Siege

'Thank you.' Constantine continued moving person by person until he had bid farewell to his entire household, save Sphrantzes and Dalmata. He came to Sphrantzes first and placed his hand on the older man's shoulder. 'Goodbye, old friend. You have been my most trusted advisor. Forgive me if I have not always followed your advice.'

'You have done what you thought was right,' Sphrantzes replied.

'If I do not see you again, then let the world know what we have done here. Let them know how we fought, and how we died.'

'I will, My Lord,' Sphrantzes replied. Constantine nodded and moved on to Dalmata. The two men clasped hands.

'Do not say goodbye,' Dalmata said before Constantine could speak. 'There is no need. I shall not leave your side during the battle so long as I live. And do not ask my forgiveness either. It has been my honour to serve you, and it would be my greatest honour to die beside you.'

Constantine gripped Dalmata's shoulder and nodded. 'Thank you,' he said at last. Then he stepped back and addressed the entire room. 'Thank you all. You have each served me well, and I know you will do the same in the hours ahead. Now I suggest that you rest while you may. We shall have need of all our strength for the coming battle.' The city was dark when Tristo and William reached their destination: a nondescript inn near the central marketplace of Constantinople. The three-storey building was centuries old and leaned perilously to the right, looking as if it might collapse if not for the building next to it propping it up. William raised his torch to illuminate a weathered old sign that hung over the door, displaying a barely recognizable bed beside a loaf of bread. 'Are you sure this is it?' William asked.

'I paid good money for this information,' Tristo replied. 'The Spanish assassin is staying here. His room is on the second floor.'

William drew his sword. 'All right then. Let's take care of this now. I don't want to worry about taking a knife in the back while I'm fighting the Turks.' He opened the front door and stepped into a large, rectangular room cluttered with tables and benches. A single old man sat at one of the tables, his head back as he drank straight from a pitcher, red wine spilling out of the sides and staining his white tunic. He slammed the pitcher down with a thud and gave William and Tristo a bleary-eyed stare. William put his finger to his lips, but the man ignored him.

'Well, come on and help yourselves,' he bellowed, then belched. 'No sense in saving any wine for the Turks.'

'Maybe later,' William told him. He and Tristo headed to the staircase that ran up the wall to the right. They mounted the stairs and found themselves in a narrow hallway with two doors on each side. 'Which one?' William whispered.

Tristo shook his head. 'The second floor was all I was told.'

'You take the two on the left then. I'll take the right. On three: one, two, three!'

William and Tristo each kicked open the door in front of them. The small room in front of William was empty. Behind him, Tristo had walked in on a couple, and the woman was now screaming hysterically while the man struggled to put on his clothes. 'I didn't know she was married!' the man exclaimed. Tristo pulled the door shut and moved on.

A grey-bearded Greek man had emerged from the next room on the left. 'What's going on?' he asked. Tristo showed his sword and the man disappeared, slamming the door behind him. Tristo and William turned to the last door.

'This must be it,' William said. He kicked the door open and they rushed in. There was a crust of stale bread and a bottle of wine on the table, but no sign of the Spanish assassin. 'He's gone.'

'Looks like he left in a hurry,' Tristo said, pointing to a chest that had been left open in the corner. Inside, they found a few shirts, a pair of boots and a jar. William unscrewed the jar's lid. It was empty save for a few traces of a viscous, black substance that clung to the sides. William sniffed at it.

'Poison,' he said. 'Carlos was here all right.'

'What're you two doing up here?' a voice called from behind. William turned to see the man from downstairs swaying unsteadily in the doorway. 'If you want a room, you'll have to pay.'

'We're looking for someone,' William said. 'A Spanish man, just shorter than me, with dark hair.'

'Carlos,' the drunk innkeeper slurred. 'He was an ill-tempered bastard, but he paid in gold. Anyway, he's gone now, cleared out earlier today.'

'Gone? Where to?' William asked.

The man shrugged. 'Said he was going home. Said his work was done here.'

'Did he say anything else?' Tristo asked.

The innkeeper leaned on the door jamb and scratched his nose. 'Aye,' he said at last. 'He said that there was no sense in risking his life to kill someone who was going to die anyway. He said that the city is doomed, and we're all of us going to die.' Midnight had long since passed, but Sofia could not sleep. She stood at the window of her quarters and looked out on the city, the only home she had ever known. She was dressed in leather breeches, a chainmail shirt and boots. Her sword hung at her side. She was prepared to fight, prepared to flee if need be. But she still could not imagine leaving Constantinople behind. She tried to picture the city before her filled with Turkish soldiers, the markets filled with the sound of Turkish voices.

Behind her, she heard the door to the secret passage open and turned to see Longo. He was dressed in full chainmail, with a solid steel breastplate. Sofia smiled as she moved towards him, then frowned. 'You should be at the walls.'

'I had to see you,' Longo replied. 'Besides, the bells will ring long before the final assault begins.'

'I am glad you came.' Sofia kissed Longo, and he held her tightly to him. For a second, she lost herself in that kiss, safe in Longo's arms. Then she pulled away. 'Tell me truly,' she said. 'Is there hope? Can the city be saved?'

'The walls are strong. Our armour is superior.'

'But can we defeat them? Do not lie to me.'

'I do not know,' Longo said, shaking his head. 'The Turks are many, and our men are tired of fighting. But I believe we can win. We must win.'

'I fear the worst,' Sofia said. She turned away and shuddered, holding her arms as if struck by a sudden chill. Longo put his arms around her. 'You know the fate of our women if the city falls,' she said. Longo nodded. 'I will kill myself before I let the Turks defile me, or I will die fighting.'

'No,' Longo said, turning Sofia so that she faced him. 'You must keep yourself safe, Sofia. Fight if you must, but fight to live. I must know that whatever happens, you will be waiting for me. I came to Constantinople to fight the Turks, but that is not why I am fighting now. I am fighting for you, for us.'

'And if the city should fall?… If you should fall?…'

'Then you must reach safety. You are a princess. After this battle, you may well be the last of your line. The fate of the Roman Empire rests with you, and your life will be worth nothing if you are found. I will send William to help you. If you hear the bells ring, then the city has fallen. Get to my ship as fast as you can. If you can make it across the Horn to the port of Pera, then you will be safe.'

'I will not leave without you.'

'I pray to God that you will not have to. But if I die…' Longo fell silent as outside, the city bells began to ring. 'I must go. Remember, if the city falls, you must reach Pera. Do not wait for me.'

Longo began to leave, but Sofia stopped him at the entrance to the secret passage. She took his head in her hands and kissed him. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Tears welled in Sofia's eyes, and she clung tightly to Longo, desperate to memorize the feel of his body, the taste of his lips. Finally, she pulled away and looked him in the eyes. 'I love you,' she whispered. 'Remember that when you are on the walls.'

'I will,' Longo said, then turned and left. Sofia waited until the light of his torch had disappeared and the sound of his footsteps had faded from the dark passage. Only then did she allow the tears to fall from her eyes. She wiped them away, angrily; she would not cry for Longo, not while he was still alive.