Constantinopolis (35 page)

The Turks were ripping the families apart, making no effort to keep the families together but rather taking the people they wanted as possessions. Beautiful young women were dragged toward the entrance, or thrown down to the marble floor right in the middle of the church to be raped.

An Ottoman reached Zophia and the family. She could feel the little girl hanging on as tightly as she could. The Turk was angry and wild eyed. Zophia asked him to spare the family. She spoke Turkish which surprised him and caused him to stop for a moment. He looked at her and then raised his sword and lashed out at the father, wounding him horribly in the chest and arm. The father fell backward on the marble, slipping on his own blood, which was pumping out of his chest from the gaping wound. The little girl and her mother were screaming in terror. The Turk stepped forward and stabbed the father again in the chest, driving his sword deep inside him. The body shivered and then was still.

The Turk ripped his sword out of the father and turned to the rest of them. He grabbed a silk sash he had tucked into his belt and tied the mother and daughter together by the hand and then pushed them down to the floor. Zophia felt another hand grab hers. A second Turk had grabbed hold of her and was attempting to pull her away. The first Ottoman turned and screamed at the second one, raising his sword threateningly. The second Turk let go and moved away, seeking his own prizes.

The Ottoman stepped forward and roughly grabbed Zophia by the hair. He knocked her back on to the bloody marble, falling on top of her. He was strong and Zophia could smell his foul, alcohol-laced breath. She tried to fight him off but he was far too strong. He pulled up her robes and fiddled with his pants. She felt a sharp pain as he brutally shoved himself inside her, holding her neck with a gloved hand and choking her as he raped her.

She was helpless, angry and humiliated. There was nothing she could do. Even screaming was impossible. He pressed on her grunting and thrusting inside her. She opened her eyes and looked into the eyes of the Archangel Michael staring down at her from above. She thought of Constantine, trying to drive this horror from her mind. She hoped he had not suffered too much, that his death had been just a moment. She hoped this Turk would kill her after and she could join him in heaven. She prayed this to Michael and to God.

With a final loud grunt the Turk finished and pushed himself roughly off. He grabbed Zophia again by the hair and dragged her to the mother and her young girl. He now tied Zophia to the mother and once he found they were secure, he left in search of other prizes.

The mother was staring at Zophia in shock, holding her young child who was cowering against her. Zophia tried to compose herself as best she could and pulled the mother and child closer to her, trying to provide what comfort she could despite the trauma she had just endured.

She also looked around her to see what was happening. The Turks were continuing to collect and tie people together, and were mercilessly killing those too young and too old to have any value. They were also pillaging everything of value in reach, grabbing gold and silver chalices and icons, and hacking away at gilded frames on the walls. A group of priests were standing near the altar, trying to hold on to a few precious relics. They were surrounded by armed Ottomans with swords raised, threatening them loudly and lunging at the priests. The standoff could not last long. Individual family members who had been torn apart were calling out to each other in the sanctuary, trying to keep in contact as long as possible. These desperate cries were intermixed with the scream of women being raped and the moans of the wounded and dying.

Perhaps a half hour passed and
their
Ottoman returned, leading a string of seven additional slaves. He tied these to the mother and then to Zophia’s horror he returned to her. He was smiling now and slurring words to her. He did not even bother untying her from the little girl but simply pressed Zophia back to the cold and bloody marble, and began raping her again, less brutally this time but still as terribly. She closed her eyes, praying, thinking of her fallen city, and thinking of Constantine.

TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1453, NOON

Mehmet sat astride his horse in the early morning hours. He had watched the Ottoman irregulars, his most expendable troops attacking the Palisade for several hours. He could watch the press of men against the wooden walls with each flash of cannon. The attacking men were exhausted, and would not continue their assault much longer, but that was fine by the Sultan. They had served their purpose, keeping a constant assault against the defenders that would have served to tire and weaken them, and to inflict at least some casualties.

Zaganos was next to him, sharing this moment with his Sultan. They both knew their lives were probably at stake, Zaganos’s more than Mehmet’s for even if Halil felt unable to remove the Sultan, he surely would demand the death of this upstart Christian convert for any bargain.

Zaganos spoke to an aide who sent messages quickly through the ranks, calling back the auxiliary forces. Within a few minutes they were all away from the wall but there was no pause. With a new order, the Anatolian contingent of regular Ottoman soldiers streamed forward, attacking the same small portion of the wooden palisade, keeping up the pressure, looking for weaknesses. Throughout the cannons roared, sending a constant barrage at the walls. Some of the shots landed short of the walls, wounding and killing scores of Turks. It did not matter. The Sultan had men and to spare, and if this assault failed or succeeded the casualties would matter little.

“How are we doing?” he asked Zaganos.

“So far, well, My Lord.”

“What does that mean?”

Zaganos laughed. “Perhaps it means nothing. There have been no disasters, but then none were expected. We are keeping up pressure, and they must be getting tired inside. Everything is going according to plan so far. However, it all will depend on whether we get into the city.”

“What more can we do?”

“Nothing My Lord. It is in Allah’s hands.”

Several more hours passed. The Anatolian troops battled hard, relentlessly pushing forward. They seemed to be making some progress, but from where they stood it did not seem they could get consistent forces over the walls. They would throw up a few ladders, the Greeks would push them back. A few Turks would make it over the wall, but never enough. And already they too were tiring from the battle.

Mehmet turned again to Zaganos. “Call the Janissaries forward, I will address them.”

The moment had come for Mehmet. The most important moment of his life. He had gambled everything on this siege, against the advice of all of the senior advisors, against his father’s advice when he was still alive. He was thought rash and impetuous by Halil and all of the senior counselors of the empire. Were they correct? He had been so sure of himself. He had planned so carefully. Was he not Allah’s shadow on the earth? Had he not known since he was a young boy that it was his destiny to take this city? Had he not suffered embarrassment and doubt for years?

Now it was down to this one moment. He had one more attack to make. He had only his Janissaries left. He had depended on Christian converts as his top advisors, and now he would rely on Christian converts to capture the city. If they failed, he would fail with them.

Soon they were gathered near his tent and ready for Mehmet to address them. They were his elite regiment, given the best training and equipment. They numbered approximately five thousand. They cheered Mehmet with his approach.

“My elite warriors of Allah. You see the Greeks still standing before us? They are infidels. They hold your city back from you. They hold back your treasure, your gold and silver and slaves. Will you let them?”

“No!” roared the men.

“Inside this city there is wealth immeasurable. More than a thousand years of treasure. When you breach these walls you will have three days to take everything you want. That is the will and promise of Allah. All of this is given to you if you will take it. Will you take it?”

The men shouted again, beating swords and spears on their shields.

“We cannot stay here forever. The infidels have friends, the Italians and the Hungarians. We must take the city now. I have weakened these Greeks with the attacks of lesser men, but I have left the victory for you. You go forth now to glory. You must take the city or you must not come back! Will you take it?”

The men screamed their approval, even louder now. They were wild eyed and stirred with passion. Mehmet had ordered the Anatolians back a few minutes before. The timing was perfect. He rode back toward the city at a trot, his Janissaries, running along side him, chanting and cheering him. He stopped for a moment, drew his sword, and then spurred his horse forward in a gallop. A huge roar erupted from the Janissaries who charged the walls in a sprint. Mehmet stopped his horse about 100 yards from the walls. The Janissaries crashed into the palisade like a wave crashing on the rocks. They were shouting, screaming, throwing up ladders and streaming over, swinging their swords savagely as they went.

Mehmet watched the attack, his heart in his throat. They must succeed and they must do it now, or everything was lost. Within just a few minutes he thought he was beginning to notice a change. Before the ladders would hit the wall but stay up only for a few moments. Now there were a dozen or more ladders in place, and they seemed to be staying there. Janissaries were climbing in a steady stream and climbing or falling over the walls. He felt a surge of exhilaration. Was it possible they were succeeding? Were they going to take the city? He was delighted to see an Ottoman banner waving over the stockade. Would it last?

He was surrounded by men on both sides. Long lines of men had formed each direction as far as the eye could see. The men of the previous assaults had come to watch the final one. They were exhausted, some wounded. They had come without command to witness this assault, as if they knew the fate of the city depended on this last desperate attempt.

Minutes passed. The ladders remained. Mehmet held his breath. Were they advancing? Was it possible the city was his at last? He noticed the eastern sky beginning to brighten slightly. Dawn was not far off. Perhaps the start of a new world for him.

Another flash. He saw not one banner but several. They waved wildly over the palisades. He thought he saw cheering and excitement from the Janissaries still not over the wall. He turned to Zaganos.

“Ride forward and see what is happening.”

The Pasha spurred his horse forward into the darkness. Mehmet waited without patience. Each moment seemed to last an hour. Finally he made out Zaganos’s form returning to him.

“We are through My Lord! We are through! The city is ours! The city is ours!”

Mehmet looked up and saw the city through another flash of light. Now there were banners waving not just at the palisade but also on the great walls themselves. His banners. He had done it. With Allah’s blessing he had done it. The city was his. Constantinople was his.

He must press the advantage while he could. It was not too late to lose the city. He shouted to the men standing with him. “Attack! Everyone attack! The city is ours! The city is ours! Do not lose it now! Go forward for Allah! Claim what is yours!”

The men let forth a tremendous roar of excitement and charged forward, massing behind the Janissaries who were still climbing over the walls of the palisade. Mehmet felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Zaganos smiling at him. His general bowed in his saddle.

“You have done it My Lord. You are the Lord of the world now. Nobody will ever doubt you again!”

Mehmet bowed in return. He closed his eyes and then looked out again. The light from the east was bright enough now to illuminate the walls of the city. His city. His men had now broken through the wooden walls and were pouring in to Constantinople. He closed his eyes again and prayed to Allah, thanking him for delivering the city to him. He thought of his father, and spoke to him silently in his mind. “I have done it father. I have fulfilled your dream and the destiny of our people. I have brought you Istanbul.”

Mehmet sat for hours on his horse with Zaganos, watching his men pass through the walls of Constantinople. He received messengers from within the city describing the final hours of the Christian city.

He learned with surprise that there was almost no resistance once the initial fight at the palisade was finished. Apparently the Greek commander, Giovanni, had been wounded and carried out by some of his Genoese retainers. The men in the rush to leave had left open one of the small doors leading through the great walls of the city, and other men had begun fleeing the palisade. A few deserters had triggered a panicked retreat and the Janissaries had quickly battled through the great wall and into the city itself.

After securing this entrance they had spread out into the city cautiously, expecting additional fighting but encountering almost none. Greeks were everywhere fleeing, but mostly women, children and old men with their possessions. The Janissaries encountered small bands of Greeks soldiers who still were fighting, but only a very small number. They eventually found one of the great gates and had opened it, allowing huge numbers of Ottomans to storm in at one time.

Traveling away from the walls, they had spread out and begun moving east. The Janissaries remained together in organized groups but the regular Ottoman soldiers and the auxiliary troops had quickly dissipated in to mobs of looters, breaking into homes in search of treasure and slaves.

The Janissary reported that the looters had become organized, flagging each house that was already pillaged so that the looters could move on to the next house or neighborhood. The troops were killing many of the older men and woman and the very young children. This tactic was to be expected because they would offer little value as slaves. Mehmet gave an order that the young children were to be spared. Children could serve him very well in the future, the old could not. He also reiterated his order that the main holy churches and palaces could be looted, but the structures themselves should not be damaged. The punishment would be death.