'And is that the only reason you came?' Sofia asked.
'No, no it's not,' Longo said. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her mouth opened to his, and his hands moved down her sides, encircling her thin waist and pulling her into him. Sofia kissed him greedily and began to unbutton his doublet. Longo pulled back. 'Are you sure?'
Sofia stepped back and slipped the blanket from her shoulders, revealing her firm breasts, just visible through her tunic. 'I have never been more sure. I have chosen you to love, Longo.' Then she took his hand and led him to her bed.
Chapter 17
SUNDAY 22 APRIL TO THURSDAY 3 MAY 1453, CONSTANTINOPLE: DAYS 22 TO 33 OF THE SIEGE
Sunrise was more than an hour away, and Sofia's bedroom was still dark when Longo rose and began to dress. He had come to her chambers each of the past five nights, risking their reputations and perhaps even their lives to be with her. He watched her now as she slept, a strand of her chestnut hair falling over her peaceful face, and decided once more that the risk had been worth it. He buckled on his sword belt and was about to leave when Sofia stirred in bed. 'It is early yet,' she said, sitting up. 'Where are you going?'
'To the walls. The night grows long, and if I am not at my post by dawn, then I will be missed.'
'Will you return tonight?'
'I do not know. We are risking much, Sofia. If we are discovered, then you will be ruined.'
To Longo's surprise, she laughed. 'I would rather be ruined than live out the rest of my life locked up behind doors as a proper lady. Tell me that you will come again tonight.'
Longo looked at her, fiery and beautiful, and felt his resistance crumbling. 'I will come if I am able.'
Sofia rose and kissed him. 'Then go and be safe. I will see you tonight.'
Longo left through the secret passage and emerged into a dark, empty side street next to the palace. He strode towards his post on the wall at the military gate of St Romanus, overlooking the Mesoteichion. Once he thought he heard footsteps behind him, but when he turned he saw nothing. It was not the first time in the last five nights that he had suspected he was being followed. He could not forget what William had told him: the Spanish assassin was here in Constantinople. He tightened his grip on his sword and slowed his pace, listening for footsteps, but he reached the wall without further incident.
Longo stood atop the wall as the sky around him lightened, revealing first the stockade below and then the fields beyond, stretching away to the Turkish ramparts and their camp. There was little movement anywhere — even the air was still — and the occasional boom of the Turkish cannons seemed muffled. Looking out over this sleeping world, Longo felt himself at peace. For the first time that he could remember, he cared about something more than revenge. He was not here simply to defeat the Turks. He was here to save the city, and Sofia.
The sun rose fiery orange over the distant hills, giving a pinkish cast to the world. On the walls of Constantinople the guard changed, the night-watch going home to a well-deserved rest. The morning watch replaced them, still bleary-eyed and yawning. Many of the men had come straight from the fields just within the walls of Constantinople, where they had been up late struggling to bring in the crop of winter wheat and to sow their fields for spring. Tristo and William came with them and joined Longo at the wall.
'You're up early,' Tristo said, grinning at Longo. 'A long night, eh?' Longo gave Tristo a hard look, and Tristo's smile faded. 'Jesus you're a surly bastard in the morning. I was just asking,' he said. 'Anyway, have you heard the commotion coming from the sea walls?'
'The sea walls?' Longo asked. 'What has happened?'
'We're not sure,' William said. 'But when we were coming to the walls, half the city seemed to be headed down to the Golden Horn. We thought that you might know something about it.'
'Perhaps he'll know,' Tristo said, pointing to Dalmata, who was hurrying towards them along the wall.
'Longo, you must come quickly,' Dalmata said as he reached them.
'What is it? What has happened?'
'Something that you must see to believe.' Longo stood on the sea wall, not far from the Blachernae Palace, and watched in amazement. Dalmata, Constantine, Tristo and William stood with him. To either side of them, the entire length of the sea wall was lined with people, all with their eyes focused across the Golden Horn on the stretch of land beyond the city of Pera. There, a forest of masts was slowly rising over the horizon. The Turkish fleet was sailing towards them, sails billowing in the wind, and it appeared to be sailing over dry land.
'I do not believe my eyes,' Constantine said. 'This is not possible.'
'Is there a river there?' Longo asked. 'An inlet of some sort?'
'There is nothing. Nothing that could explain this,' Dalmata said, shaking his head. 'The land there is unbroken between the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn.'
They watched in silence as the masts rose higher and higher above the hills on the horizon. Finally, the prow of the nearest ship appeared. As the hull rose clear of the horizon, they could see that the oars were out, beating in rhythm against the empty air. Then, as it crested the hill, the ship's mysterious method of progress became clear. It sat suspended above the ground in a huge, wheeled cradle. Teams of oxen were slowly pulling the cradle forward. The enormous wheels of the cradle glinted in the sunlight: they had been cast in bronze to withstand the weight of the ships. Longo and the others stood speechless.
'Unbelievable,' Constantine said at last. 'I would not have thought it possible.'
A huge flag was unfurled from the mast of the ship. Even from this distance, Longo could make it out: golden Turkish lettering on a white-silk background, the standard of the sultan. Now that the ship was heading downhill towards the water of the Horn, it picked up speed. With each passing minute Longo could make out more details. A dais had been erected on the deck and on the dais a throne. Mehmed sat there, fanned by two slaves as he rode regally over the dry earth.
'The bastard looks a little too comfortable,' Tristo growled. 'We have a cannon that will reach that far, don't we?'
Dalmata smiled. 'I think we do.'
Longo shook his head. 'We would do better to save the powder. It would take a miracle to strike his ship at this distance, and we're going to need all the gunpowder we have in the days to come. As long as the Turkish fleet is in the Horn, it will be nearly impossible to receive any more supplies from the sea. We will have to fight with what we have.'
'I shall have to decree a rationing system,' Constantine said. 'Without supplies from the outside, food will run short before a month is out.'
'And with those ships in the Horn, we'll have to double the number of troops on the sea walls and in the fleet,' Dalmata added. 'We'll need to take men from the main wall.'
'We have too few men as is, and we'll have fewer once hunger sets in,' Constantine said. 'We must do something about those ships.'
Longo nodded in agreement. 'Yes. We must burn them.' Halil stood on the deck of the sultan's flagship, both hands gripping the rail as he struggled to stand while the ship bounced along, swaying erratically in its huge wooden cradle. Halil would just as soon have stayed in camp, but Mehmed had insisted that he be here, standing next to the throne. 'Look. They are watching us,' Mehmed said, pointing across the Horn to the sea walls of Constantinople. 'I hope they are enjoying the spectacle.'
'I am sure that they find it quite edifying,' Halil said, wiping sweat from his brow. Ahead of him, row upon row of sweating men sat rowing their oars through the air, and on the far end of the boat the stroke was being beaten on a huge drum: boom, boom, boom. The constant beating of the drum, combined with the hot sun overhead, was beginning to give Halil a headache. 'But is all of this really necessary?' he asked. 'Perhaps the ships might move faster were they not weighted down with all of the rowers.'