Constantinopolis (4 page)

“Were there any survivors?”

“I believe so my Lord, I believe most of the men survived, but they were captured by the Ottomans. I don’t know what has become of them.”

“You said you had both fact and rumor. I assume the ship is your ‘fact,’ what is rumor?”

Sphrantzes hesitated again, looking Constantine in the eyes. “My Lord, I am hearing through various sources that a large army is massing south of Edirne. If this is true, it is the traditional camping grounds of Ottoman armies intending to march on the city.”

Constantine felt the anxiety rising through him. Why now? Why would they move so fast? He thought he would get a reprieve when Mehmet became Sultan. Certainly the boy had a bad reputation as both unbalanced and arrogant, but wasn’t that a bonus? His father Murad had been so calculating and strong, a great leader who Constantine feared but also respected. When Mehmet ascended so young, after such early failures, Constantine was sure it was a gift from God. Surely the Ottoman power base would seek to keep this young hothead under control for many years to come? Mehmet had immediately signed a number of treaties preserving the status quo with the Greeks and many Latin kingdoms. Wasn’t this proof that the old guard now controlled the Ottomans? Why then was an army amassing? No point in jumping to any conclusions, the Ottomans’ sabers rattled for many reasons. Maybe Halil and the others were letting Mehmet play soldier to keep him busy. Maybe they would raid some small Greek town or village. Constantine couldn’t really afford to lose any of the few remaining territories he controlled, but far better that than a full scale attack on the city. He must wait and see, for now it was time to present the best front, and not allow panic, even in front of Zophia and Sphrantzes.

Constantine turned to Zophia, bowing slightly with a grin. “My dear, thank you for the charming day. Apparently there are some minor matters that require my attention at the palace. I must regretfully cut short what has otherwise been a delightful outing.”

Zophia smiled back, knowing exactly what Constantine was doing, but clearly enjoying his strength and poise. “Thank you My Lord. You are welcome to find your way back here when you are finished.”

“I shall certainly do so as soon as possible.”

He turned to Sphrantzes. “Let’s go.”

Sphrantzes bowed slightly to Zophia and turned quickly to the door.

Constantine hurried on horseback with Sphrantzes to his palace at Blachernae. The Palace of Blachernae was connected to the land walls of the city and sat at the extreme northwest corner of the walled peninsula near the Regia gate. The Greek Emperors had used this palace for the past two centuries. He had to pass through several large areas of fields and empty buildings. The great city, which hosted more than a half million people in its prime, had withered to less than 100,000. Whole portions of Constantinople had reverted to wilderness, and at times it was difficult to feel one was in a city at all.

The palace was set on a hill and contained multiple terraces and buildings. The entrance was guarded. Constantine dismounted and half-walked, half ran to his council room. Sphrantzes had sent additional messengers to the principal counselors of the empire, including the Megadux (the Grand Duke or High Admiral) Loukas Notaras, Constantine’s military leader and friend, and the arrogant Cardinal Isidore, the representative in Constantinople from Pope Nicholas.

Isidore, at nearly 60 years old, was previously the head of the church in Moscow. He was short and stocky, with long grey hair and deep wrinkles running down from his eyes to his chin on each side. He wore dark and ragged robes and walked with a slight limp. Isidore was bowed down with his troubles. His tenure in Moscow had been short. He had aggressively advocated union with the Church of Rome and was therefore deposed and imprisoned by the Orthodox Russian leadership. Eventually he made his way back to Rome, where the Pope subsequently appointed him as his representative to Constantinople. Isidore had come to Constantinople with the same plan, to reunite the eastern and western church.

Notaras was strong-featured and in his mid forties. He was tall, and athletically built, with a full head of graying hair. Notaras was the Emperor’s closest friend, and the most important noble in Constantinople.

Constantine nodded to both men in turn as he made his way into the council chamber and sat down at the head of a long wooden table with two dozen chairs. All of the assembled men bowed formally to the Emperor and then took their traditional places at the council table. Servants poured wine and the men shared bread and fruit around before they began their business.

“What do we know?” asked Constantine finally.

Loukas Notaras, as military commander and essentially Constantine’s second in command, began. “I’m sure Sphrantzes informed you of the sinking of this ship and of the rumors regarding the army massing near Edirne?”

“Yes, he gave me a brief summary of both issues. Do you know anything else?”

“I can confirm through spies that there were survivors from the Venetian galley, including the captain. They are apparently being marched to Edirne under heavy guard. I don’t think there is any chance we could intercept and free them.

I don’t know anything more at this point about this mysterious army at Edirne. I do know they have had summer camps in that location many times, and they didn’t necessarily move on the city. It is a little more unusual that they are doing so in the fall. I think we have to take the threat very seriously.”

“We’ve been expecting this for some time, although I was hopeful that Halil and the others could keep this young monster in check.” The Emperor turned to Sphrantzes. “Do we have any inside information about what is going on with Mehmet?”

“I don’t have anyone close on the inside my Lord. Our best spies were moved out of the Sultan’s household when Murad died. I haven’t been able to get anyone close enough to find out what’s going on in Mehmet’s council meetings.”

“So we’re blind here.” Constantine paused. “Loukas, how are we set to deal with this?”

“My Lord, as you are aware, our city walls have fallen into some disrepair. There are cracks and even holes in some of walls. Many of the towers have not been used in years. Perhaps even more alarming, the great ditch, the Foss in front of the outer wall, has been largely filled in over time. We haven’t had the resources to dig out the ditch or maintain it, nor to repair the walls. In addition, we don’t have enough soldiers, even with volunteers, to adequately man the land walls, let alone the sea walls.”

“What resources do we have in the city?”

“We can ask for all of the churches to contribute everything they can, gold, plate, silver, donated coin. We also can ask the same of our citizens. As you know My Lord, over the past hundred years or more, we have had to make these requests again and again. There simply aren’t sufficient resources remaining in the city to gather significant wealth. However, we can make the request and it will certainly result in some new treasure to pay for soldiers and food.”

“But where will the soldiers and food come from?” asked the Emperor.

“That’s just the problem My Lord. The Sultan has effectively cut off the Black Sea. We are not able to easily receive aid from our remaining colonies in that area or from the Georgians or Trebizonds. We could sneak some ships past those forts but this recent sinking will certainly make captains hesitant to run the strait, and I doubt the Ottomans would let soldiers, arms or grain past, even if the captain paid the fee.”

“What about the ambassadors we sent out to the West, to the Venetians, Genoese, and to Naples? Any word from them?” Constantine had not waited for a crisis to try to prepare the city. He had worked tirelessly since his ascension to prepare Constantinople for a siege. One of the key components was aid from the west, and he had recently sent a new round of ambassadors out to beg assistance from various cities and kingdoms.

“It’s still a little early to expect responses My Lord,” answered Notaras. “Our ships could have reached some of the cities and returned, but that conclusion doesn’t take into consideration time for an audience and negotiations. I don’t expect to hear from any of our missions for several weeks.”

“Any news from my wonderful brothers? Can we not expect help from the Moria?” Constantine’s brothers Demetrius and Thomas shared control of the Moria, the ancient Peloponnesus of Greece. The brothers were often at war with one another, when they weren’t scheming to take the throne from Constantine.

“Unfortunately we cannot My Lord. We have heard from Thomas that the Moria is being pressured by Mehmet as well. It’s unclear how long the peninsula can hold out, and it may have fallen already.”

Constantine frowned. No help from the east, few resources at home, and no word from the west. They were almost defenseless. If Mehmet arrived immediately, even with a relatively small army, he could overwhelm the few professional soldiers and guards the Emperor possessed in a matter of days, at most, and a matter of hours at least. He had to do everything he could to prepare the city. “What else can we do?”

“We should send missions to John Hunyadi in Hungary and ask for immediate assistance,” said Notaras. “We also should send a mission to the White Sheep in Anatolia. He is no friend of the Ottomans. He might be willing to help us, or at least use the siege of our city as an opportunity to attack the Ottomans.”

“I agree on both. I don’t know if the White Sheep will help us. Will Muslim turn on Muslim to help a Christian? But we must try.”

“Anything else?”

“My Lord, I know you do not like this subject,” said Sphrantzes. “However, you should reconsider my suggestion that you betroth and marry the Georgian Princess Arianna, daughter of George VIII.”

Constantine sighed in frustration. “Sphrantzes, we have discussed this time and again. I don’t want to be betrothed and I don’t want a wife. Besides, with the strait cut off by these cursed Turkish forts, what is the point?”

“My Lord, the strait is cut off from a single ship carrying supplies, or even a few ships. It is not cut off from a fleet. If you are willing to negotiate a marriage contract, I believe we can work out substantial concessions from the Georgians. A relief fleet with troops and supplies is not out of the question.”

Constantine paused before responding. What should he say? He had avoided this issue for a very long time. Zophia would be crushed, devastated. She was the only person who knew and understood him. His only real love in a tragic life. He had tried to explain the necessity of this political move, that he wouldn’t really be married in his heart, that they could continue to spend time together in secret. She refused. He was hers or he could be someone else’s. She would not be a secret mistress. Why was she so stubborn? Of course he understood, it was what made her so appealing. She would never compromise her beliefs. He felt his entire life was concession after concession, first to survive, then to assure the survival of his city. He loved her deeply for her conviction. Could he reward it with betrayal now? There must be another way. “I’m still considering that question Sphrantzes, but let’s discuss additional options.”

“I don’t know why you continue to press him about this,” said Notaras. “The Emperor has been very clear he doesn’t want to entertain a marriage.”

“Maybe if you could provide decent defenses for the city, I wouldn’t have to press uncomfortable issues on him,” retorted Sphrantzes.

Notaras rose out of his seat. “I will not stand for your words! What have you done with your spies and intrigues? Nothing!”

Sphrantzes rose also and for a moment it appeared the two men would come to blows.

“Enough! Both of you stop at once!” demanded Constantine. “We must fight among ourselves? We don’t have enough enemies and enough problems?”

The men sat down. Notaras turned to face Constantine. “My Lord, there is another possibility. You could leave the city. Leave me in command. Sail to Rome. Plead directly to the West. You are more important than the city. You are the empire. This plan would have several advantages. Not only would a direct plea from you be far more effective than ambassadors but if the city fell in your absence, you could carry on the fight from Moria, or some of our island strongholds, or even join John Hunyadi in Hungary. You would be safe.”

Constantine was surprised to hear this from Notaras. He was such a noble, honorable man. Flee the city at its moment of greatest need? Constantine was offended. Or was that fair? Had he not thought the same on many occasions? To get out of this noose ever closing in. He could make an appeal to the west. He could gather a mighty army and crush the Ottomans at the gates. Beyond that, could he recapture Edirne? Could he drive the Turks out of the Baltics entirely? He could be more than a savior to his people. He could restore the Greek world to some measure of its former self.

What if the city fell in his absence? He could still raise a mighty army. The remaining Greeks could rally around him. With Constantinople lost, the Latin world would surely rise in mighty crusade against the Ottomans. And if they didn’t, couldn’t he just as easily retire in one of his remaining territories or even in Rome as an honored and tragic hero? Zophia could go with him. They could be together for months at a time. If the city fell, there would be no pressure to marry anyone for political purposes. He would be free to marry her. Free to have his life. He had never been able to give in to himself. Ever. He had spent his life in service to his people and his city. He would have everything.

Everything but honor. He shook his head.

“Loukas my friend, I honor your words. I would flatter myself that I am more important than the city. More important than my people. But I am not. Emperors have come and gone over the centuries. Some good, some bad. The city has endured. The city is everything. The city and the people. I will stay, I will live and die within our walls.”

Notaras bowed. “As you wish, My Lord.”

“As if he has a real choice,” added Sphrantzes. “You counsel a coward’s path Notaras.”

“I won’t hear more of this!” interjected Constantine. “Let us focus on the matter at hand.”