Siege

As the sun rose, Mehmed stood on a hill just out of reach of Constantinople's cannons and watched as the headless bodies of his troops were tossed over the walls, one after another. The bodies would lie at the base of the wall and rot, a grisly barrier intended to dispirit Mehmed's troops when they attacked. Mehmed had been standing there since late the previous night, when he had ordered the attack through the tunnels. He had sworn to himself that he would stay until he had seen every last body come over the wall. That was the punishment for his failure.

An ear-splitting boom caused Mehmed to clap his hands over his ears. There was a loud rumbling and just to his left, a one-hundred-yard long stretch of earth running from the wall towards the Turkish camp collapsed. As the rumbling faded, Mehmed could hear cheering coming from the walls of Constantinople. A few seconds later there was another loud boom, and another long line of earth collapsed in a cloud of dust.

'Great Sultan,' a messenger panted as he arrived at Mehmed's side. 'The Christians have discovered our tunnels.'

'Yes, I can see that,' Mehmed replied. One of the miners that the Christians had captured must have talked. And now, after weeks of digging, all that work was wasted. Over the next hour Mehmed watched as one by one, each of the Turkish mines into the city was destroyed. He consoled himself by imagining that each headless body that fell from the walls of Constantinople was the corpse of one of the miners who had betrayed him. Finally, the last of the Turkish soldiers was cast over the walls. There was renewed cheering from Constantinople, and then nothing.

Mehmed had seen enough. 'Tell my generals and viziers to meet me in my tent,' he told the messenger. But Mehmed did not go immediately to join his generals. Instead he walked through the Turkish camp with Ulu trailing behind. Dressed as a simple janissary, Mehmed drew little attention. After all, most of his troops had never seen him face to face. Everywhere he saw men with pinched faces and vacant eyes, speaking little except to grumble about the interminable siege. Mehmed joined a group of janissaries who were breakfasting before a fire. Ulu stayed out of sight just beyond the ring of firelight.

'I just got off watch,' Mehmed said. 'Spare a bite to eat?'

The grizzled old veteran who was tending the cooking pot gave Mehmed a long look, but then scooped a ladle of some white, runny substance from the pot and poured it into a bowl. He handed it to Mehmed along with a piece of rock-hard peskimet biscuit. 'Eat your fill, or as much as you can stomach.'

Mehmed snapped off a piece of the peskimet and scooped up some of the concoction. He placed it in his mouth and nearly gagged at the taste. He chewed doggedly and then forced himself to swallow. 'You don't like it?' the veteran asked. 'It's the best I can do with the supplies they give us. Every day the food gets worse. But he doesn't care.' He nodded towards the sultan's tent in the distance and then looking pointedly at Mehmed: 'He eats like a soul in paradise while we're left with this slop.'

Mehmed stubbornly took another bite. 'A small price to pay for the glory and riches that will be ours when the city falls,' he said. The men around the campfire burst into laughter.

'That's rich,' the man next to Mehmed said. 'You sound just like the sultan.'

'The only thing likely to fall around here is us,' another added. 'Just look at what happened last night. The sultan's brilliant plan cost us another hundred of our best men, slaughtered without a chance in those damned tunnels.'

'I fought in his father's army,' the old veteran added. 'If Murad couldn't take the city, then what chance does this boy think he has?'

Mehmed put the bowl aside and stood. 'Thank you for the meal,' he said stiffly.

'Any time,' the old veteran retorted. 'We always have room for a fellow soldier.'

Mehmed strode away, and Ulu joined him. 'Shall I have those men beaten, My Lord?' Ulu asked.

'No. Find out who the old man is. I want him placed in charge of supplies for my troops.'

'Very well, My Lord.'

Mehmed stormed into his tent in a foul mood. Halil and his chief generals – Ishak Pasha and Mahmud Pasha – bowed as he entered. Mehmed marched straight past them and to a low table that had been covered with a lavish spread of food. He swept it on to the floor. Servants stepped forward immediately to remove the mess. 'Leave it!' Mehmed shouted, and then turned to face his advisors. 'What is this, Halil?' he snapped. 'Why am I served fine foods when my men have only filth to eat?'

'I have done my best, Your Highness,' Halil sputtered. 'The army is so large and…'

'Enough. You are no longer in charge of supplies.' Halil began to protest, but Mehmed cut him off with a wave of his hand. 'I have another task for you, Halil, something more suited to your talents.' He turned to Ishak Pasha. 'Ishak, what went wrong last night?'

'The tunnels were much more extensive than we anticipated, My Lord. It took the men some time to find their way, and by then the Christians had been alerted.'

Mehmed nodded. 'Do you think that the Christians knew of our plan?'

'No, My Lord,' Ishak replied. 'I believe they were surprised.'

'I see. Halil, have you found any spies in our army?'

'I have uncovered several traitors who have been in communication with the enemy, Your Highness.'

'Have them executed immediately. Let them be an example to all who dare betray me.'

'Excuse me, My Lord, but is that wise?' Ishak asked. 'Morale amongst the men is low. An execution could cause trouble.'

'Very well. Execute them quietly, Halil,' Mehmed ordered.

'I will do so,' Halil said. 'But Ishak Pasha is correct. The men are not happy, Your Highness. They say that this siege is cursed, that Allah does not wish us to succeed.'

'Allah? Allah does not wish it?' Mehmed's voice was rising. 'I wish it. That is all that matters.'

'Still, Your Highness, the men are tired. They grumble that they came to fight, not to dig tunnels and haul cannons. Perhaps we should pull back for a time?'

'And what do the rest of you think? Do you agree with Halil?' Mehmed asked. Ishak and Mahmud Pasha both nodded yes. 'Very well, I shall allow the men to rest for now. You are all right about one thing, at least. This siege must end, and soon.' Several days later, not long after sunrise, Longo walked along the top of the inner wall, inspecting the damage done by the Turkish bombardment. The wall was holding up well for the most part, although the outer wall at the Mesoteichion – where the wall dipped down into the Lycus valley – had long since been reduced to rubble. Still, Longo was more worried about the men defending the city than the walls.

Over a week had passed since the Turks' midnight attack on the palace, and other than the continual bombardment and a brief, probing attack by the Turks a few nights ago, the days had passed uneventfully. Life in the city had even taken on a sense of routine as people grew accustomed to the siege. Instead of the Turks, people's worries had turned to food and the coming harvest. The soldiers on the walls were not immune from such worries; every day they looked thinner. Many of the Greek troops at the far south end of the wall had yet to see any fighting, and rather than sit and wait at the walls, they had begun to desert their posts in large numbers. Two days ago, Longo had come across a dozen troops, their armour piled to the side as they worked in the fields just inside the city wall. He had ordered them to return to their posts, but they had refused to go.

'How can I sit on that wall and do nothing when my family is starving?' one of the men had complained. 'The rations that are handed out every day aren't enough to live on.'

'And who knows when this cursed siege will end?' another man had added. 'If we don't get this harvest in and the crops planted for the autumn harvest, then we might as well let the Turks take the city. We'll starve otherwise.'

Longo had responded to their complaints by instituting a rotation system, so that only a third of the men at any given time would leave the walls for the fields. But the problem of supplies could not be solved so easily. Food in the city was growing scarce, and rationing only delayed the inevitable. Each day the troops grew weaker and hungrier. In another two months' time there would be nobody left to defend the walls. The city desperately needed fresh supplies from outside, but each day the lookouts scanned the distant horizon to no avail. No ships had come to relieve them. William had not returned.