Siege

Chapter 5

MARCH TO JUNE 1449: CONSTANTINOPLE

Sofia, dressed in a tight-waisted, rust-red caftan with billowing sleeves, followed Constantine, Helena and the other members of the royal family into the great hall of the Blachernae Palace. Constantine had arrived in Constantinople the previous day, and a great feast had been prepared to celebrate his new reign. Sofia passed between long tables heaped with roasted meats, candied fruits and still-steaming bread. Nobles lined the tables, their gold-and jewel-embroidered caftans lending some splendour to an otherwise rather shabby scene. The imperial family had been desperate for money for decades, and the golden plates, goblets and candelabra that once graced the tables of the palace had long since been melted down for coin. Simple pewter plates and wooden cups now adorned the tables, and while candles burned on the emperor's table, the rest of the hall was lit by torches set in the walls.

Sofia was surprised to find herself seated at the emperor's table between Lucas Notaras and the dull but very talkative Grand Logothete, George Metochites. As a woman, it was not Sofia's place to speak unless directly questioned, and so she listened politely to Metochites, stifling yawns while he alternated between his two favourite subjects — the glories of his learned great-grandfather Theodore Metochites, and the dangers of union with the Catholic Church. All the time he managed to eat at a fascinating rate, far outpacing the constant stream of dishes, and shortly a trail of half-chewed food began to form, leading down his shirt and under the table. Oblivious, Metochites prated on and on.

'Did you know that my great-grandfather was something of a scholar?' Metochites asked in a dull monotone. He continued without waiting for an answer. 'Oh yes, he was. Quite the scholar. His studies of Aristotle and of astronomy are simply marvellous. Astronomy is certainly superior to mathematics. Most certainly superior, epistemologically speaking, for astronomy assumes the proper functioning of mathematics, does it not? Even without our understanding of the golden mean or arcs or circles, the sun would still travel around the earth. Of course, our Latin friends don't think so. To them, the sun revolves solely around the pope, with never so much as a nod to any bishops or councils. Did you know that they use unleavened bread in their communion? They might as well be Jews…'

Sofia had already met her other dinner companion, Notaras, on several occasions. She found him arrogant, very handsome, and very aware of it. He spent the meal locked in conversation with the royal councillor Sphrantzes and hardly glanced at Sofia. From what she could gather, they were arguing over the possibility of union with the Catholic Church. Only near the end of the meal, after his conversation with Sphrantzes had ended in frustration, did Notaras finally turn to her.

'The damn fool,' Notaras muttered. 'He would have us go begging cap in hand to the Latins.' He glanced at Sofia as if noticing her for the first time, and his gaze lingered. 'I understand that you know something of politics, Princess. Tell me, what do you think of this talk of union?'

Sofia lowered her eyes. 'I am sure that I could tell you little you do not already know,' she replied. She might study politics and philosophy in the privacy of her quarters, but she knew her public limits well enough.

Notaras's eyes narrowed. 'Sphrantzes has told me that you are not so modest behind closed doors. Come now, Princess. You may speak freely.'

'Very well,' Sofia said, raising her eyes to meet Notaras's gaze. 'When help is there, I believe that one should take it. And, I believe that it is not piety that makes us spurn such help, but pride.'

'Hear, hear! Well said,' Sphrantzes cried from down the table. Notaras ignored him.

'Perhaps you are right, Princess,' he said, his voice rising. 'Perhaps it is pride that motivates me. But I am not ashamed to say that I am too proud to submit to the rule of the pope; just as I am too proud to see our patriarch dethroned, or to see Latin soldiers walking our walls in place of their rightful defenders. I am proud, Princess, and I hope to God that all the men of this city are just as proud.'

'Your pride will count for very little if the city falls, if our homes and churches are looted and our women raped,' Sofia replied, rather more loudly than she had intended. Around her, the table had gone quiet as people turned to listen, but Sofia continued regardless. 'I do not see the honour in sacrificing an entire city to your finer feelings.'

'You are a woman,' Notaras snorted. 'You could hardly understand such things as honour, could you?'

'It seems you understand little else,' Sofia murmured.

'What was that?'

'I said you are right. I do not understand the honour of which you speak.'

'That is enough, Princess,' Constantine called from the centre of the table. 'We are not here to bicker, but to celebrate. Come, let us all drink to the continued glory and prosperity of our empire.' He quaffed his glass, and the rest of the guests followed suit. A long round of toasts followed: to Constantine; to the empire; and to continued peace and friendship between the Turks and Constantinople. When the toasting was done, Constantine left the table, signalling that the feast was over. Sofia left her place without even a glance at Notaras. She hurried from the great hall and was surprised to find Constantine waiting for her in the corridor.

'Niece,' he said. 'Come here. What did you think of the megadux, Lucas Notaras? A fine man, is he not?'

'Yes, sire,' she replied, although in truth she thought him a prideful buffoon. She could not, however, contradict the emperor. 'He is a very fine man, certainly.'

'Good,' Constantine said, smiling. 'Perhaps you shall not believe it, but it would pain me to upset you. I am very glad you enjoy Notaras's company, for he has agreed to marry you. He will be your husband before the year is through.'

Sofia felt suddenly sick. She put her hand to her stomach and lowered her head, breathing deep as she struggled to control her shock and disappointment. 'Yes, sire,' she managed to say in a dead voice. 'I am overjoyed.' She bowed and hurried away before Constantine could see the tears in her eyes. 'On guard!' Sofia cried and lashed out with her sword, swinging for the head of Dalmata, the head of the imperial guard and her fencing instructor. Dalmata gave ground, and Sofia pressed her attack, driving him across the floor of her apartments. Dalmata was much larger than Sofia, but she compensated with exceptional quickness and lightning reflexes. She swung high, then sidestepped a blow from Dalmata before swinging down hard and giving him a cruel rap on the knuckles of his sword hand. The blow stung, despite the leather glove that Dalmata wore and the dulled blade of the practice sword. Dalmata cursed and dropped his sword.

'Well done,' he said, rubbing his hand. After much convincing, Dalmata had agreed to teach her the fundamentals of sword-play, and Sofia had proved an apt pupil. They practised in her quarters, the only place in the palace where such outlandish behaviour on the part of a royal princess could pass unremarked. 'But be careful not to overextend yourself,' Dalmata warned.

Sofia nodded her understanding. She was breathing hard after nearly an hour of practice, but she did not wish to stop. 'Shall we continue?' she asked.

'Very well, one more pass,' Dalmata said. 'But I warn you, I shall not spare you this time.' And with that, he attacked, slashing at Sofia's waist. She parried the blow and spun away, but Dalmata was on her immediately. He swung hard, and Sofia's hand stung as she parried the heavy blow. The pain only made her angry. She ducked another blow and then went on the offensive, attacking with a ferocity that surprised even herself. She drove Dalmata back until he was against the wall, and then their swords crossed and locked. Dalmata shoved hard, and Sofia fell and rolled away.

'Are you injured?' Dalmata asked. Sofia sprang to her feet and shook her head. She would have a bruise on her hip, but she did not want to give in now. She attacked again, pressing Dalmata back against the wall. Again, their swords locked, but this time when Dalmata tried to push her away, she was ready. As he pushed, she gave way and dropped to a crouch, kicking out and knocking Dalmata off his feet. She rose quickly and struck the back of his sword hand hard with the flat of her blade. Dalmata threw his sword aside in frustration.

'Good Lord, child!' he exclaimed. 'You have fought these last days as if you wished me dead. What has come over you?'

Sofia lowered her sword, embarrassed. She was breathing hard, furious still, but certainly not at Dalmata. 'I am sorry, filos. Are you hurt?' Dalmata waived away her concern. 'I have not been myself, of late,' Sofia confessed. 'I certainly have no idea why.'

'Do not be coy with me, child,' Dalmata said as he took a seat. 'I have known you too long. It is this talk of marriage that troubles you, is it not?'

Sofia looked away, embarrassed that Dalmata had read her so easily, and then sighed and turned to face him. 'Marriage will be like death to me. I was not raised to spend my days hidden away, ordering about servants and nursing children. I cannot bear it.'

'There is iron in you, Sofia,' Dalmata said. 'I believe you can bear anything. And besides, you must marry some day. You could do far worse than Notaras. At least he is a Greek, not some foreign potentate.'

'You do not understand,' Sofia insisted. 'Once I marry him, everything will end. There will be no more lessons in swordplay, no more studies with Sphrantzes, no more politics.'

'Marriage is not all bad. You will see,' Dalmata comforted her. 'And, you are not married yet. It might interest you to know that there will be a meeting in the council room tonight at which Constantine will decide what message to send the pope regarding union.'

'Tonight? Thank you, filos,' Sofia kissed Dalmata on the cheek. He was right. There were more important matters than her marriage. She had taken an oath before the Emperor John to defend Constantinople, and she would keep her word, marriage or no. That night found Sofia creeping through a dark, narrow passage, her lamp covered so as to throw only a tiny ray of light at her bare feet. The palace was riddled with hidden passages and secret chambers. Few now knew that they existed, and even fewer could find their way through the maze of identical dark hallways. But Sofia was one of the few. She had often played in these passages as a young girl; now she used them to gather information.

She came to the end of the passage and mounted spiralling stairs, moving confidently in the dark. At the top of the stairs she stepped into a small alcove, covering her light completely as she did so. In the total darkness she could make out a tiny prick of light shining through the wall before her. She put an eye to the hole, and there was the council room before her. Six people were seated at a round table. To Sofia's left sat Constantine. Across the table from him were Sphrantzes and Dalmata. Helena, the empress-mother, sat with her back to Sofia, and on the far side of the table were Mammas and Notaras, Sofia's betrothed. Sofia turned her attention to Constantine, who was speaking. Through a trick of acoustics, Constantine's voice came to her clearly, as if she were standing in the same room with him.

'The Turkish threat is very real,' he was saying. 'Murad may have declared peace, but I fear an attack will come soon enough. Sphrantzes saw their army and says that it numbers over sixty thousand men. We will need help to defeat such a force. I shall send an ambassador to Venice and Genoa to request troops. But this creates as many problems as it solves, for we cannot very well send an ambassador to Italy without him paying his respects to the pope.' He paused and looked around the table. 'Of course, the message that we send to the pope is of the utmost importance.'

Of the utmost importance indeed; the approach taken with the pope now would define Constantine's policy on the Union of the Catholic and Orthodox churches, which had been divided for over four hundred years. The Catholics insisted on the primacy of the pope and the filioque doctrine, which held that the Holy Spirit flowed from both the Son and the Father. The Greeks, on the other hand, insisted that all bishops were equal and that the Holy Spirit flowed only from God the Father. The doctrinal issues seemed small enough, but they were reinforced by decades of mistrust and anger, culminating in 1204, when the Latins had sacked Constantinople.

The last two emperors had supported union for political reasons: they longed for western aid against the Turkish threat. The clergy, nobles and most of the people, however, were vehemently opposed. Sofia was no friend of the Catholic Church, but she was sure that union was the only way to persuade the Latins to come to the aid of Constantinople.

Mammas spoke first, and his words were no surprise. After publicly championing Demetrius's failed bid for the throne, he had lost the faith of the emperor, and the Catholics were now his only allies. He had little choice but to support union. 'Cardinal Bessarion has written to me from Rome,' Mammas said. 'He tells me that the new pope longs to raise troops for Constantinople. He only awaits a decree of union.'

Sphrantzes nodded. 'I have heard the same. However, with Hunyadi's army in tatters, I do not know how much the pope's support is worth. If Venice and Genoa agree to send troops, then what more can the pope do? He could call for a crusade, but I do not believe that the French would honour it. Resentment over the Avignon Papacy is still strong. As we all know, union would create great anger at home' — a nod towards Notaras — 'and might do more harm than good.'

'Hear, hear!' Notaras agreed, pounding the table for emphasis. 'If we accept the articles of union then we will lose ourselves just as surely as if the Turks take our city. We do not need to go begging to the Latins. We can protect our city ourselves. We have done so for over a thousand years.' Sofia grimaced. It was the sort of prideful idiocy that might well doom them all. Nevertheless, the sentiment around the table seemed to be on Notaras's side. Dalmata nodded sternly in approval, as did Constantine. Even Mammas looked inclined to agree. Only Helena seemed opposed. Sofia could not see her face, but the set of the empress-mother's shoulders told Sofia that she was not pleased. Thank God there was at least one woman at the table to check all this foolish masculine pride.

Constantine noticed Helena's reserve. 'What is your council, Mother?'

'When I was young, our empire was powerful,' Helena began, her voice firm and authoritative. 'We could stand on our own against the Turks then, but not now.' Notaras tried to speak, but Helena cut him off. 'No, Notaras, do not contradict me. I was here when Murad laid siege to the city. If he had not been forced to withdraw in order to deal with rebellions in his own lands, our city would have fallen. We are weaker now and the Turks are stronger. Without Latin help, our city will fall. I would agree to a thousand unions to prevent that.'

'The city will fall?' Notaras asked. 'Who, then, will take it? We have been at peace with the Turks for years. Murad does not want war, and his son is a weakling: he lasted but a few months on the throne after Murad abdicated.'

'If Mehmed is weak, as you say, then that is all the more reason to seek union and to seek it now,' Helena insisted. 'If we can rally the Latins to our cause, then when Mehmed takes the throne, we can strike while he is still young. We could be rid of the Turkish threat once and for all. Is that not worth the price of union?'

'But surely we cannot simply accept the demands of the Latins?' Notaras cried. 'I would never bow before the primacy of the pope, and I know few men who would.'

'Of course,' Constantine agreed, eager to make a conciliatory gesture. He needed Notaras's support. 'The Union is vital, but we must not compromise ourselves. What do you suggest, Notaras?'

'If there is to be union, then it must be on our terms. I propose a letter to the pope, to be written by the Synaxis of bishops. The bishops can lay out the position of the Orthodox clergy, so that we may present a plan for union that meets the full support of the people of Constantinople.'

'The Synaxis?' Mammas sputtered. The Synaxis was a group of bishops who ardently opposed the Union and who refused to recognize Mammas as patriarch. 'But they have no authority.'

'They have the trust of the people,' Notaras replied.

'But not of God!' Mammas retorted.

'And was it God who told you to crown my brother Demetrius as emperor?' Constantine asked.

The blood drained from Mammas's face, and a tense silence settled around the table. Finally, Mammas pushed his chair back and stood. 'I have sworn loyalty to you, Constantine,' he said. 'But if you do not have faith in me, then I will resign and leave now.'

'No, stay. Tell me what you propose.'

'Very well,' Mammas said, sitting. 'I agree with Notaras that a letter should be written, but as the patriarch, I should be the one to write it. Who better to express the views of the clergy?'

'But most of the clergy reject Mammas,' Notaras insisted. 'They will never accept union unless it is of their own making.'

'We shall send two letters, then,' Constantine said. 'You, Mammas, shall write one, and the Synaxis the other. When confronted with such unified support for union, the pope will surely be willing to concede some minor points.'

'But My Lord!' Mammas protested. 'The Synaxis is not a legally constituted body. If they are to send a letter to the pope, then I want no part of it. I would resign my post before I allowed myself to be associated with those heretics.'

'You speak in haste, Patriarch,' Constantine said.

'No, I assure you,' Mammas insisted. 'If the Synaxis letter is sent, then you will have to find a new patriarch.' The room fell silent.

Constantine frowned. 'The Synaxis will send their letter,' he said at last. 'I beg you to also write to the pope, Mammas, and to reconsider your decision.'

Mammas shook his head grimly and rose from the table. 'I will not stand for this,' he said and stormed from the room. His grating voice could be heard as he stomped down the stairs. 'Let it be on your own heads!' he shrieked. 'On your own heads!' His voice echoed in the stairwell and then faded to nothing.

'I shall send Andronicus Bryennius Leontarsis as our ambassador,' Constantine said, breaking the silence. 'Are there any objections?' There were not. 'Good. Sphrantzes, you will brief him on the position of the Venetians and Genoese. That is all.'

Before Constantine had finished speaking, Sofia was already creeping away. She had heard what she had come for. Constantine would push for union, and that was all that truly mattered. Still, Mammas's outburst worried her, as did the letter of the Synaxis: it was sure to anger the pope. Sofia doubted that simple old Leontarsis would be able to handle the situation. If only she could be there in Rome, then she would be able to soften the words of the letter, to make the pope understand the need for union. But that was not to be. In only a few months, she would be married to Notaras. 'God curse the day that I was born a woman,' she silently swore, and not for the first time. The monk Gennadius sat behind the broad desk in his cell at Saint Saviour Pantocrator and held up a tiny vial filled with a golden liquid. He watched as the candlelight refracted through the liquid and then unstopped the vial and sniffed. There was almost no odour, only the faint smell of almonds. He was told that many could not smell even that. The liquid had been sent to Gennadius by a friend at the Ottoman court, and it was a most deadly poison. The full dose would kill in a matter of seconds, but in smaller amounts, the poison would take months to do its work and leave no trace. It would be perfect for Gennadius's plans.

There was a knock at the door, and Gennadius placed the vial aside on his desk. 'Enter,' he called. The door opened to reveal the monk Eugenius and behind him, Notaras. 'Welcome, Notaras,' Gennadius said. 'You have come at just the right time. Please sit.' He waved Notaras to an empty chair, and Eugenius withdrew, closing the door behind him. 'You have been at the palace?'

'Yes,' Notaras replied. 'Constantine is committed to union, as we both feared. He is sending Leontarsis to Rome to discuss terms with the pope. I did as you suggested and supported the entire enterprise, with the condition that a letter to the pope should be drawn up by the Synaxis.'

'And here is the very letter.' Gennadius handed a piece of parchment across the desk to Notaras, whose eyebrows shot up as he read.

'The rejection of the filioque doctrine… the recognition of councils as superior to the pope… the use of leavened bread in the communion… such demands!' Notaras said, handing the letter back. 'The pope will be furious.'

'Indeed,' Gennadius agreed. 'I expect he will send us his own set of demands in short order, and, God willing, they will be even more insolent than ours. Not even Constantine will be able to stomach such an affront, and that will be an end to this talk of union.'

'I fear not,' Notaras said. 'The empress-mother has Constantine's ear, and she is committed to union at any cost.'

'The empress-mother?' Gennadius's lips curled back in his predatory smile. 'Never fear. She will not trouble our plans for much longer.'

Notaras's eyes narrowed as they focused on the vial on Gennadius's desk. 'Surely you do not mean to…'

'No, no, of course not,' Gennadius lied as he placed the vial in a drawer of his desk. 'I only meant that she is old, very old, and that the end of her time must be near.' He could tell that Notaras was not entirely convinced. 'What of Patriarch Mammas?' he changed the subject. 'How did he react?'

'As you expected. He refused to be involved. He even went so far as to claim that if the letter were sent, he would resign as patriarch.'

'Good,' Gennadius said, rubbing his hands in pleasure. 'With a little push, perhaps we can convince him to leave Constantinople altogether. I shall have to make sure that a copy of this letter finds its way to him. Can you imagine what a scene he would make were he to run to Rome, telling the pope of how he has been mistreated? He would do more to poison the pope against Union than a thousand of these letters.'

'Indeed,' Notaras murmured. 'Now if you please, Gennadius, I will take my leave. I must rise early tomorrow to inspect the walls.'

'Very well. God keep you, Notaras.' Gennadius called Eugenius and watched him lead Notaras away. Then he opened his desk and once more removed the vial of poison. It was time to deal with Helena Dragases. 'You may enter,' the guard whispered and waved Sofia into Helena's darkened room. After the sunny brightness of the hallway, the darkness was impenetrable at first, and Sofia paused to allow her eyes to adjust. The scene brought back painful memories of the death of her uncle, Emperor John VIII. A stick of incense burned on a table near the door, filling the air with its heady smell. Next to it were two votive candles, their small flames the room's only source of light. They illuminated heavy curtains hung over the windows and an enormous bed, its four posts reaching up into the darkness. Helena lay on the bed, her eyes closed. She had become ill two weeks ago. The court physicians were at a complete loss and could recommend only rest and an occasional bleeding to rectify her humours. Despite all their care, Helena's condition had steadily worsened.

Sofia walked quietly across the deep carpet and knelt beside Helena's bed. This was the first time that she had seen the empress-mother since her illness began, and Sofia was surprised at how frail she was. Her skin looked brittle — papery and white — and she shuddered as she breathed. Helena's eyes opened a crack, and upon seeing Sofia, she smiled, a smile that looked more like a grimace on her gaunt face. Sofia helped as Helena pushed herself up, propping herself with pillows.

Helena turned to Sofia. 'You wished to see me, my dear?' she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

'Yes, Mamme, but I do not wish to trouble you.'

Helena waved away her concern. 'This is only a passing indisposition. I will be better soon enough. Indeed, I feel greatly recovered over the past few days. But what of you, my dear? I am told that you have not been sleeping well. Are you ill?' Sofia shook her head. 'Well then, tell me.'

Sofia lowered her eyes from Helena's searching gaze and took a deep breath. 'It is my marriage, Mamme,' she murmured.

'Are you fearful of the wedding night?' Helena asked. Sofia blushed and shook her head. 'Perhaps you do not approve of your husband-to-be, Notaras?'

'It is more than that, Mamme,' Sofia said, looking up. She paused, and Helena nodded encouragingly. 'It is marriage itself.' The words — so long kept to herself — spilled out now. 'I am every bit as capable as Notaras, and yet as his wife, I will be nothing. Notaras will not allow me to step outside the home, much less take part in councils or handle a sword. The second I marry him, my life will be over. I will be just another pretty thing, good only for bearing children. I cannot submit to it, Mamme.'

Helena nodded. 'I once felt as you do, child. After my marriage, I did not emerge from my quarters for months, except on direct summons. But marriage is not the end. I never learned to love Manuel, but my marriage to him gave me far more power than I ever would have had otherwise. Notaras is a powerful man, and if you can control him, then you will have a great say in our empire.'

Sofia was shaking her head. 'But you married the emperor. Notaras is only a noble. And besides, he will not listen to me. He is too proud, too arrogant.'

'I see.' Helena closed her eyes and lay back. She sat unmoving for some time, and Sofia began to fear that she had fallen asleep. Just as Sofia began to rise, however, Helena opened her eyes. 'You will not marry Lucas Notaras,' she said. 'No, do not speak. Let me explain. You know that we are sending an ambassador, Andronicus Leontarsis, to Italy?'

'Yes, Mamme.' Sofia blushed. How did Helena know?

'As a young woman, I too sat behind that wall, listening to secrets that I should not have heard,' Helena said. 'Leontarsis is a good man, but his is not the most subtle mind. In dealing with the pope, great tact and intelligence will be required, perhaps more than Leontarsis is capable of. I have persuaded Constantine that we should send another ambassador to second Leontarsis. You shall be that ambassador, Sofia. You are politically able, of the royal household, and most importantly, a woman. The Italians are easily moved by beauty. Perhaps you can convince them to send aid where men would fail.'

Sofia nodded. 'I will not fail you,' she promised. 'But how will this prevent my marriage?'

'The trip to Italy will take months, perhaps years. In the meantime, I will persuade Constantine that Notaras's loyalty is of too great importance to wait for your return before he is joined to our household. Another princess of the royal family will be married to him, and you will be released from your betrothal. In the meantime, I suggest that you find a man that you can live with. You cannot avoid marriage forever; it is your duty as a princess.'

Sofia stood and kissed Helena on the cheek. 'Thank you, Mamme,' she said. 'Thank you.'

Across the room, the door opened and a tall, spare man in priest's robes entered. He carried a tray with the bread and wine of the Holy Communion on it. 'Here is my priest, Neophytus. You must go,' Helena said to Sofia. 'I may not be long for this world, but at least I shan't roast in hell.'

Sofia kissed Helena again and left, passing the priest on her way. There was something distasteful about the man, but Sofia did not dwell on it. Her mind was elsewhere, already in Italy. She stepped into the bright hallway, a smile on her face. She was free again. Thank God, she was free!