Siege (50 page)

‘Nor will I,’ Longo growled, and gritting his teeth against the
pain in his chest, he went on the offensive, pressing Ulu with a series of quick lunges and slashes. Ulu gave ground, but Longo could not penetrate his defence. Again and again Longo thought that his sword would surely strike home, only for Ulu’s huge
yatagan
to sweep back at the last second, deflecting Longo’s blow. Longo felt himself weakening, but then caught sight of Tristo’s body out of the corner of his eye. At the sight of his fallen friend, he attacked with a renewed fury. He slashed down to lower Ulu’s guard, and then, mustering all of his strength, swung for Ulu’s head. Somehow, Ulu again blocked the blow. Their swords locked, bringing them close together, and with his free hand, Ulu grabbed the crossbow bolt protruding from Longo’s chest and twisted it. Longo gasped in pain, his knees weak and the world momentarily dim. He recovered just in time to duck a blow that would have decapitated him.

Now Ulu was on the attack, and each time Longo was forced to parry, he grunted as blinding pain tore through him. He gave ground steadily, dodging and ducking so as to avoid having to parry. Ulu slashed at Longo’s belly, and this time when Longo retreated back out of the way he came up against the wall of Constantinople. There was no more room. Ulu swung hard, and when Longo parried the blow, their two swords locked together. Longo cried out in pain as he strained against Ulu, but he was no match for the janissary’s strength. Ulu pushed Longo into the jagged stonework of the battered wall, and gradually the two locked blades began to inch closer to Longo’s face. ‘Goodbye, old friend,’ Ulu said.

‘Not yet,’ Longo replied. ‘This is for Tristo.’ He let go of his sword and dropped to one knee. As Ulu fell forward above him, Longo grabbed the crossbow bolt in his chest and with a scream, tore it free. Then, before Ulu could recover his balance, Longo rose and drove the bolt into the janissary’s throat. Ulu dropped his sword and staggered backwards, clutching at his neck. He pulled the bolt out, and a fountain of blood gushed after it. Ulu stared at the bolt for a moment, and then tumbled forward, dead.

Longo picked up his sword, took a few steps, and then collapsed beside Ulu. He looked down to where each beat of his heart was pumping more and more blood out of the wound in his chest. He let his sword fall from his hand and waited for one of the janissaries to finish him. But to his surprise, none attacked. Instead, they kept a wide berth, looking at him with expressions of open-mouthed awe. One of the janissaries cried out in alarm that Ulu had fallen, and as word of Ulu’s death spread, the Turkish attack began to falter. Longo watched as many of the janissaries near him began to retreat. Those that fought on seemed confused and unsure of what to do. Not far from Longo, Constantine had rallied the men and was beginning to push back the janissaries.

‘Longo!’ someone called, and Longo looked to see William running towards him.

‘William,’ Longo gasped, wincing in pain as he spoke. ‘Where is Sofia?’

‘In the city,’ William said as he knelt beside Longo. ‘You’re hurt! We have to get you out of here. Can you stand?’

Longo nodded. ‘You should not have left her,’ he said, gritting his teeth as he grabbed his sword and struggled to his feet with William’s help. He stood unsteadily, covering the wound in his chest with his left hand. ‘She may be in danger.’

‘She made me come, and I’m glad she did. You wouldn’t have lasted much longer out here. Now come on. Let’s get back to the line.’

With William’s help, Longo staggered to where Constantine and Dalmata had formed a new line of troops and were pushing the Turks back towards the gap in the outer wall. As Longo and William passed through the line, Constantine stepped away from the battle to join them.

‘Longo, you’re alive!’ he exclaimed, then frowned as he noticed Longo’s wound. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I live,’ Longo grunted. He shrugged off William’s help. ‘I will fight so long as I can stand.’

Constantine looked at Longo sceptically. ‘That is no minor
wound, Longo. There is nothing more that you can do here.’

‘It is my duty to fight,’ Longo insisted. ‘I will not fail you.’

‘You have not failed me, Longo. You have done all that you can. Now, there is only one last thing that I ask of you: go to Sofia, make sure that she is safe.’ Longo began to protest, but Constantine held up his hand, cutting Longo off. ‘Say nothing. I have eyes, and I am not a fool, Longo. I know love when I see it. Go to her. I will hold the wall.’

‘Thank you, Emperor,’ Longo said. The two men clasped hands, and then the emperor returned to the battle. Longo turned to William. ‘I will look after Sofia,’ he told him. ‘You may stay and fight if you wish.’

‘And leave you on your own? Not a chance.’

‘Very well,’ Longo said. ‘We must hurry. Sofia may have need of us.’

Chapter 24

TUESDAY 29 MAY 1453,
CONSTANTINOPLE: THE FINAL DAY OF THE SIEGE

S
ofia crouched on the floor, wedged in a tight space behind a chest and beneath a broad windowsill. She concentrated on breathing steadily and quietly, despite the violent beating of her heart. Two Turks in full armour had just burst into the single room of the house where she was hiding and were ransacking it for loot. She heard the larger of the two men walk towards her. He stopped before the chest and pulled it open.

‘There’s nothing here,’ he said in Turkish. He slammed the lid closed and moved away. ‘Let’s move on.’

Sofia peeped out and watched as he strode to the door. The other Turk was sawing at a candlestick with his knife, trying to determine if it was solid gold. He was short and thin, with a large wart on his cheek. He looked up, and his eyes met Sofia’s.

‘What have we here?’ he said, dropping the candlestick. ‘Finally, a real treasure.’

Sofia wriggled out from behind the chest and drew her sword. ‘Stay back,’ she warned in accented Turkish. ‘Or you will regret it.’

‘We don’t have time for her,’ the larger Turk said from the door. ‘Let’s gather what treasure we can before the rest of the army arrives to pick the city clean.’

‘Nonsense,’ the thin Turk insisted. ‘This one will fetch a pretty price at the market once we’re done with her. Besides, there’s still
plenty of time to have a bit of fun before the city falls.’ He loosened his belt and stepped towards Sofia.

‘I am a princess,’ Sofia told them, raising her sword. ‘Do not dare touch me!’

‘A princess?’ the larger Turk repeated. He drew his sword and joined his comrade. ‘Then you should be worth a pretty penny indeed.’

Gennadius knelt before the altar in the chapel of the church of Saint Saviour in Chora, his head bowed as if in prayer. The church stood only fifty yards inside the high walls of the Mesoteichion, and Gennadius could clearly hear the clash of arms, the screams of the wounded and the battlecries of ‘
Allah
!
Allah
!
Allah
!’ Behind him, women, children and men too old to fight huddled together in fear and prayed for their city. But Gennadius’s mind was not on prayer. He was waiting impatiently for Eugenius’s return. If all had gone as planned, then the prayers of the people here would do them little good. Constantinople would fall, and Gennadius would be made patriarch. Finally, the Union would be dead, and he would drive the Latins from the city once and for all.

Gennadius heard the door of the chapel swing open, and a moment later Eugenius knelt beside him. ‘It is done,’ Eugenius whispered. ‘The Turks are in the city.’

‘And the thieves you hired?’ Gennadius asked. ‘There must be no witnesses to what we have done.’

‘They have been trapped and drowned in one of the cistern’s flood rooms.’

‘Well done, Eugenius. What you have done will win you favour in the eyes of God. Now there is only one thing left to do. Come with me.’ Gennadius rose and led the way out of the back of the chapel to a staircase that spiralled up to the bell tower. He gestured for Eugenius to go first and then followed him up the stairs. ‘I wish to thank you for your many services over the years,’ Gennadius said as they climbed. ‘You have been a faithful friend.’

‘I have only sought to serve our Lord.’

‘And you have. Our Father will welcome you in heaven.’ Gennadius grabbed Eugenius from behind, covering his mouth with one hand while he slit his throat. He released him, and Eugenius slid to the floor, his eyes wide and his mouth working silently as blood poured from his neck. Gennadius made the sign of the cross over him. ‘I am sorry, my friend, but no one can know what I have done. God have mercy on your soul.’ He wiped his dagger on Eugenius’s robes and then continued up the spiralling staircase.

The stairs ended in a small, dark room. A single ladder led to a hatch in the ceiling. Gennadius climbed up into daylight, emerging into a belfry, open on all sides. High above him hung the heavy bronze church bell. Gennadius went to the railing nearest the walls. From this height he had a good view of the Mesoteichion, and he could see that the fighting beyond the gate was fierce. However, the Christians seemed to be holding their ground. In fact, they appeared to be pushing the Turks back. Despite all he had done, the walls of Constantinople were holding.

Gennadius pulled a broad piece of white cloth from his robes and tied it to the side of the belfry. It unfurled in the breeze, revealing a Turkish battle flag – a white background with golden lettering in Turkish script. Then Gennadius turned back to the bell and seized hold of the thick bell rope. ‘What I do, I do in your name, O Lord,’ he said. ‘Have mercy on my soul.’

‘We have them now. For Constantinople! God is with us!’ Constantine roared as he led another Christian charge. Dalmata ran at his side, and the two of them fought like men possessed, hacking their way through the Turkish ranks. Inspired by their example, the other Christians surged after them, and the janissaries fell back faster and faster. Constantine and his men reached the gap in the outer wall of the Mesoteichion, driving the last Turks out on to the plain.

‘Hold the line!’ Constantine yelled, and the men stopped,
spreading out across the gap. Where once they had been ten deep, now their line was spread thin, but if they could hold the gap only a little longer, then the day would be theirs. ‘Stand firm, men!’ Constantine shouted. ‘Let no Turk pass!’

The loud tolling of a nearby bell swallowed up his last words. ‘My God!’ Dalmata said. ‘The bells.’

‘But the wall still stands.’ Constantine was confused. ‘What could this mean?’

‘Look!’ Dalmata pointed behind them. ‘A Turkish standard flies above the walls.’

Around them, the Christian warriors began to panic. ‘The Turks have taken the city!’ one of the men shouted. ‘We must retreat to the inner wall!’ another cried. One by one, men began to leave the Christian line, running for the city gates.

‘Stand and fight!’ Constantine yelled. ‘We must stand and fight!’ But no one listened. The Turks surged forward, and the Christian line broke apart as the soldiers turned to run. Constantine found himself swept away with the rest, running hard for the gate. When he reached it, he stopped and tried to rally his men one last time.

‘To me, men! To me!’ he yelled. ‘We must hold the gate! For God’s sake, stand and fight!’ But the soldiers did not stop. They streamed past Constantine, heading for the harbour and the safety of the ships. All along the walls now, the Christians were in retreat, and bells were ringing throughout the city.

Constantine was joined by Dalmata and only a dozen other men. They stood in the gate as hundreds of janissaries rushed towards them. ‘The battle is lost,’ Constantine told them. ‘There is no need to stay and die for me.’

‘I will stand with you until the end,’ Dalmata told him. The others nodded their agreement.

‘Then if we are to die, let us die fighting. For Constantinople!’ Constantine screamed as he turned and charged towards the onrushing Turks.

‘For Constantinople!’ Dalmata echoed. They met the charging
janissaries side by side. For a moment they held their own against the onslaught. Then the Turks surged forward once again, and Constantine and Dalmata disappeared in the crowd of men.

Longo staggered through the empty streets of Constantinople, forcing himself onward even though each step brought a sharp stab of pain that stole his breath away. William walked beside him, supporting him when the pain grew too much. The palace had just come in sight when they heard the bells.

‘The bells,’ William said. ‘The city has fallen.’

‘We must hurry,’ Longo said. Despite the stabbing pain in his chest, he broke into a jog. The streets, empty only a few seconds before, filled quickly as panicked men and women fled their homes. Some ran for the docks, others towards the nearest church. William led Longo through the crowd to the small house where he had left Sofia. The door to the house had been forced. It hung crookedly on its hinges.

‘Sofia!’ Longo called and rushed inside. He found her standing at the back of house, her sword drawn and bloodied. At her feet lay two dead Turkish soldiers.

‘Longo!’ she cried when she saw him. Sofia dropped her sword and raced across the room. Longo embraced her and held her tight. ‘Thank God you are safe,’ she said, then she stepped back and noticed Longo’s blood-stained armour. ‘You are hurt!’

‘It is nothing,’ Longo replied, although his pale face and ragged breathing said otherwise. ‘Come, we must get to the ship.’

Sofia and William supported Longo as they hurried towards the Horaia gate, which led through the sea wall and out to the harbour. The crowd in the street had thinned to almost nothing. Behind them, the sounds of wailing women signalled the approach of the Turks.

‘This way,’ Sofia said, leading them into a side street that led down towards the harbour. They had not gone far when eight janissaries spilled out of an alleyway and into the street thirty yards ahead. Two carried a heavy chest between them, and several
others dragged women. When they saw Longo, William and Sofia, the Turks dropped their loot and drew their swords.

‘I cannot outrun them,’ Longo said. ‘I will stay and hold them off as long as I can. You two circle around and head for the docks.’