Constantinopolis (24 page)

“Ah my Grand Vizier. You have done everything you can with this boy. You know what you must do.”

“Yes my Sultan.”

Mehmet grew angry and terrified. “I am the Sultan not you! You are dead!” He turned to Halil. “You will serve me! You will call me Sultan.”

Halil turned to him. “For now.”

Mehmet woke in a start in bed. He felt weak and his clothes were soaked. He recognized his personal physician. “Sultan, you have had a bad fever from your wound. The fever has broken. You must stay in bed for a few days though.”

Mehmet thought about that. He started to rise, although he was dizzy. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About twenty hours.”

Bad, but not as bad as it could have been. He rose further and pulled his legs out over the edge. He had to get back to the siege. “Bring me my boots, mail and sword.”

“Sultan, you cannot go now. You need to stay and rest.”

Mehmet stood shakily. “Bring my things, I do not have time.”

His belongings were brought and he dressed as quickly as he could, assisted by the physician and a few guards. He then limped slowly out of the tent. His leg was wrapped in clean bandages that were stained red in the front. The pain was almost unbearable. He thought of returning to his bed but dismissed the idea. He had no time.

Mehmet left the tent and looked around. He realized he was still near the walls of Galata. They must have shifted his physician’s tent over to assist the Sultan near where he was wounded. His horse was waiting with guards, who were already mounted.

He slowly and painfully pulled himself up into the saddle. When he was mounted he turned his horse and rode off at a slow trot. He needed to see what progress was being made. Zaganos had better not have failed him.

He rode slowly up the center ridge of Galata and crested the hill. He smiled then. Before him, a long line of wooden ships were slowly moving along the land, as if by magic. He peered out to his left at the Horn. A few Ottoman ships were already in the harbor and another was about to slide in. He looked further out into the Horn to see if the Greeks were forming to attack. So far they were not. He wondered if they would brave it. Mehmet had ordered that a number of cannon be brought over from the main assault and placed on the shores of the Horn. If the Greeks threatened his fleet, they would face a significant bombardment from land. Perhaps that was what was holding them back now. He soared with pride. Pride for himself, pride for Zaganos and pride for his people. His fleet was in the Horn. The Greeks would be hard pressed to stop them now if they mounted a significant attack on the chain. They might even be able to fight their way into the harbors and take the city the way the Italians had more than two hundred years ago.

He thought of Halil and his father. He thought of his people. Perhaps they did all think him rash and a fool. Perhaps they thought he gambled too much. He didn’t care. He would make this gamble. He would never listen to Halil, unless he had no options left. He would prove to them all that he was a great man. The dream of the Ottomans was always Constantinople. Islam had desired the city since the formation of the faith. If it was Allah’s will he would give the city to his people, to his faith. Or he would die trying. He would take the city, he knew it. If only he had time.

SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1453

Constantine, Notaras and Sphrantzes stared grimly out over the Golden Horn at the Turkish fleet. They had watched Mehmet for days slowly porting the ships over the wooden road he had constructed until there were 70 Turkish ships in the Horn. Constantine was thoughtful. Again, as with the cannon and the fleet, he had to grudgingly admire the Sultan. He had badly underestimated his abilities. While many people were relieved when Murad had died, Constantine had known he was facing an aggressive, even rash opponent. He was not surprised that Mehmet attacked the city so early in his reign. What had come as a shock was that he would do so in such an organized and innovative way.

But Constantine had received no information about Mehmet that would have led him to believe he was capable of such organization or brilliance. When he had come to power, many Italian leaders congratulated Constantine, sure that they would have years of peace. The Emperor had known better, and had worked as hard as he could with the limited resources available to him to prepare for a siege he knew would come sooner rather than later. He had planned for the attack of a rash youth. He was not ready to face such a sophisticated and well-prepared leader. Mehmet had come to Constantinople with more men than his father. He had brought a navy. He had brought cannon. All this and he showed tremendous ability to adapt to changes in fortune. Constantine had hoped that the series of defeats Mehmet had undergone since the siege began would erode the leader’s resolve and he would give up and leave. Instead, with each defeat, the Sultan just adapted and tried new and innovative tactics. Constantine knew he would be very lucky indeed if Mehmet did not find some way to conquer the city.

Now the Emperor had to overcome a further challenge. He had believed after the recent reinforcement of the city that the Turkish fleet was not a factor. Constantinople was safe behind the sea wall and apparently able to receive relief fleets that could ram their way through the inferior and inexperienced Turkish fleet. Now the situation had drastically changed. Now the Turks would have ships directly in the inner harbor of the city.

With ships within the Golden Horn there were three additional problems. First, the sea chain was effectively neutralized. While the chain kept the two Turkish fleets from uniting, it did nothing now to protect the Golden Horn. Second, the Turkish Fleet presented a threat to the mixed Italian and Greek fleet within the Horn. This fleet had served as a buffer if the sea chain fell, and also had already proved effective at protecting the chain and shepherding the relief fleet to the city. Third, a large chunk of additional sea wall was now open to a potential attack by the Turks. This meant that Constantine and Giovanni would have to pull additional men out of their razor thin defenses to defend the sea wall along the Horn from the possibility of a sudden attack.

Did God hate him? Must each victory be met with an immediate defeat? He had been so excited when the fleet came through. And then the news that perhaps Mehmet had decided to evacuate the city. This apparent miracle turned into horror when Constantine realized what was really happening. Instead of fleeing, Mehmet was once again adapting and overcoming a weakness. Constantine forced himself to be calm. His life was essentially defined by overcoming and adapting to disappointment. He could deal with this turn of events but it was time to figure out how.

“Loukas my friend,” said the Emperor. “You were exactly correct. The road was for porting these cursed ships into our back yard. How do we deal with the problem?”

“My Lord, we need to attack this fleet and destroy it as quickly as possible. If we do not, they will probably destroy the sea chain or attack the city.”

“I understand the problem, Notaras,” responded Constantine, a bit irritably. “I need solutions, not a recitation of the obvious.”

Notaras bowed and Constantine realized he was letting his strain show through. He smiled and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course your advice and thoughts are important to me.”

Notaras smiled in return. “It’s no matter my liege. I would suggest we attack the Turkish Fleet at night with our fire ships, and destroy it.”

“When would you suggest we make the attempt?”

“We have to do it right away my Lord. We do not really have the men to guard the sea walls, and if we let them get settled they might launch a surprise attack on
our
fleet.”

“Do you think them capable?”

“They certainly performed poorly the other day, but that does not mean they will continue to do so. We cannot risk the loss of our fleet. If we were defeated in the Golden Horn, I don’t know how the city could survive. Our sea walls are thin and feeble compared to the land walls, if there are substantial troops ferried over, we would not be able to hold them back, not with the forces we have available to us.”

“Sphrantzes, what do you think?”

“Does it matter what he thinks? What does he know of the Navy?”

Constantine saw Sphrantzes stiffen. “Notaras, I’m tired of your . . .”

“Enough!” interrupted Constantine, tiring of the two men’s constant infighting. “I want to hear from Sphrantzes.”

“I agree with Notaras, so long as he is successful. A failure with substantial losses would be worse than doing nothing.”

Constantine considered the issue. Sphrantzes was right, if they lost a portion of the fleet on an attack, they would be even worse off than they were right now. Still, he could not allow the Turks free reign in the Horn. “Notaras, mount the attack.”

“Yes my Lord.” Notaras bowed and quickly departed.

Sphrantzes also soon departed to check on the status of the land walls and check in with Giovanni. Constantine stayed through the afternoon and early evening, watching the preparations at the harbor. Notaras was doing his best to keep the preparations secret, ordering that only one ship be prepared at a time so that the Turks were not alerted that a general naval attack was being prepared. Sphrantzes reported later in the evening that he was unable to locate Giovanni. Perhaps the Italian leader was out inspecting forces in another part of the city.

Evening fell into darkness. The preparations were gradually completed and Notaras was ready to go. He was personally leading the attack. Constantine positioned himself on a rooftop near the harbor with a commanding view of the Golden Horn. Sphrantzes and Giovanni joined him to watch the attack.

Slowly and almost imperceptibly in the darkness, they could make out their ships slipping off the dock and into the Horn. Ten shadows. There was very little sound and no light. Constantine wondered how Notaras would keep the ships from colliding with each other in the darkness. He hoped everything would go well. Soon the ships were fading into the darkness and they had to simply wait.

Constantine chatted nervously with his advisors as time ticked by. Finally he made out a dim light across the Horn. The first ship must have made contact with the Turkish fleet. Another light flickered and then another and another until there were a dozen and then dozens. Something was wrong, the lights were spread out and far too numerous to represent the ten ship fleet of the Greeks. These lights were coming from the Turkish fleet and from the shore nearby. The lights had come on almost simultaneously, not the reaction to a surprise attack. Rather . . .

“They were warned,” whispered the Emperor.

“How can that be My Lord?” asked Sphrantzes.

“I do not know, but they were not surprised. Look at them. They were already on the ships with lights ready. They knew the attack was coming.”

How had they known? Were they just well prepared for any attack? Constantine could not see how they could have been
that
prepared. It would be one thing to be vigilant, but having fire ready for each ship, and having the watch fires almost simultaneously appear on what seemed to be every ship was very unlikely. Someone had informed the Turks of what was going on. But who? None of his close advisors would tell the Turks anything. How could it benefit them? They must have had someone watching at the harbor. Had any small boats left ahead of the fleet? Perhaps someone snuck through the land walls? That seemed highly improbable. There must have been a spy in the harbor, or perhaps in the Horn on a small boat keeping a lookout. Whatever the reason, surprise had not been achieved, and surprise was essential.

Cannon fire and flashes of light could now be seen and was followed by the delayed reports over the water. They watched silently, helplessly, as the battle lit up the opposite shore. Eventually the flashes began to fade away and then all was silent. They waited for what seemed an endless time in the darkness for their ships to reappear. Finally Constantine could make out first one then two shadows reemerging from the darkness. Two ships total.

They rushed down to the docks as the vessels pulled in. They were battered and pitted from cannon fire. Constantine saw with relief that Notaras’s ship was one of the two and his admiral soon jumped down onto the dock.

“They were waiting for us. I do not know how, but they were ready for us. We crossed the Horn completely quiet and in the dark. There is no way they could have known we were coming. Then, almost at once, fires were lit on the ships and I could make them out. They were packed with Turkish soldiers, armed to the teeth, cannon primed. We were betrayed.”

“Betrayed, or was this a simple failure?” asked Sphrantzes. “With no disrespect Notaras, you should have anticipated that they might be prepared. Why did you not retreat immediately when you saw they were ready for you? Now we are down eight critical ships. We cannot afford such losses. You should have done your job, or brought your ships home. You have done neither and now we are in a critically weak position. How can we defend against an attack now? You should be replaced! You have cost us the city!”

Notaras turned red faced and lunged at Sphrantzes, striking him hard in the cheek and sending him flying to the ground. “You bastard Sphrantzes! Is it not enough I have lost so many ships and men? Must I endure your foul accusations? What do you know of battle, you spineless worm? You whisper your poison to the Emperor but you do nothing to save the city!”

“Hah. At least I do not hand it over to the Turks! You have as much as done so with your foolish attack. You attacked with far more ships that our Italian friends had when they entered the city, and you have lost eight ships when they lost none. Perhaps we need an Italian leader for the fleet. They know the worth of their ships and do not give them up so easily.”

“You are truly an idiot. How was I to turn my ships at the last moment? We were already prepared for battle. I was prepared for the possibility that they would see us coming and have time to prepare some quick defenses. I was not prepared for an ambush. No one could have saved those ships. Certainly not a court lackey like you!”