Constantinopolis (30 page)

What would Constantine have done with a powerful empire instead of this empty, dead shell? He had fantasized about this before. He would have married Zophia certainly, he could have chosen anyone he wanted. Had not the great Justinian married a prostitute and made her Empress with equal power? He would not have been dependent on foreign aid. He certainly would not have ordered the union of the churches. Would he have been a great conqueror, leading huge Greek armies on the field of battle and acquiring huge new territories to bow before him and Constantinople? No, that was not like him. He would have been a man of peace, content to keep the empire and its people safe. He would have accumulated treasury reserves, maintained the city’s defenses, and perhaps built another great monumental work within the city, perhaps another great cathedral to mirror his St. Sophia.

He smiled ruefully to himself, thinking of all his maneuvers and manipulations. What had they gained him? That question came again to his mind as he finished dressing and went to a morning briefing with Giovanni, Notaras and Sphrantzes. As he entered the dining hall, his laughter stayed with him. Somehow the irony of it all had improved his mood.

“Good morning, what news do you bring to cheer me today?”

“Some interesting developments my Lord, although others may not think so,” said Sphrantzes.

“Tell me.”

“We have received a stunning offer of peace from Mehmet.”

“I thought the last offer was generous, but still impossible to accept. What could he add? Is he offering to lift the siege?”

“Unfortunately not my Lord, but I do think you should carefully consider this offer. Mehmet offers again to let you leave the city with all of your people who wish to leave with you. He also offers to allow you to take the royal treasury with you, and everything else that may be carried.”

“Hah! The royal treasury! I can certainly carry that in my pocket. What else?”

“He offers to give you not only the Peloponnesus but also Attica and Macedonia as your Kingdom, with a fifty year guarantee of peace.”

Constantine was impressed. Mehmet was offering to give Constantine the ancient mainland of the Greeks. Constantine could rule in Athens, still a great city, rich in history with an excellent nearby sea port. The Sultan was offering not only peace during Constantine’s lifetime, but peace for 50 years. This plan would give any successor peace also, at least for many years to come. He could marry Zophia, have sons, and pass a peaceful kingdom onto them.

“What say you all?”

“I think you should carefully consider this my Lord,” said Sphrantzes. “What use is Constantinople to us? We live with 90,000 people in a city built for a million. Even if we hold the city, our trade is cut off from the east by the Turkish forts and most of the trade from the West goes to Galata in any event. I think we lose nothing.”

“Nothing but honor and God’s blessing,” retorted Notaras. “This is God’s city, the first great city built to God. We cannot abandon it. The city has never fallen, except to other Christians and then it was recovered. If you abandon the city, you will be damned my Lord, and everyone with you. If the city falls, it is God’s will, but you cannot choose to abandon it.”

“As usual, my friend acts with enthusiasm and faith not born out by reality,” responded Sphrantzes. “The city will fall, Notaras. And you will suffer for it, I assure you. Do not condemn our Emperor to your foolishness.”

Notaras rose red faced, his hands balled in fists. “You dare to call me a fool!”

“Enough!” shouted Constantine. “Can you two not discuss anything as men? Sit down and be peaceful at least!” He turned to Giovanni. “What say you?”

“My Lord, I believe we can hold the city. I do not think we could hold it forever, but we must also consider the Turks’ position. They must be exhausted too from their efforts. They have been repulsed in every attempt to take the city. I believe this newest offer of peace reflects exactly how desperate their position has become. If we hold out but a few more days, we may wake and find them gone.”

Constantine considered the views of all of his counselors for long minutes before responding with a question. “Are there any updates from outside? Any news from Hungary, or the West or the East?”

“My Lord, we have heard nothing from anyone. We must assume we are on our own. I do not think any help can assist us at this point in time, at least in time for any immediate attacks.”

So it truly had come to this? They were alone. Strangely, Constantine felt peace with this. He had always had to rely on himself, and on the pitiful resources available to him. Outside help had failed him again and again, especially against the Turks. So be it.

What about this peace offer? It offered everything. But it offered nothing. The last offer was more than generous, a kingdom and a lifetime of security. But all offers required that he give up his city. His life had been devoted to the protection of Constantinople. He could not give it up. If he had one more victory at the walls, the Sultan and his people would leave. When they left he would slowly rebuild the power of the Greeks from the remaining possessions. He would never again rely on the West, the Hungarians perhaps, but never the Pope and these selfish Italian city states.

“My friends, I believe we must reject this offer. I agree with Giovanni. If the city can hold out a few more days, perhaps one more assault, then we will survive. I cannot and will not give up the city to the Turks. I owe it to our people to protect our city, for their sake, for their children’s sake, for our future. But we need something to raise the spirits of the people after so much weariness. I am going to lead a parade along the land walls this afternoon. I want our Greek priests to accompany me. We will parade our holiest relic, our blessed icon of the Virgin, the Hodegetria.”

Constantine looked at Notaras, his loyal and deeply religious friend. “Please make the arrangements my friend. I would like us to gather before the palace at mid-afternoon and we will parade on foot along the entire length of the land walls. Please also invite Zophia to attend, and to walk with me.”

Constantine could see the happiness in Notaras eyes at this honor. He bowed. “Thank you my Lord.”

After the noon hour, Constantine dressed in formal clothing with a purple robe. He placed a gold wreath crown on his head and took out a long walking stick made of olive wood with a shod beaten silver end. He summoned a few guards and made his way out of the gates of the palace. He was surprised at the throng waiting outside for him. There must be several thousand people, dressed in their best clothing and waiting for their emperor.

A huge cheer rose up when they caught sight of him. He basked in their warm glow, surprised again at their love for him despite everything they had been through. He spotted Zophia near the front and walked over to greet her. She embraced him briefly, her fragrance driving him wild. She smiled at him and put her arm through his. He was surprised by her generosity; she was giving public approval to their relationship, even if he knew privately she would not do so. He smiled gratefully to her and whispered that he loved her. She smiled in return but did not respond.

A delegation of priests came to the front of the crowd, carrying on a litter platform the precious icon of the Hodegetria, a large painted talisman of the Holy Virgin. The Hodegetria had been carried before the walls throughout the history of the city including during terrible sieges like that of the Avars in 626 and the Arab siege of 718. Another cheer rose from the crowd as they saw their most precious relic and the symbol of the Virgin’s protection of the city.

The delegation moved slowly away, carrying the icon from the walls of the Blachernae palace and along the land walls themselves. Constantine and Zophia followed immediately behind along with Notaras and assorted nobles. Following behind this delegation was the crowd itself, singing ancient songs and uttering prayers for the deliverance of the city.

Constantine could feel the people responding. As the delegation passed the gates and towers of the inner wall, soldiers cheered. Civilians laughed and shouted from houses and shops. The city was coming together under this great symbol of God’s love and protection.

For more than an hour the procession wound through the streets near the wall, bringing hope and joy to the people. Constantine was filled with peace and happiness, enjoying Zophia beside him and the love of his people and his city. He turned to talk to Zophia, telling her again that he loved her.

“Constantine, no.”

He was hurt by her response, but realized quickly that she was not responding to him but still looking forward. He turned his head and his heart sank. The precious Hodegetria had fallen from the platform that held it and was face down at an angle, sunk deeply in the mud. Priests scurried forward and were attempting to pick it up, but seemed unable to lift it again.

Constantine heard a collective groan from the crowd, including the men on the walls. To the deeply religious and deeply suspicious people of his city, omens were carefully considered and often taken at face value. This event would be interpreted as a calamity, as an omen of terrible doom. The emperor ran forward and ordered the priests out of the way. He placed his hands on the heavy frame of the icon and lifted. He could not budge the icon. He heard more murmuring from the crowd. He ordered several priests to assist him and with their help he pulled with all of his strength. Slowly the icon moved, inch by inch until it pulled free of the sticky mud. The relic was covered with sludge. He assisted the priests in pulling it back into place and rope was found to lash the icon back onto the platform. But the damage had already been done.

Constantine turned and spoke to the people, offering thanks for the parade and encouraging everyone to continue the struggle. He watched the faces carefully. He caught Zophia’s eyes, tears streaming down her face. He knew nothing he could say would change things. Rumor would pass like wildfire through the city. The icon had fallen. The Virgin had fallen. The city would fall.

SATURDAY-SUNDAY, MAY 26-27, 1453

The next morning dawned ominously. A thick heavy fog sat over the city, chilling Constantine to the bone, even indoors. The fog crept through doors, reaching with misty fingers for the inhabitants within. The Emperor climbed the tallest tower of his palace to try to get a view of the city. When he reached the top and looked out he was stunned. A bright orange light, almost like flame hung over the top of St. Sophia. The light danced above the sea of fog right over the dome, making the great cathedral appear to burn.

Constantine was shaken. What did this portend? Taken with the catastrophe from yesterday, how could he find anything but doom? He felt ill, tired, beaten. He made his way slowly down and returned to his bed. He found the chill could not be held back, no matter how many blankets he piled on or how much he stoked the fires in his bedchamber. He spent the day feverish, chilled, sleeping intermittently only to be woken by terrifying nightmares. He was too weak to rise back out of bed that day, and he finally slept fitfully as darkness fell.

He awoke the next day, Sunday, feeling exhausted. The fever however had passed. He spent the day meeting with various delegations from the city and reviewing reports of the conditions of the defenses. The problems were typical. The Italians were bickering among themselves for this or that perceived slight. Food reserves were beginning to be a worry, although the city could hold out well into the summer. Water was not an issue. The intricate series of underground cisterns built during the early Roman years assured the city would have water for years to come. Constantine did confirm that the cistern entrances had been sealed up and otherwise disguised. In the event the city fell, the Ottomans might not become aware of these water reserves, and this might be a factor in any future Christian attempts to retake the city.

In the early evening, at twilight, Constantine felt well enough to ride out with his guard to the city walls. He was looking for Giovanni. He dismounted and passed with his guard through the tall inner wall at one of the locked gates and out to the space between the outer and inner walls. He made his way to the wooden palisade that Giovanni had constructed miraculously and overnight, so many nights ago. The palisade had held, against all hope, against the constant cannonades and attacks of the Turks.

Constantine found Giovanni, who was overseeing the rebuilding of a damaged portion of the wooden wall. He waved Constantine over and bowed. “How are our defenses?”

“They hold my Lord. By some miracle they hold. I have never had to reconstruct a barricade so many times, but then again I have never faced this many cannon. Still, we have held all these days, we can hold still further as needed.”

“We need miracles, after everything we have faced. I know you have heard of the terrible omens the past two days. The people are terrified. They believe it is the end.”

“There will be no end while I have life to breathe . . .”

As Giovanni said this he stiffened and his face grimaced in pain. Hot liquid splashed over Constantine. He quickly wiped it away and realized with horror it was blood. A ragged hole the size of a large coin had appeared in Giovanni’s armor just above his upper right hand chest, an obvious gunshot wound. Blood was spurting out in waves. Constantine shouted for help and several guards ran forward and quickly pulled Giovanni to the ground. A cloth was pressed against the wound and a doctor called for.

Constantine assisted in carrying the Genoan out of the palisade and through the wall. They placed him on a cart which quickly rumbled off to the hospital. Constantine mounted and followed the cart, calling words of encouragement to the Italian leader. They were soon at the hospital and Giovanni was carried quickly in and placed on a bed where several doctors went to work on his wound. Constantine stayed nearby, holding Giovanni’s hand. The Italian groaned and writhed in agony, but remained unconscious. Finally the lead doctor pulled Constantine aside.

“Tell me the situation, and please be blunt with me.”