Constantinopolis (7 page)

“Come with me.” Orban led the council further along the courtyard and then through open air corridors to a second courtyard further within the palace. The enormous courtyard had been converted to a series of open-air forges. Dozens of men worked at the forges, beating metal over fire into various shapes. However, it was not the forges that held the council’s attention. In the center of the Courtyard stood a partially assembled cannon. The cannon was enormous, many times larger than any such weapon the Ottomans had previously possessed. The cannon was nearly thirty feet long and three feet in diameter.

Mehmet looked around, savoring this moment. His council was stunned, speechless. Even Zaganos was staring wide-eyed, shaking his head slightly.

“Orban, will this cannon breach the walls of Constantinople?”

“Yes, My Lord. There are no walls made by man that can withstand this cannon. It will lob a cannon ball made of stone or iron and weighing two thousand pounds more than a mile. It will assuredly breach the walls. The question is not whether, it is only when. There are drawbacks. This weapon will require at least fifty people to handle it, hundreds to move it, and probably will only be able to be fired ten times a day.”

“When will it be ready for a test?”

“Less than sixty days My Lord. And I am also working on a number of smaller cannons. You will have the greatest artillery force in the world in a matter of months.”

Mehmet turned to Halil and the rest of the council. “We will test this cannon, and when the test is successful, we will meet again and we
will
decide to attack the city. It is Allah’s will.”

Halil stood staring at Mehmet with barely concealed anger. The Sultan thought for a moment the older man might leap at him. He couldn’t be that stupid could he? He savored the vision of the Vizier attacking him. He could lop off his head and watch his body shake and roll around on the ground. He silently willed it, prayed for him to lunge. Unfortunately he did not.

After a time Halil bowed, turned, and walked away. He was joined by a group of the elder councilors, scurrying away no doubt to plot their next move. Mehmet had outmaneuvered them today. He had won a battle, but not the war. He had permission now to attack Constantinople, assuming Orban’s cannon worked. This however did not assure him victory. He had simply achieved the right to try where everyone else had failed for a thousand years. Doubts sprang up even in his excitement. What if he failed to take the city? Had he just brilliantly paved the path to his own doom? He had no other choice. He must live under Halil’s boot or he must forge his own path. He would take all or he would lose all. Allah protect him.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1452

Constantine lay in bed with Zophia, his head on her bare stomach. They clung to each other in the darkness, afraid each moment might be their last. He needed her strength, her companionship, and he dreaded the news he had to share with her, news he had held from her far too long. He could not wait any longer, she would know tonight and he feared it would change everything. He had to tell her now.

“Zophia dear, you know how much I love you.”

“Mmmmm, yes, you just showed me again.” She said sleepily, with satisfaction.

“I have something I must tell you, and I’m afraid you are going to be unhappy with me.”

He felt her stiffen. “What is it?” she asked.

“I . . .”

“Don’t tell me you have given in to that bastard Sphrantzes and you are going to marry that whore of a princess?” She pushed the sheets away and got out of bed, standing and staring accusingly at him.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s . . .”

“What is it then?” she still sounded angry although Constantine could tell she was relieved.

“Perhaps something just as bad. My dear, I have been trying to tell you about this for days. I haven’t been able to find the words. I don’t know how to make this better so I am just going to say it. Tonight at St. Sophia, Isidore is implementing the Union of the Churches, on my authority. He will be giving the Latin Mass.”

Zophia took a couple of steps back, and turned as pale as the sheet she was holding. She looked as if Constantine had struck her a blow.

“No, Constantine. What terrible news. How could you do such a thing! You tell me you are not marrying a princess. You have made my body happy. But now instead you wish to destroy my soul? How could you! We will give in to these wretches? To what end? We give up our souls to eternal damnation? For what? A few more years of life on earth? This city will fall eventually, Constantine. You must know that. It is only a matter of time. You cannot do this. The people love you. They trust you. If you do this, you lose them, you lose everything. You cannot protect this city forever. But you can protect the people.”

“I have to, Zophia. It’s not even my decision. Our representatives at the Council of Florence already endorsed this . . .”

“Endorsed it, yes. Implemented it? No. It’s been almost 15 years, Constantine. In all of that time there has been no effort to actually make the people follow the Latin ceremonies. The people will rebel. At the best, they will refuse to defend the city and they will never forgive you. At the worst, they will depose and kill you. You must stop the Union.”

Constantine rose out of bed and slowly walked toward Zophia, putting his arms on her shoulders. “My dear, you do not know what you say. Do we not possess the Doctrine of Energies? We easterners have always taken doctrine with a grain of salt, yes? If we do not agree with every part of the Latin Mass, we can take the good and ignore the bad. Is that not our way? I know the people will be angry. Maybe they will even hate me. I want to save them. I want to save the city. I need western aid. You have no idea how weak we are. How poor. You must believe in me. You must trust me. I cannot do this without you Zophia.”

“Constantine, I’m begging you not to do this. You won’t lose me if you let this happen, but you will lose a part of me. I love you, I will stay with you, but I beg you to keep our faith. If it is God’s will to let the city fall, then let it happen. At least we die a pure death, untarnished. I know you have had to live a life of compromise, but some compromises cannot be made. Please dearest, please do not.”

“I love you. I love you.” He was crying now, shaking uncontrollably. She held him tightly, he could feel her love and comfort. They did not speak for awhile. Finally she let him go and stood near him, staring deeply into his eyes. “Zophia my dear, I must do this. Please pray for me, please support me.”

He could see her deep disappointment. He was torn apart inside. Was there never an easy answer for him! Could he not have the luxury of one choice that did not cost him dearly? But he knew he had to do this. Could he let the Turks in to rape and enslave Zophia? He did not feel the Union destroyed his faith or the faith of the people. It was a compromise when nothing but compromises were available. Five hundred years ago, if a Pope had demanded something of a Greek Emperor, the Emperor might well march on Rome with a massive army and sack the city, once again imposing the imperial will on the Latin Church. Those days had passed. The west was rising and the east was all but gone.

Zophia was right. He should not force this change on the people. She was always right. But he had no choice. He knew in his heart that Mehmet was coming. He had no money, no men, the walls were crumbled and in disrepair. If he did not force this then the city had no chance. He must live with the disappointment of the people. In time they would forgive him.

“I’m so sorry. I know you are right but I must do this. Will you come with me tonight to St. Sophia? Will you stand by my side through this mass? I don’t know if I can face it without you. You talk of souls Zophia. You are my soul. Please come with me. I know I am asking too much of you.”

She hugged him again, sobbing. “I can’t my dear. I can’t be there for you in this. I’m so sorry. I love you so much, but I can’t sacrifice my soul, even for you. I am still here for you. Go do this if you must. When you are done, I will be here. Hurry back and I will do everything I can to make things better for you.”

Constantine held her tightly. It was unfair he had asked her to go with him. This was his shame, not hers. Was she right? Should he just let the city fall, or leave it to God? How could he do this? His entire life had been devoted to keeping the city safe, his people safe. He had done this against impossible odds, without real allies or friends. He had no money. No resources. Betrayal everywhere. The Ottomans constantly required additional annual tributes, the relinquishment of more towns. How could he stop fighting now?

“I understand dear. I’m not mad. I love you. I will face this alone. I deserve nothing better. I will face this, and I will come back to you. I will need you terribly tonight.”

She smiled. “I will be here for you.”

Hours later he reappeared at her door. He was grief stricken, exhausted, broken. He walked stiffly inside and into her arms. She kissed him deeply, he could feel her taking away the pain, covering him in her love.

“Tell me,” she said.

“It was worse than I could even imagine. Isidore announced the Union at the beginning of mass, and invoked the name of the Pope. You could hear the gasps ringing through the cathedral. I saw people staring at me, people I knew. I have never been looked at like that before. They were wounded, dismayed. They weren’t angry. They were hurt. People started to leave. Loukas came over and placed a hand on my shoulder. He gave me a slight squeeze, but then he left as well. By the end of the Mass, there was almost nobody left.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“That’s not the worst. As I was riding over here people turned away from me. They always cheer and smile. Now they won’t meet my eyes. You were wrong Zophia—they do not hate me. They aren’t angry. They are crushed. They are betrayed.”

“It is a terrible thing you have had to do Constantine. But if I was wrong about the people’s reaction, perhaps I will also be wrong about the ultimate effect. If the people are only sad, hopefully they will forgive you. Let us pray they do, and pray that we receive the aid you have paid so dearly for.”

“The aid will come. The Pope has promised it.” Constantine wondered if he truly believed that. The Greeks had been forced for two hundred years to beg for help from the west. They received only scraps, and it seemed less with each passing year. Still any crumbs would weigh heavily in the defense of the city. If you have nothing, a trickle is as much as a flood. He prayed silently that the Union would have a meaningful effect, and that for once the aid from the west would be significant and immediate.

MONDAY, JANUARY 15, 1453

The New Year came and passed. After their initial shock regarding the Union the people seemed to settle down to a dull melancholy. Constantine however noticed a definite change in his relationship with the people. They still loved him, they would still work with him, but they treated him like a wounded child treats a parent who has punished them for something they did not do. He felt their sadness in everything he did, and even in his relationship with Zophia. She loved him, she was there for him, but she was disappointed in him. She was a little more distant. A little of the fire and passion of their love had died with the Union.

Constantine rode through the city alone under a cold, windy drizzle, considering this issue. He had nothing yet to show for his sacrifice. After the mass he had immediately sent a ship with an ambassador to Rome. He was very hopeful that he would now receive the full support and resources of the papacy, which carried with it the promise of aid from all the Latin states. But it would be months before news would reach him from this ambassador, and perhaps even longer before any material aid would arrive.

Fortunately, the church was still cooperating with him. The eastern clergy would no longer set foot in St. Sophia, nor would most of the people, but he was receiving some money and supplies from the various churches in the city, which he was able to then turn over to Notaras to help pay for soldiers, to buy food, and to work on the city walls. Even better news, the Turks had never left their camps near Edirne. Constantine now hoped that this had just been a ruse on Mehmet’s part, and that he had no intent of attacking the city. With any luck, he would be able to repair the walls, build his food reserves, hire additional mercenaries to protect the city, and wait for a crusade from the west and Hungary to crush Mehmet. With tremendous luck, this would mean wiping out the Ottoman presence in Europe as a whole.

Grand Admiral Notaras had also begun work on a sea defense that had served the city well in the past. The extreme tip of Constantinople jutted out to the North toward the shores of Galata, across the Golden Horn from the city. Notaras was constructing an enormous chain stretching from Constantinople on one side to be attached to the walls across the Horn at Galata. The chain consisted of huge iron links, connected periodically to wooden booms. When the chain was completed, it would cut off the Golden Horn, vastly reducing the amount of sea wall that would have to be defended, and allowing ships and supplies to flow freely from Constantinople to Galata. The Genoese, who controlled the independent city, had agreed to connect the chain to the wall of Galata at substantial risk to their own city, as the Ottomans could hardly fail to note the cooperation with the Greeks.

Constantine finally felt he could breathe. Aid from the west must appear soon and he was making progress with the city defenses. And while he feared the worst, it was possible the Turks might not be coming after all.

Constantine completed his tour of the city. Drenched, he eventually reached the palace. He changed his clothes, ate a small meal and entered the council hall for a status update. Sphrantzes and Loukas Notaras were already waiting for him. Constantine met with these two close confidents on a daily basis, but convened his greater council for only a weekly meeting.

“How’s the weather?” asked Notaras.

“Lovely,” laughed Constantine. “It’s Greek weather. The Turks would never attack us under these conditions. The roads are a muddy mess.”