stockade where he had been standing had collapsed outward, opening up a gap some thirty feet wide. All around him janissaries were scrambling over the wreckage. The only Christian soldiers that he could see were unconscious or dead, buried around him in the ruins. Tristo tried to rise, but he was pinned beneath a log. He pushed against the log with all his might. It shifted slightly, but not enough to free him. Nearby, a janissary noticed his efforts and began to climb over the wreckage towards him. Tristo's sword was nowhere in sight. He turned his attention back to the log, but it would not budge. He glanced back. The Turk was almost upon him.
Desperate, Tristo picked up a three-foot piece of wood — a fragment from the collapsed stockade — and swung it at the janissary's legs. The janissary jumped the blow, then kicked the piece of wood out of Tristo's hand. 'Come on then, bastard! Get it over with!' Tristo growled at him. The janissary raised his curved yatagan high, but he never completed the blow. He dropped his sword and slumped to his knees, a blade protruding from his chest. William stepped out from behind the fallen Turk.
'What took you so long?' Tristo grumbled.
'Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?' William asked as he pushed bags of dirt off the log that was pinning Tristo.
'I had the situation under control,' Tristo replied. He pushed on the log — now much lighter with the bags of earth removed — and it rolled off of him. Tristo rose, clutching his chest where the log had pinned him.
'Are you well? Can you fight?' William asked as he handed Tristo a sword.
'I'm fine,' Tristo growled. 'Come on, let's get out of here.' Longo stood in the middle of the wide gap in the stockade, his face set in a snarl as he fought furiously. He had watched Tristo disappear amidst the burning ruins of the stockade and was now filled with a cold fury. He ruthlessly dispatched any Turk unfortunate enough to face him. As he confronted yet another janissary, he sidestepped a spear thrust, chopped the shaft of the spear in two, spun and impaled his attacker, all in one smooth motion. As soon as the janissary fell, another stepped forward to take his place. Despite Longo's furious efforts, he and his men were giving ground. The thin line of Christian soldiers that had filled the broad gap could not defend it indefinitely against the greater Turkish numbers, and if the Turks managed to push through and get inside the stockade, then the outer wall would be lost. After that, it would only be a matter of time before the city fell.
The janissary now facing Longo was a huge man, wielding a curved sword in one hand and a heavy spiked club in the other. Longo parried a sword thrust, ducked under the club and kicked the janissary hard in the knee. The janissary stumbled and then, to Longo's surprise, collapsed dead. Standing in his place was Tristo, bloodied sword in hand. Behind Tristo, Longo could see William, spinning and twisting as he fought off numerous attacks. The two stepped through the Christian line and took up their places on either side of Longo.
'I thought you were dead,' Longo shouted to Tristo. Longo deflected a sword thrust with his shield, and Tristo finished off the attacker, impaling him though the stomach.
'Buried, but not dead,' Tristo roared back. 'William came and dug me out. A good thing too; it looks like you can use the help.'
'We can't hold out much longer,' Longo said as he inched backwards under the weight of the Turkish attack. 'We need reinforcements.' The janissaries' yelling drowned out Longo's final words as a fresh wave of Turks joined the attack. Here and there, janissaries forced their way through and the Christian line suddenly disintegrated, dissolving into scattered islands of desperate men amidst the sea of janissaries. Longo, Tristo and William found themselves alone, fighting back to back as they were pushed towards the inner wall. 'To me! To me!' Longo yelled to his troops. 'We must reform the line!' Several nearby Christian soldiers joined them, but they were not enough to push back the Turkish tide.
'We must sound the retreat!' Tristo shouted. 'The stockade is lost!'
Longo was about to agree when a series of loud booms cut him short. Nearby, a wave of onrushing janissaries simply vanished. Notaras had arrived with his cannons, rolling them into place around the gap in the stockade. They fired again, and the Turkish charge dissolved in the face of several hundred pounds of shot.
'Come on!' Longo shouted, seizing the opportunity. 'Back to the stockade, men!' He charged back to the gap, and his men followed. They swept aside the few janissaries who had survived the cannon fire and reached the gap in the stockade, where they again formed a line.
The janissaries mounted a final, desperate charge, but the assault collapsed as Notaras's cannons reached the line and opened fire. Horns sounded in the Turkish camp, calling the retreat, and the men around Longo burst into cheering, calling out taunts after their retreating foes. For tonight, at least, they were victorious. Mehmed stood on the Turkish ramparts and watched in disbelief as weary, bloodied soldiers streamed past him. Many carried fallen comrades. They had lost hundreds of lives, and for nothing. Mehmed watched until the last of his men had left the field and returned to camp. He remained there until the flares lighting the battlefield had all faded and he stood in the darkness, gazing at the walls that had defied him. He had suffered defeat in battle for the first time, and he did not like the taste of it.
Mehmed was still on the ramparts when Halil and Ulu arrived. He was not pleased to see either of them. Halil's insistence last night that the attack be delayed gnawed at Mehmed. He thought he could detect a certain smugness on the grand vizier's face. As for Ulu, he had failed Mehmed. Ulu had lost the battle for the wall. Mehmed turned to him. 'How many men did we lose?'
'Several hundred of our best, Sultan,' Ulu replied. 'The Edirne orta was almost entirely wiped out.'
'And the Christians? What were their losses?'
'Few, My Lord. Perhaps fifty men.'
Mehmed turned away to look at the wall again. 'How did this happen?' he asked. 'We outnumbered them ten to one. The wall is in ruins. Victory should have been ours.'
'They were ready for us, My Lord,' Ulu said. 'The holes opened in the stockade by the cannon were narrow, and our greater numbers useless. They had fully armoured knights and cannons waiting. Surprise was not with us.'
'Spies,' Mehmed hissed. 'I fear that we have a traitor in our midst.'
'Perhaps, Your Excellency,' Halil said and then hesitated before continuing. 'But the janissaries grumble that Allah is against us. The members of the janissary divan are waiting for you in your tent. They insist that we raise the siege and return to Edirne.'
'Nonsense,' Mehmed replied. 'We must simply stretch the Christian defences further. I have a surprise for them — one that they will not be prepared for.'
Halil cleared his throat. 'I am afraid that the janissaries are not willing to debate the point. If you do not agree to raise the siege, then they will kill you and proclaim your son, Bayezid, sultan.'
'Rebellion, then,' Mehmed said quietly. The siege had lasted less than a month, and already his dreams of glory were falling to pieces around him. He shook his head, forcing the thought from his mind. His men might run from the Christians, but Mehmed would not give up so easily. He would show his army the fate of those who defied him. 'And you, Ulu?' he asked. 'Are you with them?'
'I serve only you, My Lord,' Ulu replied.
'Good. Then gather a dozen men whose loyalty you trust and bring them to my tent.' As Mehmed strode back through camp, he saw orta after orta of janissaries, still in their battle armour, standing around the tall copper cooking pots that served both to prepare their meals and as their rallying point in battle. The pots had all been overturned: a declaration of mutiny. Mehmed met the eyes of as many men as he could. Some saluted him, but most of them looked away, embarrassed. A few defiantly returned his gaze. The crowd was thickest near Mehmed's tent. Mehmed walked through the janissaries, some with their swords still in hand, and stopped before the entrance to the tent. He turned and addressed them in a loud voice.
'You have served me loyally in this campaign. You have marched far, from Edirne to Constantinople. You fought bravely tonight before the walls of Constantinople, and although victory was not ours tonight, do not think that I value your service any less. I am a just ruler, and I will always reward faithful service. For your efforts thus far in this campaign, I will increase your pay by fifty aspers each.' Mehmed paused as there was scattered cheering amongst the men. 'For it was neither the walls nor the defenders of Constantinople that defeated you, but traitors in our own midst. Tonight, they stole victory from us, and now they would have us turn tail and flee. They would steal the glory and the spoils that are rightfully yours.
'We will not let them!' Mehmed roared. 'No, we will stay, and we will fight! In the days ahead, there will be glory for the brave and spoils enough to make rich men of you all. All the wealth of Christendom will be laid at your feet. You have but to follow your sultan, and I will lead you to glory!' He paused and turned slowly in a circle,
