up the horses and then stepped over a drunken soldier sleeping in the doorway and into the tavern. Two long tables lined with drunken men dominated the dim interior, but Croton’s was clearly more than just a tavern. In the corner to William’s right, a crowd had gathered around a trio of tables where men were busy gambling at dice. To his left, men sat on the floor, smoking at hookahs. And everywhere, scantily clad, heavily made-up women milled about, offering their favours to the clientele, for a price.

‘You’re a young one, aren’t you,’ said a busty prostitute with long black hair in curls. ‘Come for a good time?’

‘I’m looking for my friend, Tristo.’

‘Oh, that one,’ the woman chuckled. ‘He’s been lucky at dice. He just went upstairs. First door on your left.’

William nodded his thanks. He climbed the stairs and pounded on the locked door. ‘Go away! I’m busy!’ Tristo bellowed from within.

‘Longo needs you at the palace!’ William shouted back. ‘It’s important!’

A moment later, the door opened a crack, and Tristo’s face appeared. ‘Can it wait five minutes?’ he asked. William shook his head. ‘Curse it!’ Tristo exclaimed and slammed the door closed. When he opened it again a moment later, he was buckling on his sword belt. A plump, naked woman lounged on the bed behind him.

‘Sorry, love, duty calls,’ Tristo told her. He caught William’s disapproving glare and spread his hands. ‘What? You can play the saint while our wives are back on Chios, but I don’t have it in me. Besides, she reminds me of Maria. That means I’m faithful at heart.’ William laughed. Shaking his head, he led the way down the stairs.

He was on the final step when he stopped short. A man had just entered the brothel, and there was something familiar about his darkly tanned face. The man stopped just inside the doorway and returned William’s stare. It was Carlos, the Spanish assassin that had tried to kill both Longo and William in Genoa.

‘Mother of God, I don’t believe it,’ William whispered to himself. ‘He’s alive.’ He had no sooner spoken than the assassin turned and ran. ‘Come on, Tristo!’ William yelled, drawing his sword and running after the Spaniard. ‘We’ve got to catch him!’ Tristo followed, running as fast as his bulk would allow. William was beginning to gain on the Spaniard when he turned the corner ahead. William rounded the corner after him and stopped. He found himself standing before a street market. Carts full of goods were set up all along either side of the street, and several dozen women and children milled about in the space between. His quarry had disappeared amidst the crowd.

‘What now?’ Tristo huffed as he caught up to William.

William caught a glimpse of the Spaniard, dodging through the crowd twenty yards ahead. ‘There!’ he shouted. ‘You take the right, I’ll take the left.’ They split up, and William pushed his way through the crowd on the left-hand side of the street. He was about halfway through the market when he caught the glimmer of a blade out of the corner of his eye. He ducked and rolled just in time as a sword flashed over his head. William sprang to his feet to see the Spaniard hurrying away into the crowd. ‘Tristo! Over here!’ William shouted as he gave chase.

Ahead of him, the assassin slipped out of the crowd and turned into a narrow alleyway between two buildings. William followed. After only twenty feet the passage ended at a tall wall, but there
was no sign of Carlos. There were no doors, nor even any windows in either of the buildings that formed the sides of the passage. There was no way out at all, yet the Spaniard was gone.

Seconds later, Tristo arrived. ‘Where did he go?’ he panted.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who was he?’

‘The assassin that Paolo Grimaldi hired to kill Longo and me,’ William answered. ‘Apparently, he has come to finish the job.’

‘Well, lucky for him then that he got away.’

‘Lucky for him, and bad for us,’ William agreed. ‘Now come on. We’ve wasted enough time already.’

Longo was standing on the inner wall at the military gate of Saint Romanus, overseeing the further reinforcement of the Mesoteichion stockade, when he saw William hurrying along the wall towards him. Not ten minutes earlier, Longo had heard the muted rumbling as the charges had gone off, destroying the tunnel beneath the walls. William looked to have come straight from the destruction of the tunnel. He had cleaned his face and hands, but the rest of him was covered in a thick layer of grey stone dust.

‘Well met, William,’ Longo said. ‘The tunnel has been destroyed?’

‘Yes,’ William replied. ‘We brought down the entire stretch from just past the wall to the tunnel’s exit.’

‘I heard the explosion from up here,’ Longo said. ‘It caused a great stir in the Turkish camp. Even our own men were unnerved. I heard two Greeks arguing over whether thunder on a clear day was a good or bad omen.’

‘And what did they decide?’

Longo smiled. ‘I am happy to report that it is a good omen. It means that God is on our side.’ A grimace replaced his smile. ‘And we shall have need of Him tonight when the Turks attack. It will be all we can do to hold the wall.’ Longo glanced up at the sun, estimating the time. ‘I must go to the palace to meet with the other commanders.’

‘Wait,’ William said. ‘The Spanish assassin that Paolo sent to kill you lives. Tristo and I saw him while returning to the palace.’

‘So much for good omens,’ Longo said. ‘I thought he was dead.’ He looked again at the sun. ‘But nothing can be done now. I must get to the palace. William, stay and watch over the men while I am gone. And watch yourself. The assassin is here for you, too.’

When Longo had arrived at the palace he allowed the other commanders to gather in the council room while he explained his plans to the emperor. When all were present, the two men went to the room, pausing at the closed door before entering. Longo gestured for the emperor to be quiet, and they both put their ears to the door. ‘But he’s a Latin!’ they heard an angry voice say. Longo thought it might be Notaras. ‘The city should be commanded by a Roman.’