Siege

Chapter 15

Mehmed stood outside his tent, watching the artillery flash in the pre-dawn light as he did each morning. He saw a cannonball strike the base of a tower along the Mesoteichion. The tower shook, then toppled forward, and Mehmed smiled. He had been to look at the walls the previous day, and the amount of damage was even greater than he had hoped. The outer wall along the Mesoteichion had been almost entirely reduced to rubble. The time to strike had come.

'Your Excellency seems pleased,' Halil remarked, stifling a yawn as he joined Mehmed. 'Is it good news, then, that you wish to discuss with me at this ungodly hour?'

'Very good news, Halil. Tomorrow night, under the cover of darkness, we will attack. You will distribute ladders and torches and make sure that the men have everything they need.'

'Do you think an attack wise, Your Excellency? Perhaps another week of bombardment, as we had agreed, would make success more certain. Patience is, after all, the principal virtue in siege warfare.'

'Patience will not feed my men, Halil,' Mehmed said. 'You know better than anyone how difficult it is to keep an army of this size in the field. I had thought that you would be happy to finish the siege early. It will mean an end to your ceaseless search for supplies.'

'I would be only too happy, your Excellency. But the walls of Constantinople, even weakened, will not be easy to take. We must be patient and allow your other plans to bear fruit. After all, think of what a defeat now might do to the morale of the army.'

'There will be no defeat,' Mehmed said curtly. 'I am not a fool or a child who you need lecture, Halil. The walls of Constantinople are only lightly manned at night. We will strike quickly, sending the bazibozouks north and south to distract the defence while the janissaries focus their attack near the Lycus, where the walls are weakest. They will overrun the defenders before they are able to rally more troops, and Constantinople will be ours.'

'I was here when your father besieged the city. The walls of Constantinople will not fall so easily, I fear,' Halil said. Then, after a long pause, he bowed and added: 'But may it be as you say, great Sultan. I defer to your greater wisdom.'

Mehmed frowned. He did not like Halil's tone, nor did he understand why his grand vizier was so eager to delay the attack.

'Excuse me, Sultan,' Ulu said as he appeared at Mehmed's side. 'Zaganos has come from the mines.'

'Very good, Ulu. Bring him to me.' Zaganos was Mehmed's chief miner. He appeared a few seconds later, his face and clothes black with dirt.

'We found something, Sultan,' Zaganos said. 'A tunnel near the gate of Caligaria, where you directed us to focus our efforts. It leads towards the walls, but it hits a dead end before it reaches them. It appears to have been filled in.'

'Take me to it,' Mehmed ordered. 'I shall see for myself.'

He followed Zaganos towards the rear of camp. Mehmed had ordered the tunnels to be started here, far out of sight of the walls of Constantinople. It had meant a long, laborious dig, but the tunnels were finally nearing the moat beyond the Blachernae walls. Still passing underneath the moat and walls would take several more weeks. It would be much easier if they could find one of the passages that Mehmed had read about in the Russian's description of Constantinople.

They reached the tunnel's entrance – a hole some five feet high, braced with wood and dug into a hillside. 'Are you sure you want to enter?' Zaganos asked. 'The mines aren't entirely stable.'

'I want to see,' Mehmed insisted.

'Very well. Mind your head, Sultan,' Zaganos said as he led the way into the tunnel. The passage was narrow, only slightly broader than Mehmed's shoulders. Frequent wooden braces held up the ceiling, and lamps hanging from some of the braces offered a weak, flickering light. The ceiling was black dirt, as were the walls halfway down. Below that, the rest of the walls and the floor were made of fine grey clay. As they walked, the ceiling grew lower until Mehmed had to walk bent at the waist. Zaganos, a powerfully built but short man, only had to duck his head.

'The tunnel we discovered was beneath where we have been digging,' Zaganos explained as they walked. 'That is why we didn't find it earlier.' He pointed to a side tunnel as they passed. 'We've run side tunnels like this out to either side of the main tunnel, but we were digging too high. It was only luck that led us to the tunnel. One of our diggers was pushing a cart full of clay through one of these side tunnels when he fell through the floor, and into another tunnel below.' Zaganos stopped before a dark side passage. 'This is it.'

Zaganos took a lamp from the wall and led them into the side tunnel. After about fifteen feet there was an irregular hole in the floor, with a ladder leading down. 'I'll go first to light the way, Your Excellency,' Zaganos said. He clambered down the ladder, and Mehmed followed. When he reached the bottom, Mehmed found that he could stand up straight. The tunnel was at least seven feet tall. The walls were of stone, leading up to an arched ceiling, also of stone. The floor was dirt. The tunnel that the Russian had described was made entirely of stone – ceiling, walls and floor. This must be a different tunnel.

'This way towards the walls,' Zaganos said. They followed the tunnel for some thirty feet before it ended suddenly in a pile of rubble.

'Perhaps this is just a cave-in,' Mehmed suggested. 'Have you tried to dig around it?'

'We have, Your Excellency,' Zaganos said. 'There's no way through. The tunnel has been collapsed for as far as we can see.'

'And what about the other direction? Where does it lead?'

'The tunnel is collapsed in that direction, too. My guess is that somebody used charges to bring the tunnel down. Somehow, the section that we're standing in escaped the destruction.'

'Well then, let us take advantage of our good fortune,' Mehmed said. 'There are other tunnels here, and we are going to find them. You will have as many men as you need, Zaganos. I want you to dig side passages off this tunnel, stretching the length of the walls if need be, until you find something.'

'I understand, Sultan.'

'Good. Start digging.' Sofia held an old, tattered book in one hand and a candle in the other as she descended the steps from the palace kitchen to the storerooms below. She had come straight from the library after she had come across a book, written hundreds of years ago by a Russian named Alexandre. He wrote of tunnels beneath the walls, built when the new wall surrounding the Blachernae quarter had been put up in the seventh century. Even more intriguing, the Russian insisted that he himself had passed through one. He said that during the Latin conquest, the emperor had used a tunnel to escape from the city. For a small price, a cook who had served in the Imperial Palace during the conquest had shown the Russian the tunnel. The entrance, Alexandre wrote, was beneath the imperial palace itself.

At the rear of the storerooms she found a stairway leading down into the palace dungeons. She descended the steps, her candle shedding a feeble light in the subterranean gloom. The staircase opened into a large underground room. The floor glistened with what looked like guano. Sofia thought that she could hear the titter of bats overhead, but the light of her candle did not reach to the ceiling. Other than the bats, the dungeon was silent. No prisoners had been kept here for centuries.

Three passages led from the room, and after consulting the book, she took the one on the furthest right. It led through a series of low rooms, and then to a staircase, which led down to a lower level of the dungeon. At the bottom, the stairs opened on to a long hallway. The air was colder here and the walls glistened with moisture. A large rat, startled by the sudden light, scurried away from beneath Sofia's feet, and she inhaled sharply. As she exhaled, she could see her breath in the cold, heavy air.

She pulled her robe more closely around her and walked down the hallway. To her left and right were a series of old prison cells, their doors open. Sofia peered into them as she passed. Manacles hung from the walls, and in one cell she saw an old skeleton. Other than that, the rooms were empty. At the end of the hallway, past the cells, was a large door.

Sofia consulted the book again and then pushed the door open. It swung slowly inward, groaning on rusty hinges, and she stepped into a room cluttered with various instruments of torture, all covered with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Set in the wall to her right was a fire pit, and next to it hung branding irons and pincers. On her left was a rack, a device for slowly pulling victims apart until they would confess to anything. Other implements were scattered about: restraints, spikes and wicked-looking knives. She shuddered.

A large tapestry depicting the fall of Constantinople to the Latins in 1203 hung on the far wall. Various scenes from the siege ran around the edges of the tapestry, framing a larger image that depicted the Latin knights breaking through the sea walls and overrunning the city, looting churches and burning homes. There was no door leading from the room. She had reached a dead end.

Sofia moved closer to the tapestry. At the bottom was a series of scenes depicting the emperor's escape. There was the emperor, walking through the palace dungeon, then passing through a long tunnel and finally emerging on a hillside, with Constantinople burning in the distance. Sofia stepped back and paused to consider. Who would hang a tapestry in a torture chamber? She grabbed it and pulled the rotting cloth aside. Behind it was a door. Sofia pulled hard, but it did not budge. She set the book and her candle down and tried again. Nothing. She took one of the branding irons from the wall and wedged its head into the tiny space between the door and the jamb. With all her weight, she pushed on the handle of the iron, using it as a lever, and with a loud crack the door swung open. A cold draught of fresh air rushed from the dark tunnel beyond. The candle guttered and then grew steady again, burning brighter in the fresh air. Sofia picked it up and stepped into the dark passage.

The floor and walls were of rough-hewn stone, damp with moisture. Ahead of Sofia, the tunnel sloped gently downward, stretching away into blackness. She moved slowly forward, and as she walked the draught grew stronger. She had been walking for a few minutes when a particularly strong gust of air blew the candle out. Sofia passed her hand in front of her face and saw nothing; the darkness was absolute.

Panic rose up inside her and she had to force herself to breathe. The passage was straight; she could not get lost. All she had to do was turn and follow the wall, and it would lead her back to the dungeon. But first, she needed to find out where this tunnel led. For if it did indeed lead out of the city, then the Turks could just as easily use it to enter. Sofia took a deep breath and reached out to touch the wall. The stones were cold and slimy. She stepped forward, running her hand along the wall as she continued down the passage.

Eventually, the passage stopped descending and levelled out. Shortly after that, the wall she had been following disappeared from under her hand. She reached in front of her but felt nothing, only empty space. She moved back and found the corner where the wall turned sharply to the right. She turned and followed the wall, running her hand along the cold stones. The wall had begun to curve away from her to the right, and after only a few more steps, it again vanished. She stepped forward a few feet and the wall resumed. She had discovered a side passage. A few feet later, she found another, and then another after that. With excitement, she realized that she knew where she was. The Russian had written about this place: a sort of hub, a round room with passages leading in all directions. According to him, the hub lay halfway between the palace and the exit on the far side of the wall. One of these passages, then, should lead beyond the walls. But which one?

Sofia turned around and counted until she was back to the passage that she had come down. It would be easy to get lost: she imagined herself stumbling about from passage to passage in this darkness, alone, until she died. She wanted to press on, but first she needed to think. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind, when she heard a sound: a distant clank, as of metal banging against metal. Then nothing, only her breathing and the loud beating of her heart. Her every instinct told her to turn and run back to the palace, but she would be a fool, she told herself, to run because of a mere sound. Besides, if the Turks were there somewhere in the darkness, they would no doubt have torches, and their eyes would not be adjusted to the darkness. She would see them long before they saw her.

She bent down and placed the book at the mouth of the passage, with her candle on top of it. Then she turned and again followed the curving wall. She paused at every side passage she came to, listening hard for any sound, but heard nothing. The room was immense, and she quickly lost count of the number of side passages. She had begun to fear that she was moving in circles, when finally, she stopped before the mouth of a passage and felt a warm wind ruffle her hair. The draught of fresh air was steady. Somewhere ahead, this passage led to the outside world.

She had only gone a few feet down the tunnel when she heard the clanking again, louder and closer this time. She froze as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Sofia listened, holding her breath to hear better. The noise did not repeat itself, and she continued on her way.

The passage began to slope upward. She picked her way forward, pausing frequently to listen, but the clanking noise did not repeat itself. At every step she half-expected a band of Turks to spring forth, but there was nothing, only the continuing darkness. She estimated that she had walked some one hundred feet when she ran into something solid. The sudden impact surprised her, and she jumped backwards, dropping into a defensive crouch. The clanging noise was back, loud and right in front of her. She waited, not daring to breathe, as the clanging slowly faded. When it was gone, she crept forward, her hand stretched out before her. She felt something: a metal bar, stretching from the floor towards the ceiling. Next to it was another, and then another. She grabbed the bars with both of her hands and shook. The clanking returned. She knew now what had caused it: a locked gate, rattling in the wind.

The Russian writer had not mentioned a gate, which meant that either it had been added after his trip through the tunnel, or she was in a different passageway. She felt the bars of the gate again. They had been spaced to keep out men in armour, but she might be able to fit through. She pushed her head through first, and then, turning sideways and holding her breath tight, she just managed to squeeze through. She continued down the tunnel into the darkness. She could hear a new sound now, a deep, repeated booming, which sounded to her like the heartbeat of the earth. It took her a moment to realize what it was: cannons. Eventually, the sound faded away. She could only guess what that meant. Had she passed them? Was she moving away from some exit that she had missed in the dark? Despite her doubts, she kept walking. A weak light began to fill the tunnel, and in the distance she spied a pile of large stones blocking the way ahead.

Sofia hurried forward. It looked as if there had once been a small room here, with stairs leading upwards – just as the Russian had described the exit from the tunnel. She dropped to her knees and moved among the fallen rocks, looking for a way through. Finally, she found it: a narrow passageway that wormed its way up through the rubble to where she saw a thin sliver of blue sky. She wriggled into the passageway, but after several feet, her progress was blocked by a large stone. Sofia shoved against it, and the stone shifted slightly. She braced her legs against the sides of the passage and pushed harder. This time, the stone rolled aside, revealing the blue sky beyond.

Sofia pulled herself upwards until her head poked out of the tunnel. She was on the side of a small hill, hidden by tall grass. The heavy, flat stone that had covered the tunnel entrance lay to the side. She looked about, but saw nobody. She wriggled the rest of the way out of the hole and crouched in the grass. Before her, empty hills rolled away into the distance. To her right was the final stretch of the Golden Horn. She turned around and edged her way up the hill. When she reached the top, she dropped to her stomach in the grass. Only a hundred yards in front of her lay the Turkish encampment, stretching away far into the distance, all the way to the walls of Constantinople. As the sun reached its zenith overhead Longo walked the walls alongside Dalmata, inspecting the damage wrought by the Turkish cannons. They started at the Blachernae wall, just north of the palace. This was the newest section of the wall, built in the seventh century to enclose the Blachernae quarter. Unlike the rest of the land wall, it was only a single wall, but it was thick and had held up well to the bombardment.

'The walls are stronger than I had imagined,' Longo said.

'Wait until you see the Mesoteichion,' Dalmata told him. 'It is where they have placed their largest cannons.'

They continued and crossed over on to the innermost of the Theodosian walls, built over one thousand years ago, in the early days of the Eastern Roman Empire. At first, the walls looked strong, but as they sloped down towards the Lycus river, gaps began to appear in the outer wall. By the time they reached the Mesoteichion – the area around where the Lycus river passed through the walls – the gaps had become the norm, and stretches of wall the exception. The inner wall was still more or less whole, but the outer wall had been almost completely destroyed. Longo stopped and looked down on the ramshackle stockade that had been built on the rubble. Dirt had been thrown on the debris to create a walkway, and then planks and sacks of earth used to create a low barrier. At the top, barrels filled with dirt formed a battlement, providing the defenders with some cover.

'The stockade cannot hold up to their cannons,' Dalmata said. 'The soldiers draw lots to see who will defend it each day, and who will rebuild it each night.'

Dalmata's words were punctuated by a tremendous boom. A moment later, the stockade below them exploded in a shower of dirt and splintered wood. As the dust settled, Longo saw that a gap five feet wide had been blown in it. In the middle of the gap, an enormous cannonball sat buried amidst the wreckage.

Longo shook his head. 'What was that?'

Dalmata pointed to where a huge cannon sat on the Turkish rampart some two hundred yards away. 'The men call it the Big Bastard,' he said. 'The Turks call it the Dragon. Either way, it's a monster. Nothing we build will stand up to it.'

A palace messenger approached them along the wall. 'Signor Giustiniani, I bring a message from the Princess Sofia,' the man said. He handed Longo a folded note. It read: I have important information. It is urgent that I speak with you. Come to the palace, quickly. – Princess Sofia.

'I must go,' Longo told Dalmata. 'We can continue this later.' Longo hurried to the palace, where Sofia's maidservant guided him to the library. Longo found Sofia standing at a table examining a large map. 'Princess Sofia,' he said and bowed.

Sofia looked up from the map. 'Come, look at this,' she told him. Longo moved to stand beside her. She smelled of honeysuckle, and as she leaned forward over the map, she revealed the soft curves of her cleavage. Longo forced himself to look away to the ancient map spread out before him. It was a plan of subterranean Constantinople, detailing cisterns, sewers and underground tunnels. 'This is part of a series of surveys from the twelfth century,' she said. 'Do you see this underground chamber, where the many tunnels come together?'

'What of it?' Longo asked. The chamber in question looked to be near the wall. Tunnels radiated out from it towards the palace and to other parts of the city.

'The map is incomplete,' Sofia said. 'Look at the edge of the chamber here, where these lines are indented. Do you see the smudging? A tunnel has been erased.'

'Are you sure?' Longo asked.

Sofia smiled. 'I found the tunnel myself this morning. It leads out past the walls and beyond the Turkish army. The entrance to the tunnel is beneath this palace.'

'Have you told anyone of this? The emperor? Notaras?'

Sofia shook her head. 'No. Secrets are not easily kept in this city. If our enemies find out about these tunnels, then we are lost.'

Longo looked back to the map. 'You are right. If the Turks make their way into these tunnels, then they will have access to the entire city.' He looked up from the map, and their eyes met. 'But why tell me and not the emperor?'

Sofia lowered her eyes. 'You are in command of the city's defences,' she said, and then looked back at Longo. 'And I trust you.'

Longo stared into her hazel eyes. 'I will not disappoint you,' he told her. From the doorway the maidservant coughed, and Longo straightened and looked back to the map. 'I will have my men destroy the tunnel. Is it the only one that leads under the walls?'

'It is the only one that I have found,' Sofia said. 'There could be others.'

'Let us hope not. In the meantime, I need to see this tunnel as soon as possible. Can you take me to it?'

'Not now,' Sofia replied, lowering her voice. 'We would draw unwanted attention to the tunnels and ourselves. I do not wish to fuel idle gossip. Meet me at midnight, outside my quarters, and make sure you are not seen.' Longo consulted with Constantine until late that night. He suspected that more than information on how the siege was progressing, the emperor simply wanted company. He did not blame Constantine. The emperor was battling to prevent the end of an empire that had lasted more than a thousand years.

Longo left the emperor's quarters near midnight but did not leave the palace. Instead, he made his way to Sofia's apartments, sticking close to the shadows. The palace was all but empty at this hour, and he saw no one until he reached Sofia's quarters. She was at the door, waiting for him.

'Come,' she whispered. 'Follow me.' She led him into her apartments. They passed from the waiting room into her bedroom, where Sofia pressed a tile on the wall and a portion of it swung open, revealing a hidden passage. She took a candle and stepped into the darkness. 'This way. We can reach the kitchens without being seen.'

She closed the door behind him. The passage was narrow, and the tiny light of the candle only reached a few feet in front of them. 'I did not know of these tunnels,' Longo whispered as they walked. 'Are they for servants? Who else knows of them?'

'I do not know why they were originally built,' Sofia said. 'But I have never seen another person in them. I found them as a child.'

'Do they run throughout the palace?'

Sofia nodded. 'Shh,' she added, dropping her voice even lower. 'We must not talk until we reach the kitchen. The walls are thin here. We might be overheard.' They walked on in silence; the only sound the quiet scuffing of their feet. The tunnel branched several times, but Sofia moved on without hesitation. They went down two tight spiral staircases, and then came to a dead end. A tiny spyhole in the wall before them glowed red from the light outside. Sofia put her eye to it. 'We are in luck. No one is here,' she whispered. 'Come. We must hurry before someone returns.'

She pushed on a hidden catch and then pulled. The wall swung open towards them, and the dim red light of a banked fire lit the passage. They stepped out into a little-used corner of the kitchen. Knives and pots hung everywhere, and on the opposite wall was a huge fireplace – twenty feet wide and ten deep – where a banked fire smouldered. Sofia pointed to a torch in a bracket on the wall beside the fireplace.

Longo took the torch, and they hurried through the kitchen to a stairwell leading down to the storage area, where barrels and sacks of grain were stacked to the ceiling. Sofia led Longo to another staircase, and they descended into the damp darkness of the dungeons.

'We can talk freely now,' Sofia said as she led Longo into the high-ceilinged entrance to the dungeons. 'No one will hear us down here.'

'What is this place?'

'These were the palace dungeons, but they have been abandoned for many years now,' Sofia answered as she led Longo to the right down a long passage. 'Now only bones remain.'

They entered another room, startling a group of bats. The bats swooped down from the ceiling, squeaking shrilly and flapping about their heads. Sofia raised her arms to protect her head, and Longo put an arm around her, pulling her close as he waved the torch above them to keep the bats away. When the last of the bats had disappeared, Sofia stiffened and stepped away. Longo could still feel the warmth of her body beside him. They stood still for a second, but the moment passed. She turned and led the way to another stairwell.

'You came all this way by yourself?' Longo asked as they descended. 'In the dark?'

'Does that surprise you?'

'Most ladies are not overly fond of dark dungeons, or bats for that matter,' Longo said, looking around him. 'In fact, most men would hesitate to come here alone. There is something unnerving about this place.'

'Well then, you are lucky to have me to protect you,' Sofia said with a smile as they came to the end of the hall and stepped into the old torture chamber. Sofia went to the far side of the room, where she had rehung the tapestry as best she could. She pulled it aside and tugged the door open. 'I fear the fall of Constantinople more than bats or darkness.'

'You seem to fear very little, Princess.'

'I fear those things that I cannot control,' she said as she led him into the tunnel. 'The success of our men in battle, the future of our empire, even my own fate. Princess is a pretty title, but I would gladly trade it for a chance to choose my own destiny, to do as I wished, love who I…' she cut herself short.

Longo stopped. 'You do not love the megadux, then?'

Sofia turned to look at Longo. 'No, I do not love him.' She moved on ahead, her face lost in the shadows. 'But I speak too much,' she said. 'I am a princess. I cannot choose who I marry.'

They walked in silence until they came to the large, round chamber with tunnels branching out from it. Sofia went from tunnel to tunnel, feeling for the telltale gust of wind that indicated the tunnel led to the outside. 'Do you know where these other tunnels lead?' Longo asked.

'According to the map, they lead to other points in the city,' Sofia replied. 'They are all blocked up now, I suspect, or else the tunnel outside the city would have been discovered long ago.' She stopped before one of the side passages; a gentle breeze was ruffling her hair. 'Come. This is it.'

They did not walk far before they came to the gate blocking the tunnel. 'It is locked,' Sofia said. 'I was able to squeeze through, but I'm afraid that this is as far as you will be able to go.'

'Perhaps,' Longo said, examining the rusty chain and lock. 'Step aside, Princess.' He handed Sofia the torch, and then drew his sword and struck hard at the chain. Sparks flew, and the chain dropped to the ground. The gate swung open, screeching on protesting hinges. 'After you,' he gestured, and they continued down the tunnel.

The ground was sloping upward now, and the torch burned brighter in the fresher air. The boom of the cannons grew louder and then faded again as they walked. 'The Turks,' Sofia said suddenly. 'I heard that you were one of them once, a janissary. What are they like?'

'Ordinary men, for the most part,' Longo said. 'It is not an easy life, that of the janissary. They are taken from their parents as children and forced to serve the sultan. They either learn to love him or to hate him.'

'And you hate him?'

'The janissaries killed my family when I was only a child. I have searched for the man who killed them all my life. For a long time my hatred of him was all that I had.' They both fell silent until they came to the jumble of rocks at the end of the tunnel.

'This is it,' Sofia said. 'The exit has been destroyed, but there is a passage through the rocks, here. I did my best to cover the exit.' Crouching down, Longo could see a sliver of starlit sky at the other end of a narrow passage. He handed the torch to Sofia.

'Go back and tell my men, William and Tristo, what you have found,' he told her. 'If there is no messenger you can trust, then go yourself. Tell them to bring men to guard the tunnel and explosives to destroy it. If I'm not back by noon, then they are to destroy the tunnel.'

'Where are you going?'

'Out there,' Longo said. 'The Turks will not be content to bombard the walls forever. I will never have a better chance to find out what else they are up to.'

'That is mad!' Sofia protested. 'They'll kill you!'

'As you said, I was a janissary once,' Longo told her. 'I know my way around a Turkish camp.'

'Be careful, then.'

'You too, Sofia. And hurry.'

Sofia nodded, but did not move. They stood close together, Longo staring into her eyes. He thought he saw fear there, and love. Finally, Sofia turned to go, then stopped. 'About that night in Corsica…' she said, turning to face Longo. 'Perhaps it was wrong, but I do not regret it.'

'Nor do I,' he replied. He stepped forward and kissed her. After a brief pause, she pressed herself against him, and he put his arms around him. Her mouth opened, and Longo felt her tongue slide against his. He pulled her more tightly to him. Finally, she pulled away.

'If I were free to love…' she began, but then hesitated. The torch trembled in her hand, and her eyes were wide and shining.

'No one can tell you who to love,' Longo said softly.

Sofia nodded and took a step closer to Longo. 'I know,' she whispered. She kissed him again, quickly, and then, before he could reply, she turned and was gone. Dawn was still at least three hours away when Longo emerged from the tunnel and on to the hillside beyond the Turkish camp. The darkness was intense, and he slipped unseen up to one of the sentries and dispatched him silently, covering his mouth as he slipped a dagger between his ribs. Longo donned the dead janissary's armour and headed into the Turkish camp, passing hundreds of grazing mules and lowing cattle before entering amongst the tents.

Despite the early hour there was a surprising amount of activity. On the outskirts he saw dozens of carpenters busy making ladders, bow makers stringing weapons and blacksmiths at their forges. As he passed amongst the tents of the janissaries, Longo heard all around him the quiet rasp of weapons being sharpened. He saw many men seated around fires, eating as they prepared their weapons and armour. Here and there he heard the excited clamour of a game of dice.

The janissaries grouped their tents by orta, or battalion, and at the centre of each orta was a large mess tent that bore the battalion's emblem. Longo walked through the tents until he came to a symbol that he knew well – the double-bladed sword of Ali, embroidered in red on a tent from which flew a triangular green flag. It was the standard of one of the solak imperial guard units from Edirne, the elite amongst the janissaries. At the nearest fire several battle-hardened men were eating, using stiff flatbread to scoop a pilaf of boiled wheat and butter from a common pot. Longo took a seat among them, broke off a piece of bread and gestured for someone to pass the food. One of the janissaries began to pass the pot, but another, grey-haired man stopped him. The older man wore a vest lined with fox fur, the mark of a battalion commander, and the double-bladed sword emblem was tattooed on his shoulder. He squinted at Longo. 'I don't recognize you,' he said at last, in Turkish.

'I'm from one of the Salonika orta,' Longo explained in perfect Turkish.

'Then why don't you go back there.' It was not a question.

Longo smiled. 'I was a little too lucky at dice tonight,' he said and patted his full purse. 'I'm afraid I'm not exactly welcome in my orta. The Saloniki are not good losers.' Longo was taking a risk. While the rule was rarely enforced, gambling was officially forbidden amongst the janissary. The orta commander could have Longo caned on the soles of his feet for admitting to luck at dice.

The old janissary's eyes moved from Longo's face to his fat purse, and then the man grinned. 'Those coins of yours sound like a burden. We'd be happy to relieve you of them,' the janissary said. He took out a pair of dice and rattled them in his hand. 'Give us a chance to win some of your purse, and you will be welcome at our fire.'

'Very well,' Longo said. He reached into his purse and then tossed a golden asper before him. 'But I have to warn you: I've been very lucky.'

The old janissary grinned, and the other janissaries chuckled. 'Luck never lasts forever,' the old janissary said, and threw the dice. They landed double sixes – a perfect first roll. Longo went on to lose the game, and after that, he lost repeatedly. He suspected the dice were loaded, but he was happy to lose. Winning made the janissaries more talkative. After a dozen games, they were slapping Longo on the back and treating him like one of their own.

'Easy come, easy go,' Longo said, fingering his now nearly empty purse. 'I suppose I'll have to wait until the city falls to refill it. I hear Constantinople is full of gold.'

'And women,' the janissary next to Longo leered.

'Be the first over the wall, and you will have a thousand such purses,' the old janissary, Qayi, said. 'Not that you will get the chance. I expect the supreme aga, Ulu, will claim the prize. I, for one, would not stand in his way.'

'Nor would I,' Longo agreed. He sighed as another bad roll cost him the last contents of his purse. 'I only wish that we could attack now. I could use some of the fabled wealth of Constantinople.'

'Patience, my young friend,' Qayi said. 'Allah willing, the city will fall to us tomorrow night, and you will fill your purse with the wealth of Constantinople. And then,' he added with a smile, 'you can lose it to us again at dice.'

'Agreed,' Longo said. 'After all, luck never lasts forever.'

Qayi chuckled, and then the smile dropped from his face. He scooped up the dice and stood suddenly. The other janissaries followed suit, as did Longo. Walking towards them, not twenty feet away, was Ulu. He had not yet seen Longo. The men saluted as Ulu approached, and Longo took the opportunity to slip quietly away from the fire and into the darkness. As he crept away, he could hear Ulu's deep voice behind him. 'Qayi, you and your men should get some rest. Your regiment will have the honour of leading the charge on the stockade tomorrow night.'

If Ulu saw him, he was lost. Longo crept away. He had more business outside the walls before the sun rose. While Longo was entering the Turkish camp, Sofia returned to her room through the secret passage from the kitchen. She did not trust anyone but herself to deliver the message to William and Tristo. She threw on a long, hooded cloak and buckled a sword around her waist. Then she quietly opened the door to her apartments and slipped out into the dark hallway. She froze instantly, her hand on her sword. A man was standing in the corridor outside her room. He stepped out of the shadows. It was Notaras.

'Megadux, what are you doing here?' Sofia asked.

'I might well ask the same of you, Princess,' Notaras replied. 'I heard a nasty rumour that Signor Giustiniani had entered your apartments and not left.' He looked past her into her apartments. 'I am relieved to see that it does not appear to be true.'

'Of course not!' Sofia said, feigning outrage. She was glad that the shadows hid her scarlet cheeks.

'Still, you will not mind if I take a quick look about your apartments?' Notaras asked.

'There is no man in my quarters,' Sofia replied. 'I should hope that my word will be enough, but you may do as you wish, Megadux.'

'Your word will be quite enough, of course,' Notaras said, although he took one last glance into her room before Sofia shut the door. 'Still, leaving the palace in the early morning hours is hardly proper behaviour for a princess.'

'And is that what you wish for me to be, Notaras? Proper?'

'No, Sofia,' Notaras said. 'But I do wish for you to be careful. You are my betrothed, and my reputation is just as much at stake as yours.'

'Surely you do not suspect me of carrying on some sordid affair by night. You know me better than that.'

'Yes, Princess, I know you very well indeed,' Notaras said. Sofia felt his sharp gaze burrow into her and looked away. 'But not all the citizens of Constantinople know you as well as I do. You must be careful, Sofia. Come, at least let me escort you to wherever you are going.'

'Thank you, Notaras, but I can find my own way. I have business that does not concern you.'

'At this hour? What kind of business could that be?'

'I have an important message to deliver. Trust me, Notaras. The safety of Constantinople depends on it.'

'I do trust you, Sofia,' Notaras replied. 'But you must trust me in turn. Have I ever betrayed your trust? Tell me what you are doing, and I will help as I can.'

Sofia gave Notaras a long look. Perhaps he was right; perhaps she was wrong not to trust him. He was arrogant and prideful, but he would fight to the death for his city.

'Very well, Notaras,' she said. 'I have discovered a tunnel that leads from beneath the palace to beyond the walls. I have told no one but Signor Giustiniani. As the head of the defence, I thought he should be the first to know. He is outside the walls even now, spying in the Turkish camp. I am going to tell his men so that they may prepare to destroy the tunnel.'

'And Signor Giustiniani did not see fit to inform me of this?' Notaras demanded.

'He has just learned of it himself, Notaras. And I advised him to keep quiet. You of all people should know how difficult it is to keep a secret in this city.'

'You are right. Thank you for telling me, Sofia. You will see that your trust is well placed. Allow me to deliver this message for you. The city streets are no place for a woman at this time of night.'

'I will deliver the message, Notaras, but you may escort me,' Sofia said. 'After all, it appears that I could not stop you from following me even if I wished to.'

'I watch over you only to protect you, Sofia.'

'I can protect myself, Notaras,' Sofia replied, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword. 'Now come. Dawn is close. We must hurry.' As Longo reached the Turkish ramparts he could hear a mounting commotion coming from the camp behind him. On his way through the camp he had stolen a brand from an untended fire and set a dozen of the gunners' tents ablaze. The fire was spreading quickly amongst the closely pitched tents. All along the ramparts the gun crews had ceased firing and had turned to watch. Some were already leaving their posts to try to put out the flames. Longo stepped up on to the platform where the Dragon stood. The cannon was huge: over twenty feet long and taller than he was. A dozen crewmen stood motionless beside it, gazing at the distant blaze. 'Well, what are you waiting for?' Longo snapped at them. 'Those are your tents on fire, men. Get down there and save them!'

The gunners responded immediately, rushing to save their possessions. Longo watched them go, then he stepped closer to the Dragon, looking for a way to disable it. He ran his hand down the long barrel to the mouth, where the cannonballs were loaded. Perhaps he could plug it, but with what? He turned and went to the back of the cannon. The powder chamber – a smaller barrel some three feet across that was connected to the rest of the barrel by a hinge – was swung open. If he could find some way to damage or remove the powder chamber, then the cannon would be useless. But again, how?

He stepped back and leaned against a wooden barrel, looking about him for something to use. He saw nothing promising: a shovel, several huge cannonballs, the winch for loading them, a bucket with a slow match burning in it, and these barrels. Wait – not just barrels, barrels of gunpowder. Longo had an idea.

Back in the camp, the gunners had begun to pull the intact tents away from the blaze, creating an empty space around the fire. It would burn out soon enough, and then they would return. Longo put his back against one of the heavy barrels of gunpowder and pushed with his legs, toppling it. He rolled the barrel forward until it rested against the side of the Dragon. He rolled another barrel over to the dragon, and then another. He looked back to the camp. The fire was dwindling and men were headed his way. Longo took up the shovel and prised the lid off one of the barrels, spilling black gunpowder on to the ground. He scooped up a double-handful and poured out a trail of gunpowder, leading several feet away. Longo took up the slow match and was just about to light the gunpowder trail when he heard a voice behind him: 'Hey, you! What're you doing?'

Longo turned to find a short, squat man facing him. He was clearly not Turkish. The man's eyes went from the slow match in Longo's hand to the trail of gunpowder leading to the three barrels. His eyes were wide by the time they came to rest on Longo's face. 'Don't you dare,' he growled. 'I'll crucify you.'

Longo did not reply. He touched the slow match to the powder and sprinted down from the rampart and back towards the Turkish camp. The man hesitated for a second and then hurled himself after Longo. Longo had only made it a few steps from the rampart when the gunpowder blew. The deafening explosion knocked him flat on his face, while dirt and spent powder rained down around him.

Longo picked himself up and dusted himself off. Behind him, the frame that had held up the Dragon had been blown to pieces. The cannon lay on the ground, its barrel bent inward in the middle. The powder chamber was nowhere to be seen. It had been blown clean off. The Dragon would roar no more.

At the bottom of the rampart, a few feet away from him, the stubby man lay flat on his back, groaning. All around, men were arriving, rushing towards the smouldering ruins of the Dragon. 'Quick!' Longo yelled at them. 'Get water! And a doctor!' He was dressed as a janissary, and the men obeyed automatically. As they hurried off, Longo walked after them and on through the camp. Men rushed past him to the ramparts, but no one stopped him.