floorboards to sting his eyes and burn his throat. He raised his shirt to cover his mouth, but still he gasped and choked as he started out along the wall where his family lay. Again, he heard only the dull knock of his hand on the hard plaster. He was beginning to lose hope when he heard something different. At waist height, directly over the body of his wife, the wall reverberated with a hollow thumping sound. He put his head to the wall and listened as he struck it again, harder. Thump. The wall was not solid. There must have once been a door or a window there that had later been plastered over.
Isa drew his knife and scraped at the wall, but to little effect. A few bits of plaster came away, but nothing more. Desperate, he stood back and then kicked the wall as hard as he could. It trembled slightly. He kicked it again, and the shaking was more pronounced. He was about to kick again, when he turned and saw that the door to the room was on fire and that the flames were spreading to the walls and ceiling around it. He had no more time. He moved to the middle of the room, and then turned and ran towards the wall. He lowered his shoulder and hit the wall moving full speed. He heard a crash, felt the wall give, and the next thing he knew he was flying through empty space. He fell only a few feet before he landed with a painful thud on the roof of a neighbouring, one-storey house. He rose unsteadily, coughing from the smoke he had inhaled. He had separated his shoulder when he hit the wall, and it was pulsing with pain. But he was alive…
Isa staggered across the flat roof, away from the burning building. He reached the edge of the roof and dropped into the alley below. Then he leaned his shoulder against the wall of the alley, and with a wrenching motion, popped his shoulder back into its socket, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out. When the wave of agony had passed, he left the alley and circled around until he reached the street that ran towards the burning house. People were hurrying past, carrying buckets of water from the well to throw on the fire. Somewhere, a bell was ringing. At the house itself, a crowd of spectators had gathered to watch the flames. His family's keeper was standing amongst the onlookers.
Isa took a vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid from inside his tunic and carefully poured three drops on to the blade of his knife. He worked his way through the crowd, approaching the keeper from behind. When he reached him, Isa sliced the knife quickly along the back of the man's neck, leaving a small cut. The man grabbed at his neck and turned to face Isa. The man's eyes went wide with surprise. He opened his mouth but could not speak. The poison was acting too fast. Isa grabbed the man and pulled him close. 'The poison you are experiencing is taken from crushed cherry laurel leaves,' he whispered as he wiped his knife on the man's shirt. 'You will be dead in a few seconds. A better fate than you deserve.'
The man began to shake all over as Isa released him and stepped away, slipping back into the crowd. He watched as the keeper collapsed, shaking violently. A veiled woman screamed. The rest of the crowd backed away, frightened. 'What's happening to him?' someone asked. The keeper's entire body was contorted now. Foam ran from his lips. 'He's possessed!' someone shouted. Then the keeper froze, his body rigid, his eyes protruding. He twitched a few final times and then lay still. He was dead.
Two men dragged his body off to the side, where his family, the authorities or the dogs — whichever reached him first — would deal with him. The rest of the crowd turned back to watch the fire. Isa watched with them. Men continued to rush forward with buckets of water. Within an hour it was clear that the fire would not spread, and the crowd began to thin. Isa waited until the crowd had all long gone and the last ember had ceased to burn. Then, he walked over the ashen ruins of the burned house. He scooped up a handful of ash and placed it in one of the pouches that hung from his belt. This was all that he had left of his family. Dawn was breaking as he left the smoking ruin behind him and strode away towards the Maritza river to catch a boat to Constantinople, where he would find Halil.
Chapter 19
MONDAY 7 MAY 1453, CONSTANTINOPLE: DAY 37 OF THE SIEGE
Torch in hand, Tristo marched through one of the dark tunnels far beneath the Blachernae Palace, hurrying to finish his midnight inspection so that he could move on to more entertaining pursuits. Although he had destroyed most of the tunnels, he had left some standing, afraid that bringing them down might also bring down the palace and walls that stood above them. These remaining tunnels had been bricked up, and Longo had placed guards at the end of each of them. Tristo had already inspected three of the guard posts and was on his way to the final one. This tunnel, situated under the Gate of Charisius, was the furthest from the palace. He found the two guards — Benito and Roberto, men who had fought beside Longo for years — seated on the floor and leaning against a barrel of gunpowder. A lantern hung from the wall, illuminating a game of dice.
'Benito, Roberto, how goes it?' Tristo asked.
'Well enough,' Roberto replied. 'Considering that I can't seem to win.'
Tristo crouched down and watched as Roberto lost yet again. 'Never fear,' Tristo told him. 'Bad luck never lasts forever.' Roberto nodded glumly. 'Now, you both know your orders?'
'If we see any sign of the Turks, then blow the tunnel and run for help,' Benito replied.
'Good. Somebody will be here to relieve you at first light.'
Tristo turned and stomped off down the tunnel. As soon as he was out of sight, Roberto and Benito resumed their game. But Roberto's rotten luck did not change, and after only an hour Benito had relieved him of his last few coins. 'Now what?' Roberto grumbled.
'If we can't play, then at least we can get some sleep,' Benito replied. He patted his full purse. 'I'll dream of all the beautiful Greek women that your money will buy me.'
'Fine, but you take first watch as punishment for your cursed good luck. I'll dream of winning my money back.' And with that Roberto lay down on the floor and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes he was snoring loudly.
Benito watched Roberto sleep and wondered if his winnings were enough to afford the fetching, high-priced Greek girl that he had had his eye on. He was entertaining himself with thoughts of his time with her when he heard a faint noise, a scratching sound barely audible over Roberto's snoring. Benito cocked his head, trying to locate the sound, but the noise did not repeat itself. Perhaps it had merely been a rat, scrambling across the floor in the distant darkness. Then Benito heard the sound again; this time it was a clearer, chinking sound. He shook Roberto awake.
'It's not my turn already, is it?' Roberto asked.
'Listen,' Benito told him.
'To what?'
'Just listen.' They waited in silence, and after a few seconds the chinking noise returned, louder this time. 'There! Do you hear that?' Benito asked.
'It sounds like it's coming from over here,' Roberto said as he put his ear to the wall. 'I can hear it better now. It's close. It sounds like a pick, like somebody digging. Wait — I hear a voice. I think it's a Turk!'
The words had no sooner left Roberto's mouth than the blade of a pick smashed through the wall, striking him in the head and killing him instantly. He slumped to the floor, and torchlight poured through the hole where his head had been only a second before. Turkish voices filled the passage.
Benito wasted no time. He took the lantern and lit the fuse to the powder keg that would destroy the tunnel. Then he ran. The fuse was a short one, and he would not have much time to get beyond the range of the blast. After a minute, Benito stopped. The powder should have gone off by now, but he had heard nothing. That meant that the fuse had failed or, worse, the Turks had broken through the wall and extinguished it. And if the Turks were in the tunnel, then Benito had to raise the alarm. He turned to run, but had taken only a few steps when a crossbow bolt slammed into his back, dropping him. Despite the pain, he crawled forward, crying out for help as he went. His voice reverberated down the passage, but there was no answer. Then the Turks reached him, and Benito's cries were silenced with a single blow of a sword. His severed head rolled to the side, his now silent mouth still stretched open to scream. The passage fell silent save for the quiet shuffle of hundreds of Turkish feet. Longo and Sofia sat naked on her bed, a chessboard between them. She watched as he puzzled over his next move, his brow furrowed. Finally, he took her rook with his bishop. Sofia smiled. Longo did not know it yet, but four moves later he would lose his queen and three moves after that the game. 'That was a mistake,' she told him. 'I've got you now.'
Longo looked back at the board and groaned as comprehension dawned. He leaned over and kissed Sofia.
