Constantinopolis (33 page)

In exactly two hours the fleet set sail and was soon heading north under a favorable wind. He was assured that all was right and he gave orders for the evening watch. He supped with his men and noticed that all were lighthearted and content. He smiled to himself in satisfaction, and after a final inspection of his ship and men, he returned to his quarters and fell into a contented and dreamless sleep.

TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1453 1:30 a.m.

Constantine lay in Zophia’s arms, holding her tight. They were both still awake, naked, and holding onto each other. He was gently stroking her hair, with his head slightly above hers so he could nestle his nose against her head. He breathed in her scent. Her smell was overwhelming to him after so long.

“I am so happy right now,” she whispered, pulling even closer to him.

Constantine smiled to himself. “I love you so much my love. Thank you for being here for me now.”

“I have always been here for you. But I could not be if you were seeking someone else’s love.”

“I am done with that Zophia, and I am done with trusting the west and begging for their help. They promise much, demand much, but deliver little. With virtually no help, we have held our city. If God sees fit to deliver us, we will depend on Greeks only from now on.”

“That is all the people ever wanted—all I ever wanted. These Italians fight among themselves. They will betray you at any time for profit or just to satisfy vengeance against one another. They cannot be trusted.”

“That is true of the cities, but not of individuals. Look at Giovanni, and all these Italians here, fighting for what they think is right. Many of them have ties to the city, or to Galata, but some do not even have that. Some are here simply fighting for God’s city. Certainly we must be thankful for them.”

“What will we do if the siege is lifted?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . what will you and I do?”

He laughed. “Why we will marry my dear. I will hold you up to the world and I will keep you by my side. I will never let you go!” He rolled over to lay on top of her, and tickled her sides, teasing her. She laughed and squirmed, pushing him off.

“Stop it Constantine!” she teased.

“I love you my dear.”

“I love you too.”

There was a loud banging at the door. Constantine sighed and reluctantly left the warm bed, putting on a dressing robe and opening the door. One of his guards was there, flushed and apparently in a panic. “My Lord we need you immediately at the walls!”

“What is going on?”

“They are attacking My Lord. Huge numbers. Giovanni sent me to find you.”

Zophia came to the door. “What is it?”

“They are attacking. I have to go.”

She moved closer, putting her arms around him. “Do not go, I’m afraid.” She kissed his neck.

“I have to go.” He kissed her back on the lips, smiling and running his hands through her hair. “I will tend to things and be back before breakfast. I want to spend all day with you today. I demand it.”

She smiled back, pulling him close again and holding him.

He pulled away and dressed quickly while she silently watched him. He then pulled her to him, holding her closely. “I love you my dear. You are my life.”

“And you are mine.” He looked in her eyes a moment longer, and walked quickly out the door.

Constantine made his way from Zophia’s home and found a large contingent of his personal guard mounted and waiting. He mounted his own horse and took off at a gallop toward the city wall. He arrived within minutes. At first he could only hear the din of the cannons, but as he came closer to the wall, he could hear the screams of battle and the clang of metal against metal, stone and wood.

He dismounted along with his men and used his key to open one of the gates of the tall inner walls, allowing him out into the area between the inner and outer wall near the Palisade. As he approached the wooden keep, he was shocked to see the press of Turks against the walls. Before him there seemed to be thousands of Ottomans, all pushing relentlessly toward the walls of the Palisade. The roar of battle became deafening as he came closer.

The Emperor finally reached the wooden walls and found Giovanni. The Italian was directing the battle from a chair, still apparently unable to stand. He had one hand holding a cloth over his wound. He recognized Constantine in the dim light and waved him over, grimacing from the effort.

“You look unwell my friend.”

“I feel unwell my Lord,” he joked. “Alas, what is to be done? These Turks seem unwilling to give me time to recover. I suppose I will have to follow their schedule, rather than mine.”

“Are things holding up?”

“Yes My Lord. Perfectly so far. The attack started about an hour ago. It seems very coordinated and primarily focused right here. I have had reports of attacks at other points on the walls, and even at sea, but they seem to be largely feints.”

“Do you know the quality of the forces we are facing?”

“They do not seem to be their best, at least not yet. They are poorly armed for the most part, and undisciplined. But there are many of them, and they keep coming.”

“How are our men holding up?”

“Good so far, but again, they can only fight for so long. We must hope that the Turks give up in a few hours. Otherwise I can make no guarantees.”

The Turks pressed on, pushing hard against the walls. Constantine drew his own sword and motioned his guards to press forward into the battle as well. Soon he was lost in the excitement of the fighting, and everything simplified to the moment, all the worries of the city melting away as he directed men forward to points on the walls where Ottomans were forcing their way over a few at a time.

Hours passed, Constantine was alert and felt focused. He always felt so alive in the middle of the battle. Everything slowed down. He experienced calm, almost peace, as if he was detached from this reality.

A well-armored Turk broke over the wall and rushed through several Greeks, charging forward toward Constantine. The Emperor parried a heavy but awkward blow from the Ottoman warrior, ducked a second stroke and drove his sword up through the man’s throat. Hot blood splashed out, splattering Constantine. He choked in disgust and pulled his blade quickly out, kicking the Turk over into the dirt. He drew a cloth out and wiped his face clean. The Palisade was drenched in blood and the bodies of wounded and dead men. Most of the defenders were still alive, but many were wounded and Constantine could tell they were beginning to tire.

There was a short lull in the fighting. Constantine left the immediate battle area and found Giovanni still sitting and obviously in great pain. “I see you still live,” the Italian observed on spotting the Emperor.

“So far,” said Constantine, smiling. “These Turks seem to mean their business today.”

“That they do. If I did not know better, I would speculate they intend to fight on until they take our fair city.”

Constantine felt a chill of fear. “Do not even joke about such things!”

“I am sorry My Lord. Just trying to make light of a terrible situation. I would say we have done well, and so have you. You fought for nearly three hours without any respite. The Turks certainly are giving it their everything. But they are pulling back now. I am hoping that is the end of it.”

Even as Giovanni made this remark they heard a new flurry of shouting. A fresh wave of men were charging the walls. Constantine turned and rushed back into the fighting.

New ladders were thrust against the walls of the Palisade. The Greeks and Italians pushed them back almost as quickly, but exposed themselves to musket and arrow fire when they did. Despite their best efforts, some of the ladders remained in place, and Turks streamed over the walls and jumped in among the defenders. Constantine noted these Ottomans were better armed, and he recognized the regalia and the distinctive white caps of the Janissaries. These men were fanatical and skilled warriors with the best armor and weapons. They wore chain mail with steel breastplates and helmets.

The Janissaries attacked with relentless, almost suicidal ferocity. Moreover they were fresh and there were thousands of them. Constantine realized with growing panic that more and more of them were scaling the wooden walls alive, and moving into position to combat the defenders. Constantine’s men were slowly being pushed away from the walls themselves, and toward the middle of the Palisade. The Emperor could hear Giovanni screaming encouragement mixed with threats at the men, as the press of Turks became more and more overwhelming.

Another hour passed. Constantine was exhausted and his arms bled from a dozen superficial wounds. The fighting was the most intense he had ever experienced. The Janissaries were ferocious fighters. Thankfully the tight fighting area allowed the Greeks and Italians to concentrate their fighting force and limit the number of Turks that could press the attack at any given time. The Emperor could barely lift his sword but kept forcing himself to fight. He felt dizzy, and wondered if he would pass out standing in the hard press of men.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he ripped it off, turning with sword raised. He checked his stroke when he realized that Giovanni had joined him near the front of the attack. The Italian looked pale. His armor was blood streaked and he looked even more exhausted than Constantine felt.

“You should be sitting down!” shouted Constantine over the roar of the battle.”

“I am needed here now. There is no time for resting or nursing wounds! We have got to drive our men forward and back to the walls. The Turks are coming over now unchallenged. Soon there will be too many. We have to drive them back now or we are going to lose the Palisade!”

Constantine assessed the battle and agreed with Giovanni. Janissaries had driven Constantine’s men back well beyond the wall. In the short time the Emperor could focus on the wall, several Turks had climbed to the top of scaling ladders and jumped down inside the Palisade. If they did not press the Turks back quickly, there would be too many inside and they would no longer be able to hold them back.

“Let us pull my guard together near me and we will drive the men forward!”

Giovanni did not answer. Constantine turned back and realized with horror his friend was on the ground, twisting back and forth and holding his leg. Constantine knelt over the Genoan and saw that there was a new and terrible wound. Giovanni had been shot in the upper thigh. Blood was spurting out of the gaping hole in red spurts. He was screaming in pain, and an almost animal-like terror. He grabbed a hold of Constantine’s arm. “Get me out of here, I need a doctor! I’m going to die! The battle is lost! The city is lost!”

Constantine had never seen the Genoan like this. His eyes were crazed and he coughed and sputtered. He seemed to have lost himself in pain and fear. The Emperor had to act quickly. Constantine struck Giovanni across the face. “Quiet! This is no time to lose faith! You must stay here and rally. We need you now, at this moment!”

Giovanni looked up wild eyed at the Emperor. “I am sorry, I cannot. This is too much. It is over. I am in too much pain.” The Italian turned to several of his men. “Carry me away, I need aid.”

The battle swirled on around Constantine. He had only moments to decide. He could try to keep Giovanni here, but it would cost the Italian his life. Not only that but he was in a panic and might create even more panic around him. Constantine waved the men forward. He grabbed Giovanni’s shoulder and pressed it slightly. “Farewell my friend. Fare thee well.”

Giovanni smiled through the pain, recognizing Constantine’s gesture. He was lifted up between the men who carried Giovanni as gently as possible away from the Palisade. Constantine watched him for a moment and then turned back to the battle, which was becoming more desperate by the moment.

He heard shouts from the men. “Giovanni is lost. The city is lost!” He shouted the men down to remain calm and focus on the battle. He stepped back into the heaving fighting and lost himself in the effort to rally the men. He was shocked again by the intensity of the fighting. He had never been in combat so savage. He hacked away with his sword, killing several Turks quickly and screaming for his guards and the men to rally with him and drive the Ottomans from the wall. He could see the banners of the Turks waving on the palisade now, and more and more Janissaries streaming over. He had minutes, maybe only seconds to stem the gap.

He turned and was alarmed to see that men were beginning to stream away from the battle. Giovanni’s departure had apparently caused a more generalized retreat. He screamed at the men to stay at their posts, to rally around him. A number of men looked his way but none returned. He was losing them. He was losing his city.

He turned back to the battle. There were only a few defenders now, all Greek, battling hopelessly against a surging tide of Janissaries. Constantine smiled. He felt a strange calm. The city was falling. He could do nothing more to stop it. He had done so much. He had done all he could do. Constantine reached back and ripped off his purple cape, and the imperial eagles from his shoulders. He tossed them out over the advancing Turks. He was just another Greek now. A Greek fighting for his city and his people. He slashed at one Turk and then another, driving them back with his fury.

A flash of bright light erupted in his mind. He felt himself spinning and a terrible ringing in his ears. He could not see or feel anything except the roar of the ringing. Something had happened. He was not sure, could not think, could not concentrate. He felt his body hit the ground. He struggled to rise but he could not feel his legs. His ears rang and he could only see blurry shapes and bright flashes. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and ribs. The pain exploded. He coughed up blood and felt himself gasping for air. Another tearing pain burned through his right leg. He was fighting to stay awake, trying to process the pain and where it was coming from. He felt waves of darkness pouring over him. He felt the pain and the light slip away.

He could see his city, his beloved Constantinople. All of it before him, below him. How could he be above it? The pain had fled and he felt more alive than ever. He sprang up from the walls and out over the city. The sky was beautiful. St. Sophia glimmered like gold below a shimmering sun. He floated above, gently wandering through the streets. The people below were busy with their daily labors. His people.