'Behold!' Mehmed shouted. 'This shall be the end of all who dare to betray their sultan!' He walked to where Halil sat. The two guards holding Halil took hold of his arms, stretching them out to either side and lifting Halil up. He slumped between them, his head hanging. Mehmed bent down and whispered briefly in Halil's ear. Then he stepped back, raised his sword, and with one vicious downward blow, severed Halil's head. The crowd roared its approval. Halil's head rolled away and came to a stop only a few feet from Gennadius. Halil's eyes seemed to be looking right at him.
'Come,' the guard leading Gennadius barked. He yanked Gennadius forward into the centre of the square. Ahead, Mehmed stood waiting, his sword dripping blood. Gennadius felt a flood of warmth around his loins as he wet himself, a stain spreading across the front of his cassock. The crowd of Turks hooted and jeered. Gennadius's legs went weak, and he collapsed. Two janissaries rushed forward and picked him up. They deposited him at Mehmed's feet.
'You are the monk, Gennadius?' Mehmed asked in Greek.
'Yes,' Gennadius croaked. His mouth had gone dry, and it was all that he could do to speak.
'Rise, then, Gennadius. It is not fitting for the patriarch to grovel.'
'The patriarch?' Gennadius asked as he climbed unsteadily to his feet.
'I am a man of my word, Gennadius,' Mehmed said. He barked an order in Turkish, and a servant came forward carrying the white, conical hat of the patriarch. Mehmed took it and placed it on Gennadius's head. 'I declare you Patriarch of the Orthodox Church.'
'You are most kind, Sultan,' Gennadius said. He could hardly believe his good fortune. The patriarchy was his. Now, he could destroy the Union and return the Church to its rightful state. He held up his hands, still shackled together. 'Please, these chains – they are very heavy.'
'The chains stay, Patriarch,' Mehmed replied. 'I do not trust any man who would sell his own city for the price of a hat. Take him to his church and see that he stays there.'
'But Sultan…' Gennadius began.
'You are lucky to be alive,' Mehmed cut him short. 'That is more than you deserve. Take him away.' The guard jerked the chain, pulling Gennadius away. 'Farewell, Patriarch,' Mehmed called after him. Longo lay in his cabin aboard la Fortuna, struggling against the pain that radiated out from his chest with every breath he took. When they had reached Pera, two days before, William had found a doctor to treat Longo, but it quickly became clear that no medicine could help him. Longo's fate was in God's hands.
Longo heard footsteps on deck, and a moment later William entered. 'Good news,' he said. 'The sack has ended. The sultan has declared that any further pillage will be punished with death. Some of the merchants of Pera have already been to Constantinople to trade and have returned. One of them told me that Grand Vizier Halil has been executed by Mehmed himself. The merchant saw Halil's head on a spike in the forum of Constantine.'
'Then my revenge is complete,' Longo whispered. 'I never dreamed that it would be the sultan who avenged me.' He closed his eyes. He had dreamt about this moment for so long, but now that it was here, he felt nothing. Halil's face had already ceased to haunt him; his death made little difference. And besides, Longo had more pressing matters to attend to. 'If the sack of the city is ended, then we must lose no time,' he said. 'William, prepare the ship to sail. We will leave as soon as possible.' William left, and soon Longo could hear the hurried steps of men on the deck above, preparing la Fortuna to sail. More quickly than he expected, however, his cabin once again fell silent. Sofia appeared in the doorway, her eyes flashing.
'What is the meaning of this? I leave you for but a second, and you order the ship to sea?'
'We have no choice. It is too dangerous for you to stay here. You know what happened to the rest of the imperial household. And now that the sack has ended, the Turks will turn their attention to Pera.'
'But if we sail, you will die,' Sofia responded. 'You can hardly breathe as it is. A voyage on the open sea would be the end of you.'
'I will die regardless, Sofia. I have seen my share of battlefields. I know a fatal wound when I see it.'
'You may or may not die, but I will not be the death of you. We will not sail. That is final.' There was a knocking on the cabin door. 'What is it?' Sofia called.
William entered. 'It is the sultan,' he said. 'He is at the docks of Pera, and he is coming here.' Mehmed stepped off the dock and on to the gently swaying deck of la Fortuna. His guard had already gone before him to search the ship. The crew had been disarmed, and they stood huddled together on the deck, surrounded by janissaries. A particularly beautiful woman stood amongst them. Mehmed studied her for a moment, admiring her lithe figure and perfect olive skin, then looked away. After all, he was not here to examine the Italian's crew. 'Where is Giustiniani, the defender of Constantinople?' he asked.
One of the crew – a lean young man – stepped forward. 'What do you want?' he asked. 'Have you come to kill him in his bed?'
'If I wished him dead, then he would be dead already,' Mehmed replied. 'I wish to speak with him.'
'Very well. I will take you to him,' the young crewman said. 'Follow me.' He stepped down a hatchway that led below decks.
Mehmed approached the hatchway, and his guard hurried to follow him. 'Stay where you are,' Mehmed ordered. 'I will be safe enough here.' He followed the young man into the dim light below decks.
The hold in which Mehmed found himself was crowded with rows of cots, one atop the other, swinging with the motion of the ship. A hatchway in the floor led deeper still into the ship, to where Mehmed presumed supplies were stored. Before him, at the far end of the hold, a door stood open.
Mehmed's guide stopped at the doorway. 'The sultan is here,' he called into the room. Then he stepped aside and motioned Mehmed inside. Mehmed entered to find himself in a small stern cabin. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, illuminating the scene. There was a desk against the far wall, with charts and a pitcher of water upon it. A chest sat against the wall to the left. To the right hung a cot in which lay Signor Giustiniani, his face pale. His chest had been heavily bandaged, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He looked nothing like the man that Mehmed had met before the walls of Constantinople only a few days before. A stool stood by the cot, and Mehmed sat down on it.
'Greetings, great Sultan,' Longo wheezed. 'You honour me with your presence. What brings you to my ship?'
'I wished to see you,' Mehmed said. 'To honour you for your brave defence of the city. You are a great warrior, signor. You were a worthy adversary.'
'Not worthy enough, it seems. The city has fallen. It is you who have been proven the great warrior.'
'Perhaps you are right, but you fought bravely with few men. Your deeds will long be remembered, by my people as well as yours. Your sword will always be welcome in my service, if you so choose.'
Longo shook his head. 'I fear I shall not wield my sword again. Not in your service or in any other.'
'I see,' Mehmed said gravely. The two men fell silent. Finally, Mehmed spoke again. 'Perhaps you are the lucky one, signor. It is a strange thing: to fight for one thing for so long and then to suddenly achieve it. Constantinople is conquered, yes, but what now do I fight for?' He shook his head sadly, his creased forehead making him look far older than his twenty-one years. 'I do not know.'
'You are young yet,' Longo replied. 'And there are other things to fight for besides cities and glory. You will learn that in time.'
Mehmed smiled. 'You are right, I am sure. You are as wise as you are brave, a rare combination indeed. I wish to honour you, to pay tribute to the defender of Constantinople. I had planned to offer you a place in my army, but since you cannot serve, is there anything that you wish of me, land or titles? If it is within my power, I will grant it.'