Siege (40 page)

Isa took a vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid from inside his tunic and carefully poured three drops on to the blade of his knife. He worked his way through the crowd, approaching the keeper from behind. When he reached him, Isa sliced the knife quickly along the back of the man’s neck, leaving a small cut. The man grabbed at his neck and turned to face Isa. The man’s eyes went wide with surprise. He opened his mouth but could not speak. The poison was acting too fast. Isa grabbed the man and pulled him close. ‘The poison you are experiencing is taken from crushed cherry laurel leaves,’ he whispered as he wiped his knife on the man’s shirt. ‘You will be dead in a few seconds. A better fate than you deserve.’

The man began to shake all over as Isa released him and stepped away, slipping back into the crowd. He watched as the keeper collapsed, shaking violently. A veiled woman screamed. The rest
of the crowd backed away, frightened. ‘What’s happening to him?’ someone asked. The keeper’s entire body was contorted now. Foam ran from his lips. ‘He’s possessed!’ someone shouted. Then the keeper froze, his body rigid, his eyes protruding. He twitched a few final times and then lay still. He was dead.

Two men dragged his body off to the side, where his family, the authorities or the dogs – whichever reached him first – would deal with him. The rest of the crowd turned back to watch the fire. Isa watched with them. Men continued to rush forward with buckets of water. Within an hour it was clear that the fire would not spread, and the crowd began to thin. Isa waited until the crowd had all long gone and the last ember had ceased to burn. Then, he walked over the ashen ruins of the burned house. He scooped up a handful of ash and placed it in one of the pouches that hung from his belt. This was all that he had left of his family. Dawn was breaking as he left the smoking ruin behind him and strode away towards the Maritza river to catch a boat to Constantinople, where he would find Halil.

Chapter 19

MONDAY 7 MAY 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: DAY 37 OF THE SIEGE

T
orch in hand, Tristo marched through one of the dark tunnels far beneath the Blachernae Palace, hurrying to finish his midnight inspection so that he could move on to more entertaining pursuits. Although he had destroyed most of the tunnels, he had left some standing, afraid that bringing them down might also bring down the palace and walls that stood above them. These remaining tunnels had been bricked up, and Longo had placed guards at the end of each of them. Tristo had already inspected three of the guard posts and was on his way to the final one. This tunnel, situated under the Gate of Charisius, was the furthest from the palace. He found the two guards – Benito and Roberto, men who had fought beside Longo for years – seated on the floor and leaning against a barrel of gunpowder. A lantern hung from the wall, illuminating a game of dice.

‘Benito, Roberto, how goes it?’ Tristo asked.

‘Well enough,’ Roberto replied. ‘Considering that I can’t seem to win.’

Tristo crouched down and watched as Roberto lost yet again. ‘Never fear,’ Tristo told him. ‘Bad luck never lasts forever.’ Roberto nodded glumly. ‘Now, you both know your orders?’

‘If we see any sign of the Turks, then blow the tunnel and run for help,’ Benito replied.

‘Good. Somebody will be here to relieve you at first light.’

Tristo turned and stomped off down the tunnel. As soon as he was out of sight, Roberto and Benito resumed their game. But Roberto’s rotten luck did not change, and after only an hour Benito had relieved him of his last few coins. ‘Now what?’ Roberto grumbled.

‘If we can’t play, then at least we can get some sleep,’ Benito replied. He patted his full purse. ‘I’ll dream of all the beautiful Greek women that your money will buy me.’

‘Fine, but you take first watch as punishment for your cursed good luck. I’ll dream of winning my money back.’ And with that Roberto lay down on the floor and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes he was snoring loudly.

Benito watched Roberto sleep and wondered if his winnings were enough to afford the fetching, high-priced Greek girl that he had had his eye on. He was entertaining himself with thoughts of his time with her when he heard a faint noise, a scratching sound barely audible over Roberto’s snoring. Benito cocked his head, trying to locate the sound, but the noise did not repeat itself. Perhaps it had merely been a rat, scrambling across the floor in the distant darkness. Then Benito heard the sound again; this time it was a clearer, chinking sound. He shook Roberto awake.

‘It’s not my turn already, is it?’ Roberto asked.

‘Listen,’ Benito told him.

‘To what?’

‘Just listen.’ They waited in silence, and after a few seconds the chinking noise returned, louder this time. ‘There! Do you hear that?’ Benito asked.

‘It sounds like it’s coming from over here,’ Roberto said as he put his ear to the wall. ‘I can hear it better now. It’s close. It sounds like a pick, like somebody digging. Wait – I hear a voice. I think it’s a Turk!’

The words had no sooner left Roberto’s mouth than the blade of a pick smashed through the wall, striking him in the head and killing him instantly. He slumped to the floor, and torchlight
poured through the hole where his head had been only a second before. Turkish voices filled the passage.

Benito wasted no time. He took the lantern and lit the fuse to the powder keg that would destroy the tunnel. Then he ran. The fuse was a short one, and he would not have much time to get beyond the range of the blast. After a minute, Benito stopped. The powder should have gone off by now, but he had heard nothing. That meant that the fuse had failed or, worse, the Turks had broken through the wall and extinguished it. And if the Turks were in the tunnel, then Benito had to raise the alarm. He turned to run, but had taken only a few steps when a crossbow bolt slammed into his back, dropping him. Despite the pain, he crawled forward, crying out for help as he went. His voice reverberated down the passage, but there was no answer. Then the Turks reached him, and Benito’s cries were silenced with a single blow of a sword. His severed head rolled to the side, his now silent mouth still stretched open to scream. The passage fell silent save for the quiet shuffle of hundreds of Turkish feet.

Longo and Sofia sat naked on her bed, a chessboard between them. She watched as he puzzled over his next move, his brow furrowed. Finally, he took her rook with his bishop. Sofia smiled. Longo did not know it yet, but four moves later he would lose his queen and three moves after that the game. ‘That was a mistake,’ she told him. ‘I’ve got you now.’

Longo looked back at the board and groaned as comprehension dawned. He leaned over and kissed Sofia. ‘You are too clever by half,’ he told her. ‘Perhaps you should be leading the defence of the city.’

‘And what would you do then?’

‘I would be your second in command,’ Longo replied. ‘What do you command me to do, great leader?’

‘I command you to come over here,’ she said, laughing.

A loud knock on the door to Sofia’s apartments interrupted them. Longo sprang from the bed and hurriedly pulled on his
breeches. ‘Who could that be at this hour?’ Sofia wondered as she pulled on a robe. The knocking grew louder and more insistent. ‘I will take care of it,’ she told Longo. ‘You stay here.’ She left the bedroom but had not yet reached the door to her apartments when it crashed open and Notaras entered at the head of a dozen armed men.

‘Where is he?’ he demanded.

‘Notaras! How dare you!’ Sofia exclaimed indignantly.

‘Where is he?’ Notaras repeated, grabbing Sofia by the arm.

‘I don’t know who you are talking about,’ Sofia said. ‘No one is here but myself and my maidservants.

Notaras released her and turned to his men. ‘Search the apartments and find him. I’ll inspect her bedroom.’

‘You cannot!’ Sofia protested, stepping in front of Notaras. ‘These are my private chambers. You have no right to be here!’

‘I am your husband-to-be,’ Notaras replied. ‘I have every right.’ He pushed her aside and strode into the bedroom. Sofia followed close behind. To her relief, there was no sign of Longo.

‘Are you satisfied?’ she asked. ‘Now go!’

‘Not yet, Princess.’ Notaras went to the bed, where the chess pieces lay overturned and scattered amongst the sheets. He picked up a piece and held it out to her. ‘What is this?’

‘That is a queen,’ Sofia replied. ‘You are familiar with the game of chess?’

‘Do not trifle with me, Sofia,’ Notaras warned. ‘I have no patience for it. What are these pieces doing here in your bed?’

‘I was playing against myself. It is all the entertainment that I am allowed since Constantine has had me confined to my chambers.’

‘I see,’ Notaras said. He continued his tour of the room and then froze. In the corner, propped against the wall, was Longo’s sword. Notaras picked it up and drew the sword from its scabbard. There was no mistaking the distinctive curved blade, nor the Asian symbols etched into it. ‘And what is this?’ he asked, his voice cold.

Sofia flushed scarlet. ‘It is … I …’

Notaras stepped close to her, and their eyes met. ‘Tell me true, Princess, and be careful how you answer,’ he said. ‘On your honour, was Longo here tonight?’ Sofia did not speak, but her blush deepened, spreading to her neck. Finally, she lowered her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘I see,’ Notaras said, the words forced out past his clenched jaw. ‘And where is he now?’

Sofia shook her head. ‘No, I cannot.’

Notaras grabbed Sofia by the arms, squeezing so hard that she gasped. ‘Tell me!’ he growled. ‘Where is he?’

‘He left,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

Notaras held her a moment more, then released her. His hands left red imprints on her arms. ‘No matter, I will find him.’ He strode from the bedroom, and Sofia followed him. Notaras’s men had ransacked her apartments, turning over furniture and tearing tapestries from the walls in an effort to find some trace of Longo’s presence. ‘Men!’ Notaras called to them. ‘Signor Giustiniani has left, but he can’t have gone far. Search the palace and find him.’ The men left, and Notaras began to follow them but then stopped and turned. His eyes were shining, whether with grief or anger Sofia could not tell. ‘I will deal with Longo first,’ he said. ‘But do not worry. I will return to deal with you, Princess.’

‘And what will you do to me?’ Sofia asked defiantly. ‘You do not own me, whatever you may think.’ She paused and looked him in the eye. ‘I love him, Notaras. Don’t you understand?’

Notaras smiled a twisted, painful smile. ‘Yes, I do,’ he told her. Then he turned and left, slamming the door to her apartments behind him.

Half-dressed, his boots unlaced and his shirt untied, Longo stumbled through one of the many hidden passages that snaked through the walls of the Blachernae Palace. He had not taken a light from Sofia’s chambers, and he tripped often in the impenetrable darkness, keeping his hands on the walls to steady himself. He had
not gone far when he heard something unexpected: the distant sound of footsteps. Someone was in the tunnel.

Longo quickened his pace, hurrying down a spiral staircase. The sound of steps was growing louder, and when he reached the foot of the stairs, he saw the faint glimmer of a distant torch, headed his way. Longo raced down the corridor away from the light and then into a side passage. A few seconds later, he emerged into an empty side street next to the palace and breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it.

Longo headed away from the palace, towards the nearby house where he was staying. He was just turning into his street when he came face to face with Notaras, whose lips curled back in a wicked smile. Longo hurried by, hoping to avoid a confrontation, but Notaras reached out a hand to stop him. ‘And what are you doing out at such a late hour, Signor Giustiniani?’ Notaras asked. He pointed to Longo’s half-tied shirt. ‘And so clumsily dressed?’

‘I heard that there was a disturbance at the palace,’ Longo lied. ‘I came as quickly as I could. I hardly had time to dress.’

‘Indeed,’ Notaras replied. ‘You even seem to have forgotten your sword.’ Longo reached for his sword, but it was not there. Notaras patted his belt, and Longo saw that two swords hung there, one of which was his. Notaras unsheathed the sword and held it between them. ‘A fine blade. You should be more careful where you leave it.’

‘I can explain.’

‘And what do you wish to explain to me, Signor Giustiniani?’ Notaras spat. ‘You stole my post as defender of the city, and now you have stolen Sofia. I understand perfectly.’

‘She does not love you, Notaras.’

‘So I have heard, but it is not Sofia that you should be worried about.’ Notaras slashed Longo’s sword from side to side, testing its weight.

‘You are an honourable man, Notaras,’ Longo said. ‘It is beneath you to strike down an unarmed man.’

‘Who are you to speak to me of honour?’ Notaras roared. ‘She
was my betrothed!’ He swung out, and Longo stumbled backwards, dodging the blow but falling as he did so. Notaras looked down on Longo coldly but did not attack. ‘But you are right,’ he said at last. ‘It would give me no satisfaction to kill you unarmed.’ He tossed Longo’s sword to the ground and drew his own. ‘Come, Signor. Either I shall have my revenge, or you shall have my life as well as my love.’

Longo left his sword lying between them as he rose. ‘We should be fighting the Turks, not each other. After the siege, then you may have your duel.’ Longo picked up his sword and turned to leave.

‘Coward,’ Notaras spat. ‘Fight me now or all of Constantinople shall know of your cowardice and of Sofia’s shame.’

Longo paused, then turned and held his sword at the ready. ‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘But let us fight only to first blood.’

‘To the death!’ Notaras snarled and attacked, slicing at Longo’s head and then pressing him with a series of quick thrusts. Longo parried and gave ground. He had expected Notaras to be a skilled swordsman, but he was surprised by the extent of the megadux’s control. Despite his anger, Notaras fought with precision and balance.

Longo spun away from Notaras’s last thrust and slashed at the megadux’s side, but Notaras turned and blocked the blow, then delivered a vicious kick aimed at Longo’s knee. Longo sidestepped the kick, but in doing so he lost his balance. Notaras seized the advantage and pressed his attack. He cut at Longo’s legs and then shifted the direction of his sword at the last second, thrusting at Longo’s chest. Longo narrowly sidestepped the blow, leaving Notaras overextended. Longo stepped in close to finish the matter, but to his surprise, Notaras managed to recover at the last second. Their swords met and locked together at the hilt, each man pushing at the other with all his strength.