'I do not want any more of your money, Halil, only my family,' Isa said. His hand went back to the pouch of poison. 'Do I have your word that they will be freed?'
'You have my word.'
'Very well. For your sake, you had best keep your promise,' Isa said and left the tent.
Halil watched him go. Isa's family was his weakness, and it would be his undoing. Halil placed the letter to the city of Chorlu aside and began a new one, this time in code, to his agents in Edirne. Constantine stood at his post at the Fifth Military Gate, near the middle of the Mesoteichion, and squinted against the early morning light as he watched the Turkish army form ranks in the distance. Dalmata stood beside him, and Notaras was not far off at the Blachernae wall. The siege was now ten days old, and not a cannon had fired, not an arrow had flown. While the men of the city waited on the walls day after day with increasing anxiety, the Turkish camp remained unnervingly quiet. Now, the Turkish army had finally sprung to life. Even though he dreaded the carnage to come, Constantine found himself looking forward to the release of the dreadful tension that had hung over the city.
On the far plain, the Turkish army had finished forming ranks. Flags waved over each regiment, identifying the origins of particular units. In the centre of the janissaries, directly across from Constantine, the flag of Mehmed — a white standard covered in ornate Turkish script — waved in the breeze. Horns sounded from the Turkish army, their loud call shattering the silence, and the regiments began to move, marching forward in step to the boom of drums, the clash of cymbals and the ringing of small bells held high on sticks. The sound of the approaching army was deafening after the long silence. 'Prepare to fight!' Constantine shouted over the din. He had no sooner spoken than another blast of horns sounded, and the Turkish army halted.
'What are they waiting for?' Constantine growled. 'Why don't they just attack and be done with it?'
'I do not think that they mean to attack just yet,' Dalmata said. 'Look, heralds.'
All down the Turkish lines, at intervals of a hundred yards, heralds dressed in red caftans stepped forth, accompanied by men carrying white flags of truce that snapped in the wind. They stopped just short of the fosse, where they raised their trumpets and together blew a shattering blast. Before the note had entirely faded, the heralds began to speak in unison, loudly and in Greek.
Where Constantine stood on the wall, the voice of the herald before him came and went as the fitful, swirling breeze pushed his words now towards the walls, now away. Still, the message was clear; it was a call for surrender. 'In accordance… law of Islam, the great sultan promises to spare those who voluntarily surrender to him. If any man surrenders… family and property will be safeguarded. Those who choose to stay… no mercy. You have until sunrise, tomorrow, to decide.' Their message delivered, the heralds returned to the lines. The sultan's army turned and marched back to camp.
'Shall I send a reply, Emperor?' Dalmata asked.
'No reply will be necessary,' Constantine said. 'But let it be known in the city that this gate will be opened for any who desire to leave.'
'But My Lord,' Dalmata protested. 'We are undermanned as it is. We cannot stand to lose any more men.'
'I will not force men to fight who would rather run,' Constantine said. 'Their swords will be of little use anyway. Open this gate for those who would surrender and let us pray that our people choose honour over the promises of the sultan. And Dalmata, have my supper brought to me here.'
'Here, My Lord?'
'It will be a long night, and I would rather spend it here than pacing the halls of the palace. I trust in my people to stay and fight, but if any of them wish to leave, let them look upon the face of their emperor as they do so.' As night gave way to morning and the Turkish camp came alive with the innumerable sounds of an army in the field, Mehmed stood atop an earthen rampart and peered out over the palisade towards the imposing walls of Constantinople and the city gate that had been left open all night. In the dim pre-dawn light he could just make out the figure of the emperor standing atop the gate. Ulu told him that Constantine had been there all night. During that time, seven Venetian ships had slipped out of port, but that was all. Not a single person had fled through the open gate, beneath the gaze of the emperor. Now, as the rays of the sun struck the top of the gate, it swung slowly shut. The Greeks had rejected Mehmed's offer. The time for mercy had ended.
'They are brave, there can be no doubt of that,' Mehmed said to Ulu. 'All the better. It will make our victory that much sweeter.' He turned to Urban, who was directing a dozen men as they finished loading a giant cannonball nearly four feet tall into the mouth of the largest cannon that the world had ever seen. The barrel, all twenty-seven feet of it, hung from thick ropes attached to a wooden frame, a system that Urban had devised to absorb the cannon's violent recoil, which would destroy the traditional wooden cradle used for the other cannons. Urban called his monstrous creation the Dragon, and Mehmed liked the name. He had had artists paint the barrel with the serpentine shape of a dragon. He wanted the cannon's fearsome voice to be the first thing the Christians heard that morning, telling them that the siege had begun and that the end was near. 'Urban, is the cannon ready?' Mehmed asked.
'As ready as I can make her, My Lord,' Urban replied. 'She's still a little shaky, but she'll hold.'
'Are you certain? You know how much depends on the Dragon.'
'Sure as sure,' Urban said. 'I'd stake my life on it.' Urban froze as the words escaped his lips. A mistake.
'Very well,' Mehmed replied. 'Your life it is, then. As for my part, I will stake your weight in gold. It will be yours if the cannon holds and the cannonball reaches the city. You may fire when ready, Urban.'
'Yes, My Lord,' Urban said. He turned back to his crew and bellowed: 'Open the palisade!' Men tugged at ropes, and the hinged door of the palisade that protected the cannon swung open. Urban was busy at the rear of the cannon. He checked the ropes holding it in place one final time, and then took up a burning slow match. 'You'll want to cover your ears, Sultan,' he said. Mehmed did so, and Urban lowered the slow match to the cannon's touch hole.
Instantly the cannon belched forth a long tongue of fire and jerked violently backwards. Even with his ears covered, the noise set Mehmed's head ringing and shook the platform. He turned to follow the flight of the massive cannonball. It seemed to float in the air for an incredibly long time as it travelled the two hundred yards to the walls. It soared over the fosse and crashed into the outer wall, which was instantly enveloped in a cloud of dust and flying debris. A split second later, the loud report of the impact came to Mehmed, and then, slowly, the dust cleared. The Christians had hung the walls with strips of leather and bales of hay and wool in the hope of absorbing the impact of cannon fire, but their precautions had done little good. The cannon had hit the wall midway up and blasted a hole clean through it. As the wind blew the last traces of dust away, the portion of the wall above the hole collapsed. The Turkish lines erupted in wild cheering.
Mehmed turned to congratulate Urban and saw that the rear of the cannon had fallen from its frame, pinning a man beneath it. Urban and his crew were at work with crowbars, desperately trying to heave the huge weight off the poor man's crushed legs. The man himself was unconscious, or dead.
'Fix it,' Mehmed said. 'I want it firing again before the sun has set.'
'What of our wager?' Urban asked tentatively, scratching his neck.
'The cannonball reached the wall, as I requested. We will call it a draw.' Urban bowed. 'Besides, I need you to get the cannon firing again. Get to it.'
'Yes, My Lord,' Urban said and began barking orders.
'Ulu, tell the other artillery commanders down the line that they may fire when ready,' Mehmed ordered. 'I want cannons firing day and night. Concentrate on the Mesoteichion. Tell the men that every time a section of the wall falls, I will reward the unit that brings it down with one hundred aspers. The walls of Constantinople have stood for more than a thousand years. Let us see how long it takes for us to bring them down.'
Chapter 14
SATURDAY 14 APRIL AND SUNDAY 15 APRIL 1453, CONSTANTINOPLE: DAYS 14 AND 15 OF THE SIEGE
Sofia sat on the floor of the palace library, surrounded by old books and tattered manuscripts, an ancient map spread out before her. The library windows looked out beyond the wall, and when she stood at them, she could see the Turkish batteries pounding away at the city. Her attention, however, was completely taken up with the
