Siege

Minotto ignored Troilo. 'I will be happy to take the post,' he said.

'Good,' Longo said. 'Bocchiardo brothers, you and your men will take up positions south of Minotto, where the Blachernae and Theodosian walls meet. You will share command of the Blachernae with Minotto.'

'With that Venetian prig?' Troilo objected. 'My men won't fight alongside Venetians!'

'I will have your hide for that,' Minotto said, his hand moving to his sword. 'I demand satisfaction!'

'Silence!' Longo shouted. He drew his sword and laid it on the table. 'I will not have bickering amongst you,' he said, his voice quiet and hard. 'We are here to fight the Turks, not one another. If any of you seek satisfaction, then I will offer it to you myself. Is that understood?' Troilo nodded. 'Minotto?' After a pause, the Venetian nodded.

'Good,' Longo continued. 'Theophilus Palaelogus will command the wall south of the Lycus river to the Pegae Gate. Filippo Contarini and his Venetians will defend the walls from the Pegae Gate to the Golden Gate, which Manuel and his men have volunteered to defend. The Protostrator, Demetrius Cantacuzenus, will defend the southernmost portion of the wall. The Venetians will have command of the fleet and the Golden Horn. The sea walls will be manned by Greek monks and any remaining forces in the city.' Longo was pleased to see each of the commanders nod as he spoke his name. None questioned their assignments. 'My men and I will be stationed south of the Bocchiardo brothers, with the emperor at the Mesoteichion. Prince Orhan and the Turkish troops will join us there.'

'But they are infidels,' Archbishop Leonard protested. 'You cannot use Turks to defend our most vulnerable point. They will betray us to the enemy.' Several other men at the table nodded agreement. Orhan, a Turkish prince who had taken shelter in Constantinople to avoid death at the hands of Mehmed, opened his mouth to speak, but Longo gestured for him to remain silent.

'There are Christians, even Greeks, fighting in the Turkish army. I see no reason why Turks should not fight in ours,' Longo said. 'Constantinople is their home, too, and Orhan's men are some of our strongest fighters. We need their help on the walls.'

'Does the Union mean nothing then?' Leonard asked. 'The pope would never stand for this.'

'The pope is not here, nor are his men. In their absence, we need all the help we can get,' Notaras said firmly. Longo was surprised by Notaras's support. The megadux turned to Longo. 'And what of my post?'

'You will command a reserve force, stationed where the Blachernae wall meets the Theodosian walls. You will offer support wherever there is trouble.'

'My place is on the walls, not cowering behind them,' Notaras said.

'Do not mistake me, Notaras,' Longo said. 'Your post will see no lack of danger. You will be free to seek out battle wherever it offers itself, and you will always find yourself at the centre of the worst fighting. I have offered you this post because I know of your courage and skill as a warrior.'

'If the post is so glorious, then perhaps you should take it.'

'I would be happy to, Megadux, but there is another consideration. I understand that you possess a number of mobile cannons. They will prove vital in turning back the Turks if the wall is breached. I did not think that you would wish for someone else to command your artillery, but if you are willing, then I will gladly take command of the reserve force.'

'No, that will not be necessary,' Notaras said. 'But understand that only I will decide when and how my men and cannons are deployed. I will fight beside you, Signor Giustiniani, but I will not fight under you.'

'So long as you fight, Megadux, I ask for nothing more.' Longo looked around the table, pausing at each of the men in turn. 'I do not ask any of you to fight for me. If you seek a man to fight for, then fight for the emperor.' Longo's gazed settled at last on Notaras. 'And if you do not wish to fight for any man,' Longo concluded, 'then fight for Constantinople.'

'Hear, hear,' Minotto agreed, and one by one, each of the men added their assent. All eyes turned to Notaras, who alone of the men had remained aloof.

'For Constantinople,' he said and nodded his head curtly.

'Very well, then,' Longo said. 'Have your men at the walls well before sunset. Until the fighting starts, keep them busy repairing the walls, making arrows or building mantelets. When the attack comes, we will regret every second wasted. Are there any questions?' No one spoke. 'Good. Then take your posts, and may God protect you all.' Longo, William and Tristo stood atop the stockade, their battle armour glinting in the torchlight. The sun had long since set and the last colour faded from the sky, swallowed up by inky darkness. Longo watched the Turkish camp for signs of the impending attack, but saw nothing unusual. Cooking fires glimmered in the distance, and the cannons continued to roar.

Longo heard a commotion behind him and turned to see the emperor approaching, dressed in heavy plate armour. 'Greetings, Signor Giustiniani,' Constantine said. He pointed to the distant Turkish camp. 'All looks calm. Perhaps there will be no attack.'

'I hope that you are right,' Longo said. He looked at the numerous holes blasted in the stockade during the day's bombardment and then at the men grouped behind the barrier. Even with Prince Orhan's troops and most of Constantine's personal guard, Longo had less than three thousand men to defend the entire Mesoteichion against at least ten times as many Turks. 'If there is a battle,' he said. 'Then we shall be hard pressed.'

'God will protect us. He will not let the Empire of the Romans fall,' Constantine said. 'I must inspect the other troops. God be with you, Signor Giustiniani.'

The Turkish bombardment stopped soon after the emperor had departed. As the boom of the last gun faded, silence settled over the walls for the first time in weeks. Men rushed forward to place mantelets — portable wooden barriers — across the openings that the cannons had made. Atop the stockade, Longo peered into the darkness. He saw nothing, but the cannons would be quiet for only one reason. 'They're coming,' he said to William and Tristo. 'Go to your posts.' Longo drew his sword and held it aloft. Behind him, he heard the rasp of hundreds of swords being drawn. 'Ready, men!' he shouted.

From the north and south, Longo could now hear the dull roar of fighting elsewhere along the walls, but still he saw nothing in the darkness before him. Then a flare lit the sky over the stockade, then another and another. Beneath their red glare an onrushing horde of janissaries was visible only a hundred yards away, swarming across the fosse and towards the stockade. Ten thousand strong, they let loose a blood-curdling mass scream as the light hit them, and their cry of Allah! Allah! Allah! was soon joined by the heavy beat of drums and the eerie wail of bagpipes. It seemed to Longo as if the mouth of hell had opened up before him, and the Turks, lit red by the flares, were screaming demons.

As the Turks scrambled up the far side of the fosse, an arrow thumped into the stockade before Longo. Another slammed into the chest of the soldier beside him, and he dropped, screaming in pain. 'Down, men!' Longo yelled as he crouched behind the stockade, his shield raised over his head. The compact bows of the janissary, made of wood, horn and tendon, could fire arrows with enough velocity to punch through even plate armour. Arrows continued to thud into the stockade and skitter off Longo's shield, and then they stopped. The first Turks had reached the wall. 'Up men!' Longo roared. 'For Constantinople! God is with us!'

Turks placed ladders against the stockade in front of Longo and began to swarm up them, while others threw grappling hooks over the wall and tried to pull down the wooden face of the stockade. Longo moved about the wall, kicking over ladders and cutting the ropes from the grappling hooks. Although the Turks greatly outnumbered them, the defenders were holding up well. Here and there Turks managed to reach the top of the wall, but they were quickly dispatched. The real fighting was taking place in the gaps that had been blasted in the stockade. The janissaries' greater numbers were of no help in the narrow gaps, where the thicker armour of the Christian forces gave them a decided advantage. The fighting was furious, but all down the line the stockade appeared to be holding. Still, for every janissary that was killed there were five more to take his place, and the fury of the attack did not slacken. As the moon crawled across the sky, the Turkish dead piled up before the stockade, until the janissaries could reach the top by climbing upon their fallen comrades.

Longo spotted several janissaries with torches making their way across the fosse, and soon a small portion of the stockade before him was in flames. He had anticipated such an attempt, and his men were prepared. The wall had been wetted earlier that night, and now men rushed forward with buckets of water to douse the few flames that did spread. Further down, however, flames had caught and were spreading. Longo could see Tristo atop the stockade, his huge bulk silhouetted by the fire as he beat at the flames with a wet blanket. Then the portion of the stockade on which he was standing collapsed outward, and Tristo disappeared. When Tristo came to, he found himself half buried beneath bags of earth and smouldering timbers. He looked about him, quickly taking stock. The