Mehmed had spent his entire life preparing for this siege. He knew the walls' weaknesses, and he would exploit them. From his tent he had an excellent view of the Mesoteichion — the weakest part of the walls, where they crossed the Lycus valley. This would be the focus of his attack, and he wanted it constantly under his eye.
He looked away from the walls, allowing his eyes to drift over the field before him. Some two hundred yards from the walls, his men were busy building their own fortifications — a deep ditch backed by an earthen rampart, topped with a wooden palisade. The fortifications would discourage any night-time raids by the Christians, and they would provide a platform for the cannons. Between the fortifications and Mehmed's tent lay the tents of the janissaries. And finally, surrounding Mehmed's tent, were the tents of his own private guard.
Mehmed's generals and advisors were making their way through the tents towards him. Ishak Pasha and Halil were at their head. After them came Baltoghlu, a Bulgarian-born pirate, famed for his raids against Venetian and Genoese merchant ships. Mehmed had appointed him admiral of the Turkish fleet. Next to him waddled the bazibozouks' short, fiery commander, Mahmud Pasha, and Kardja Pasha, the commander of the over ten thousand European troops provided by Mehmed's vassals and allies. Bringing up the rear was the brilliant Hungarian cannon maker, Urban. He had worked for the Greek court until Mehmed had lured him away, offering him four times the pay. Ulu already stood beside Mehmed. The huge supreme aga of the janissaries rarely left the sultan's side. When the men reached Mehmed at the entrance to his tent, they all bowed.
'We have much to discuss,' Mehmed said and led the way inside. A table covered with maps, diagrams and lists of figures stood in the centre of the tent. Mehmed shoved these papers aside to reveal a large, detailed map of Constantinople. He pointed to the long line of walls drawn on the map. 'I have heard grumbling in the camp that these walls are impenetrable, that they cannot fall,' he said. 'That is nonsense. I want any man heard to utter such talk punished with a whipping. Each of you, gather your men tonight. Tell them that Allah is on our side, and that their sultan has perfected a plan to bring down the walls of Constantinople. Tell them of the riches and glory that will be theirs, that the first man over the walls will not only win a special place in paradise, but also a fortune to last a lifetime.'
The men around the table nodded, and Mehmed continued. 'You will each move your men into position tomorrow. Baltoghlu, you will bring the fleet here, to block the Bosphorus and to control the entrance to the Golden Horn. You will cut off any ships that try to bring aid to the city. Ulu, you will place the janissaries along the Lycus, across from the Blachernae quarter and the Mesoteichion. Ishak Pasha, you will position your men along the wall to the south. Kardja Pasha, you will place our European allies across the Golden Horn, to cut off any possible Christian retreat. Mahmud Pasha, you will hold your bazibozouks in reserve behind the lines, until such time as they are needed.'
'When do we attack?' Mahmud Pasha asked.
'Soon enough. But first we must weaken the walls. Urban, when will your cannons be in place?'
'I need a few days more,' Urban said. 'The mud has made moving the cannons difficult. When they are in place though, they'll knock down the walls of Babylon itself.'
'You have seven days,' Mehmed told him. 'Take as many men as you need.'
'Yes, My Lord.'
'Seven days?' Mahmud Pasha asked. 'But Sultan, my men have come here to fight. They will not like this standing around.'
'Never fear, Mahmud Pasha. I plan to keep your men quite busy. Take a look at these plans.' Mehmed took up an old, battered scroll and unrolled it across the table.
There was silence as the men took in the detailed, sometimes fantastical sketches: ships on land, floating bridges, networks of tunnels. They were all in the sultan's own hand. It was Ishak Pasha who spoke up first. He pointed to the sketch of the ships, apparently sailing across land into the Golden Horn. 'Forgive me, Sultan, but is this even possible?'
'There is no question of possible, Ishak Pasha,' Mehmed said. 'It will be done. You have three weeks to make this happen, no more. I am sure that you will not fail me.' Gennadius wound his way through the dark catacombs beneath the Church of Saint Saviour Pantocrator, a torch lighting his way amidst the dank crypts. He was wrapped in a black cloak instead of his monk's robes, and he had left behind the conspicuous golden cross that usually hung from his neck. Eugenius followed, dressed much the same except that he wore a sword at his side. If they were seen by the men that Notaras had stationed outside the monastery, Gennadius hoped that they would be taken for a merchant and his bodyguard. But Gennadius did not plan on being seen.
They came to a narrow staircase and followed it down to the edge of a huge underground reservoir with a low ceiling supported by hundreds of pillars. The cistern dated from Roman times, and the monks still drew their drinking water from here. The flame of Gennadius's torch reflected off the water, causing strange lights to play across the many-vaulted ceiling. Before him, wooden walkways wound their way between the pillars and over the water, stretching off into the darkness. The walkways had not been repaired for decades, and the wood was slowly rotting in the damp air. It creaked and groaned under foot as Gennadius set out across the cistern. He had only taken a few steps when he saw something long and scaly move in the dark waters beneath them. Giant fish the size of a man were said to live in the waters, and Gennadius had no desire to discover if the legends were true. He picked his way forward, carefully avoiding the loose planks.
The walkway ended at a heavy wooden door, and Gennadius produced a key and unlocked it. When he pushed the door open, bright morning sunlight poured into the tunnel. He stepped into a shallow cave that had been carved into the side of the hill that the church of Saint Saviour Pantocrator crowned. Below him, the Golden Horn sparkled in the sun. Christian ships were moored beside the great chain that had been stretched across the mouth of the Horn on wooden floats. Beyond the chain, Gennadius could see the Turkish fleet patrolling the Sea of Marmora.
A path led down from the cave to the sea walls, which ran parallel to the shores of the Golden Horn, separating the port from the city. Although not as imposing as the land walls, they were still massive, rising thirty feet high and studded with towers. And because of their position along the Golden Horn, the sea walls were impossible to take unless an enemy completely controlled the harbour. Although the walls had originally marked the limit of the city, over the centuries warehouses had been built beyond them to service the docks there, and in time taverns, inns, bawdyhouses and churches had sprung up to service the sailors who used the docks and warehouses.