Siege

Chapter 25

SPRING 1453 TO WINTER 1454: AFTER THE FALL

Mehmed rode his horse towards Constantinople through fields crowded with the bodies of the dead, already food for crows and scavenging dogs. When he reached the fosse, the scene was even worse. The deep, dry moat was filled with the bodies of thousands of dead Turks, and the stench was already overpowering. Mehmed spurred across the fosse and through the broad stretch of the outer wall that had been brought down by cannons. The courtyard between the inner and outer walls was littered with dead janissaries and Christians. The charred remains of portable barricades lay smouldering around the gate to the city. Mehmed rode though the carnage to the gate, where he was met by Ishak Pasha. Ishak's armour was stained with blood and an ugly gash ran across his forehead; but he sat tall in the saddle, his head held high.

'Congratulations, My Lord,' Ishak Pasha said. 'The city is yours.'

'What of the emperor?'

'His body has disappeared. There are many who say they saw him fall, but amongst all this' — Ishak pointed to the dead littering the ground around them — 'he will be difficult to find.'

'And what of his family? Are there any survivors?'

'Few, My Lord,' Ishak Pasha replied. 'The emperor had no son. We have gathered those members of the imperial household that we found living.'

'Execute them,' Mehmed ordered. 'I want no pretenders to the throne coming back to haunt me.' Ishak Pasha nodded. 'And Ulu?'

Ishak Pasha pointed to where the giant man lay, not far from the gate into the city. 'He was the first of the janissaries to breach the outer walls and reach the gate.'

Mehmed dismounted and walked to where Ulu lay. He stood gazing down at him for a long time, lost in thought. Constantinople was conquered, but it had taken from him all those he held closest. Mehmed himself had sacrificed his father to his ambitions. Gulbehar had betrayed him, then Sitt Hatun, and finally Halil. And now, Ulu too was dead.

'Farewell, friend,' he whispered. Then he spoke more loudly. 'Bury him where he lies. From this day forth this gate shall bare his name, to honour him.' Mehmed returned to his horse and remounted.

As he passed through the gates into Constantinople, a cheer went up amongst the Turkish soldiers nearby. Other soldiers stopped their pillaging and came to line the road as Mehmed rode down it. 'Mehmed fatih!' they chanted. 'Mehmed the Conqueror!' Indeed, Mehmed thought, I am a conqueror now. He had lost much, but it was a price he was willing to pay. It was the price that one had to pay for glory. And this was glory. Mehmed straightened in his saddle and held his head high as he spurred his horse forward at a trot. As more and more men lined the road, chanting his name, Mehmed continued into the city, alone, triumphant. Gennadius knelt inside the chapel of Saint Saviour in Chora, praying alongside the frightened men and women who had crammed themselves inside before barring the door. Outside, he could hear cries of agony and loud shouting in Turkish. Then, there was a great boom, and the doors to the chapel shook violently. A woman screamed, and the people nearest the doors scrambled back towards the altar. Another boom, and this time one of the bars on the door began to splinter. The praying had now dissolved into hysterical screaming and wailing. Gennadius stood and backed away into a shadowy alcove behind the altar. A final boom, and the doors burst open.

Turkish soldiers spilled into the chapel, their swords drawn. The people tried to scramble away, but in the limited confines, they had no chance to escape. The Turks cut down the defenceless old men and dragged the women and children outside, where they were shackled together in long lines to be sold as slaves. Gennadius stood in the alcove, trembling despite himself. One of the Turks was only a few feet away now, using his dagger to strip gold foil from the sides of the altar. He looked up and saw Gennadius. The Turk grinned and drew his sword.

'Wait!' Gennadius called out. 'The sultan promised me his protection! He promised! Stop. Stop!' But the Turk did not stop. He stepped towards Gennadius and raised his sword. 'But I am to be patriarch!' Gennadius squealed in terror. 'I am Gennadius! Gennadius!' He crouched down and closed his eyes.

But the blow did not come. Instead, he heard a series of sharp orders in Turkish and looked up to see an older Turk, with steely grey hair, striding towards him. 'You say you are Gennadius?' the Turk asked in Greek.

'Yes, yes!' Gennadius nodded vigorously. 'I am the monk, Gennadius. The sultan promised to spare my life.'

The Turk looked Gennadius over and then shouted an order in Turkish before turning and walking away. Two men stepped forward and took hold of Gennadius's arms, shackling them together at the wrists. 'Wait! What are you doing?' Gennadius cried. One of the Turks punched him hard in the stomach. As Gennadius doubled over, the other Turk attached a long chain to the monk's shackles. The Turks jerked on the chain, pulling Gennadius after them.

They left the church and marched to the forum of Constantine — the heart of ancient Constantinople. A thick crowd of Turkish soldiers surrounded the square. The man leading Gennadius pushed through to the front of the crowd. Gennadius was surprised to see Halil in the centre of the forum. The former vizier sat slumped on his knees between two guards. He still wore his robes of rich golden seraser, but everywhere his skin was bleeding and red, as if he had been badly burned. Halil's eyes were glassy and vacant.

Around Gennadius the crowd began to chant rhythmically: 'Mehmed fatih! Mehmed fatih!' The crowd parted, and Mehmed himself emerged, riding a tall horse and surrounded by janissaries in black armour. The sultan rode to the centre of the square and dismounted. He drew his long, curved sword and held it high. The crowd cheered loudly.

'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.'

'My crew,' Longo said. 'They have served me well. All I ask is that you swear to spare the lives of all on this ship and to allow them safe passage to Chios.'

'It shall be as you say.' Mehmed rose to his feet. 'And, I shall tell my men to bring you whatever provisions you need for your journey.'

'You have my thanks, Sultan.'

'It is nothing less than you deserve,' Mehmed said. 'Farewell, Signor.' He turned and left. The young man was waiting to lead him back up to the deck. Once there, Mehmed called the captain of his guard to him. 'Give this ship safe passage, and see that it receives whatever provisions it needs,' Mehmed ordered as he stepped on to the dock.

'Yes, Sultan.'

'And have my baggage prepared and my horses readied,' Mehmed added. 'I wish to leave the city tonight.'

'For where, Sultan?'

'For Edirne.' Moonlight fell through the open windows of Sitt Hatun's apartments, illuminating her as she lay in bed, unable to sleep. Mehmed was to arrive tomorrow, and she feared his return. She had heard that Halil had been executed, and Sitt Hatun worried that Isa had betrayed him. Had Isa betrayed her as well? Sitt Hatun shuddered at the thought.

A loud cry from somewhere in her apartments startled Sitt Hatun, and she sat up. A few seconds later, Anna burst into the room, a sword in her hand.

'What is it?' Sitt Hatun asked.

Anna tried to speak but no words came. Blood trailed from her mouth, and she slumped to the floor, revealing a deep wound in her back. Sitt Hatun knelt beside her. 'Who has done this?' she asked. 'What happened?'

Anna managed to mouth one word — Selim — before she choked on her own blood and went still, dead. Sitt Hatun took Anna's sword and hurried into Selim's room. Two members of the sultan's private guard stood over a third who lay on the floor unmoving, but Sitt Hatun ignored them. Her eyes were fixed on Selim. He was floating face down in his bath. Sitt Hatun dropped the sword and pushed past the guards. She lifted Selim from the water and held him to her, cradling the boy in her arms and gently rocking him. 'Selim, my angel,' she whispered to him. 'Wake up, my son. I am here now. Wake up.' But it was no use. Selim was dead. Sitt Hatun sank to the floor.

'The sultan is waiting for you,' one of the guards told her. 'You must come with us.'

The sultan: he had done this. Mehmed had killed her child. Sitt Hatun's grief transformed into rage, and she rose from the floor, still clutching Selim to her. 'Take me to him,' she told the guards. Mehmed stood in the hallway outside Sitt Hatun's quarters. Behind him stood several of his private guard, and out of the corner of his eye Mehmed noticed Gulbehar arrive with the boy Bayezid. No doubt Gulbehar had come to witness Sitt Hatun's fate.

The doors to Sitt Hatun's quarters swung open, and Sitt Hatun stormed out, holding Selim's lifeless body in her arms. 'How could you!' she screamed at Mehmed. She tried to slap him, but he caught her arm. 'He is only a child!'

'He was a bastard and the son of a traitor,' Mehmed replied.

'Look at him,' Sitt Hatun urged, thrusting Selim towards him. 'Look at him! He is your son!'

Mehmed looked at the boy. Selim's large, brown eyes were open and seemed to stare accusingly at Mehmed. They were Mehmed's eyes. There was no mistaking the resemblance.

Mehmed felt sick and looked away. 'Dispose of the boy,' he ordered his guards. He was suddenly desperate to have Selim gone, somewhere where the child's sad eyes would not be able to haunt him. 'Cast him into the river.'

The guards stepped forward to take Selim. 'No! No!' Sitt Hatun screamed as the guards wrested Selim from her. 'Selim! My child! Bring back my child!' As the guards disappeared with her son, Sitt Hatun collapsed to the ground, her energy gone. 'Kill me,' she said quietly, 'and be done with it.'

'You shall not die,' Mehmed replied. 'You saved my one true son, Bayezid, and so I shall spare your life. But you are dead to me, Sitt Hatun. You shall live out the rest of your life in exile, and you will never see my face again.' Two guards grabbed her arms, lifted her to her feet and dragged her away. Mehmed saw Gulbehar smirk as Sitt Hatun was dragged past her.

When Sitt Hatun was gone, Gulbehar stepped closer to Mehmed and slid her arm around his back. 'It is nothing less than she and her bastard child deserved,' she whispered.

Mehmed turned and slapped her hard. 'Do not think that I have forgotten your treachery, whore,' he said, his voice cold. He pulled Bayezid away from his mother. 'You may return to you quarters.' Mehmed walked away, pulling Bayezid after him.

'But my son!' Gulbehar cried.

'He is my son, and mine alone,' Mehmed told her. 'I will not let you poison him against me. Take her away.' The remaining guards stepped forward and pulled Gulbehar towards her quarters.

'Bayezid! My son!' Gulbehar cried as she was dragged away.

Bayezid began to cry. 'Selim,' he sobbed. 'Sitt Hatun.'

Mehmed lifted the boy and held him. 'Quiet, child,' he said. 'You must always remember: a sultan has no family, no friends, no lovers. He is married to the empire, and all are jealous of his bride.' Longo weakened rapidly after his interview with the sultan. He slept more and more, and even when he was awake he drifted in and out of consciousness. In his delirium, he sometimes spoke out loud, yelling for help to fend off the Turks. Mostly, however, he called out for Sofia, and she was always beside him to take his hand.

On the evening of the 12th of June, fourteen days after the fall of Constantinople, Longo's delirium broke, and he woke suddenly lucid from a troubled sleep. He felt tired, almost relaxed despite the burning pain in his chest, and he knew that his time was near. Sofia was seated in a chair beside him, asleep. She had drifted off keeping watch over him. Her eyes were dark from too many tears and too many sleepless nights. 'Sofia,' Longo whispered hoarsely, barely able to speak. 'Sofia.'

She awoke with a start and took his hand. 'You are awake,' she said. 'Are you thirsty? Shall I bring you water?'

Longo shook his head. 'Send in Nicolo. And tell him to bring a quill and parchment.' Sofia nodded and left. A minute later Nicolo entered the room.

'How are you, My Lord?'

'Never better,' Longo said and smiled weakly. Nicolo chuckled, but there were tears in his eyes. 'Write what I say,' Longo told him. Nicolo nodded and took a seat at the small table in the cabin. Between laboured breaths, Longo dictated his last will, leaving his title and all his property on Chios to William. Once William was dead, the lands would revert to Longo's children.

'William is young,' Longo said when it was done. 'Look after him for me, Nicolo. Make certain that his lands prosper.'

'I will,' Nicolo replied.

'Good. Now leave the paper and send in William, alone.' Nicolo left, and William entered and sat beside Longo. 'The paper,' Longo said, nodding towards his will. 'Take it. It is yours.'

William took the paper and read. 'But Sofia should have your lands.'

'No. You have more than earned them,' Longo said. 'I see myself in you, William. You have made me proud.'

'Thank you,' William said, looking away to hide his tears.

'Watch over Sofia for me. Watch over her and my child. You will be all the father that he ever knows. Promise me that you will protect him and treat him as your own.'

'I swear it.'

Longo nodded. 'Thank you, and goodbye, William. Send in Sofia when you go.' William took Longo's hand and pressed it; then he rose and left. Sofia entered and sat beside the bed. She carried a cup of water, which she held to his lips.

'Try to drink something,' she said. 'It will help.'

Longo shook his head. 'It is no use. It is too late for that.'

'Do not say that. You must fight.'

'This is one fight that I cannot win, Sofia,' Longo said. She took his hand, and they both fell silent. A wave of pain hit Longo, spreading out from his chest and contorting his body. The wave passed as suddenly as it had come, leaving him exhausted. He lay with his eyes closed, and Sofia leaned close to speak to him.

'Are you still there?'

'I am,' Longo whispered. 'I was thinking of that night on Corsica, our first kiss.'

'I remember. It was the first time that I ever kissed a man.'

'I thought that I would never see you again,' Longo said. 'But here we are, all three of us.'

'Yes, all three of us,' Sofia agreed, placing his hand on her stomach. 'If it is a boy, he shall have your name.'

'If it is a girl, name her Sofia.'

'I will.' Sofia turned away as tears filled her eyes.

'Do not weep for me,' Longo told her. 'My entire life has been one of battle and bloodshed, revenge and honour. You have given me something more. I am prepared to die.'

'I do not weep for you,' Sofia replied. 'I cry for myself and for our child. He shall never know you.'

'You will tell him about his father,' Longo said. 'About how he lived, and why he died. Our child shall know me through you.' Sofia nodded. Longo winced suddenly, his body again racked with pain. When the agony faded, it left him feeling tired and distant. He closed his eyes and sighed.

'Do not leave me,' Sofia said, squeezing his hand. 'I need you.'

'No, you are strong,' Longo whispered. 'And you have William.'

'But I love you.'

'I know,' Longo said. 'I…' But the words died on his lips as another spasm wracked his body. This time when the pain passed Longo felt himself letting go, embraced in a warm darkness. The world seemed far away, and it was all that he could do to open his eyes. He saw Sofia's face leaning over him, wavering but beautiful.

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'Thank you for saving me.' He paused, struggling to take a last breath. 'I love you,' he said and closed his eyes. Longo felt himself falling away into darkness.

As he slipped away, he heard Sofia's voice calling to him: 'I love you, too. I love you, Longo.' The last thing he felt was the touch of her lips on his. The next day Longo was cremated, and la Fortuna sailed for Chios, bearing his ashes. The seas were smooth and the journey a swift one. Shortly after they arrived, William was installed as lord of Longo's lands, and he and his wife Portia took up residence in Longo's villa on the island. Tristo's wife Maria joined them, keeping house and raising her young son, Benito.

Sofia moved into the villa with them, and as the months passed her stomach grew large with the life inside her. Finally, on a cool evening in late January, her time came. Maria acted as the midwife, and Portia stayed to comfort Sofia. William stood outside the closed door of Sofia's room, pacing nervously as he listened to Sofia's cries.

Sofia had never known such pain. Her labour lasted all night. She was exhausted, but still she kept straining and pushing. 'That's good,' Maria said gently, as Sofia pushed hard again. 'I can see the head. You're almost there.' Sofia bit down hard on the strip of leather between her teeth and pushed again. Finally, the child emerged, screaming. 'It's a girl!' Maria announced. She cut and knotted the umbilical cord, and then held the baby up for Sofia to see. But Sofia was not looking. Her eyes were closed tightly, and she was still straining. 'William!' Maria yelled. The door opened almost instantly. 'Take her and be gentle,' Maria said. William took the crying baby and stood holding her awkwardly. 'Well what are you waiting for? Go!' Maria snapped at him. 'There's more work to be done here. Twins, from the looks of it.'

Maria returned to her stool at Sofia's feet. 'That's it,' Portia encouraged softly in Sofia's ear. 'Keep pushing. You're almost there.' Sofia moaned with the pain and exertion, but she kept pushing.

'That's good. One more push,' Maria told her. Sofia strained one last time, and the second baby was out, wailing unhappily. 'A boy!' Maria declared happily. 'It's a boy!'

Sofia smiled weakly. She was exhausted and numb with pain, but also happy, happier than she had ever been. 'I want to hold them,' she said. Maria gently placed the crying child in her arms. Sofia rocked him, and the boy quieted. 'Hello, my little Longo,' she whispered. William entered the room, and the baby girl was placed in Sofia's other arm. 'My beautiful Sofia,' she whispered and kissed the child on the forehead.

'They are perfect, Sofia,' Portia said.

'Two children,' William said. 'Longo would be proud.' Tears formed in Sofia's eyes. She nodded happily, unable to find the words to speak.

'I suppose they are the heirs to the empire now,' William continued. 'The last of the Romans.'

'No,' Sofia said. 'They are my children. Nothing more, nothing less.'

'Well, that's enough gabbing,' Maria said tartly. 'Now everybody out and leave her be. She needs her rest.' She shooed William out of the door, then she carefully lifted up the infant Longo, and Portia took the baby Sofia. 'We'll look after them,' Maria told Sofia. 'You try to get some sleep. You'll need your strength to keep up with two little ones.'

They left, and Sofia lay alone, exhausted but too happy to sleep. She stared up at the ceiling and smiled. 'Thank you, Longo,' she whispered. 'Thank you.' Mehmed ruled to an old age. He is known to history as Mehmed Fatih, or Mehmed the Conqueror. His son Bayezid followed him as the Ottoman Sultan, but Gulbehar never reigned as valide sultana. She died having not seen her son for many years. As for Sitt Hatun, she lived out her life alone, far from the Turkish court.

The Emperor Constantine's body was never found. Constantine's brother, Demetrius, became Emperor of the Romans after Constantine's death. He had a brief reign. He ruled from Mistra for two years before Mistra fell to the Turks, and Demetrius was executed.

Gennadius's reign as patriarch lasted eight years. In those eight years, he only left his cell for mass. He never left Saint Saviour Pantocrator.

William prospered as the lord of Longo's lands. In time, he would leave to fight again, this time in Spain, with Longo's and Tristo's sons by his side. Longo's daughter, Sofia, would become an empress in time. But that is another story…

As for Sofia, she lived to an old age. In 1497 she took Longo's ashes and returned to Constantinople. She died a month later. Sofia and Longo were buried together just outside the city walls, at the Shrine of the Virgin at Zoodochos Pege. The engraving on their tomb read simply: Here lie two Romans.