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 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.'