Re: Fall of Constantinople
Here's chapter II. Sorry, I couldn't have posted it earlier because now I've finished school.
Enjoy the chapter!
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Chapter II – A bleak future
The balcony of the Blacharnae Palace was occupied as usual by a single man thinking about his future and the future of the state that he was leading. This time Basileos Manuel was writing poems and letters, the view provided offering him an endless source of inspiration. Manuel was an emperor, a commander, a affable administrator, but also a distinguished artist appreciated in the circles of the cultured men of Constantinople. Seemingly satisfied with what he wrote today, he laid the quill down on the wooden table and looked at the clear sky, the sun setting down at the horizon giving the city a somewhat orange glow. The wind was blowing gently, striking against Manuel's wrinkled forehead and his large, airy garments. He immediately summoned his parakoimomenos and ordered for Sphrantzes to come join him on the large balcony.
As he waited for his closest advisor to come, Manuel was wondering what would it take to rescue the Empire from the grave it was finding itself in. He knew it would take his entire skill to deflect the blows from an ever expanding enemy which viewed the Byzantines as a painful thorn in their ambitions to greatness and eternal glory. Analysing the painful history of the Empire, Manuel kept thinking why were the former emperors more interested in building villas after villas and indulging in opulent parties and erotic getaways, endlessly taking the money from the Empire's treasury, instead of expanding and consolidating the empire. Maybe that was his own vision, but he still couldn't find any explanation for the corrupt leaders of the Byzantine Empire. In the times of Nikephoros Phokas and Basil the Bulgar-Slayer, the coffers were bustling with gold and numerous riches which were feverishly displayed all around Constantinople for the mass to gasp and awe at the constant successes the Empire had. After the golden period, the point of maximum glory, came to decadence. Manzikert, Myriokephalon, Crusades... The thought of the Crusades sent a chill down Manuel's spine which he tried to ignore but found impossible. He was wondering if the diplomatic missions sent by him to the royal houses in the west would have any success at all. He was very aware of the fact that the Catholic Kingdoms of the West would not want a new crusade after the crushing defeat against the Ottomans at Nikopole in 1396, and even more, in these times of rebellions, heretic uprisings and war between nations, not much help could be gathered for the Empire's own battle against the Ottomans, which inside Manuel's thoughts, it already began. He didn't like it at all, just like his Senators, but the Crusades looked as if they were the only choice left for them.
Sphrantzes entered the Blacharne Palace balcony with a vellum document holder which he held in his hands like it was some sort of invaluable treasure. Indeed, the documents held inside were of extreme importance to the Byzantine state and he guarded them with his life, not willing to risk anything. Manuel motioned for Sphrantzes to sit down on one of the chairs next to the table where he was writing.
“Beautiful day, isn't it?” started off Manuel.
“Agreed, but I have received reports which surely are of more importance and will make the day more relaxing than it was before.”
Manuel came closer towards his advisor, visibly interested, as Sphrantzes laid out the reports on the table.
“The ambassadors have both sent messages informing us that they have arrived at the western courts and they will be given soon meetings with both the Pope and Emperor Sigfried.”
“Excellent.”
“Until now, everything is going well for us.”
“For the moment...” trailed off Manuel, exhaling audibly.
Manuel changed his position on the chair, now resting his elbows directly on the table looking at the prepared reports.
“Sphrantzes, what is the current state of our coffers? We all know they are in a very bad state, but how bad is it? Do not omit any details, I need to know everything. And as we both agreed upon, everything we discuss here shall not go past this balcony. Not a single word.”
Upon hearing the words, Sphrantzes started to fiddle around in his chair nervously, avoiding Manuel's stare. He took out another set of parchments from the vellum holder and laid them out neatly on the table.
“These parchments have been compiled by myself a couple of weeks ago, and indicate our posessions, number of troops and the detailed state of our treasury, including the rate of taxes that we have imposed and the revenue we get each year.”
Manuel sifted quickly between the papers, stopping for a couple of moments on the heavily worded papers.
“Sum it up for me please, I don't have the necessary patience to read everything.”
"As you wish, Imperator. In those reports you shall find the sad truth about the remaining Imperial assets, information which was passed on to me from the old keeper of the treasury, who died a few years ago. At that time, you can imagine the surprise on my face when I was informed about the real status of the treasury.”
After a brief pause whilst taking out one particular parchment, Sphrantzes continued.
“After I took over, one day, he came to me and told me he had something important to tell me which had the utmost urgency. Naturally, I followed him without asking what was going on, so he lead me into the basement of the Blacharnae palace, just beneath our feet, opening a massive wooden door locked with chains which resemble somewhat the Golden Horn boom. He slowly opened it and we both creeped inside into a dark and humid room where the dampness made it impossible to breath, but it preserved what was inside, or what I thought was inside. Entering, I could see a large square shaped room with dozens of coffers and carpets on the floor where the jewels and riches were kept.”
Manuel's eyes in the meantime kept growing bigger and bigger, visibly interested in Sphrantzes' story.
“To my surprise, the old and highly valuable jewels of the Crown, the splendid jewels our imperial ancestors wore at spectaculous and fastuous ceremonies, are long gone. They have been sold a long time ago to Jewish merchants in exchange for immediate money. If you may recall, the Angheloi, to raise money to pay the Crusaders in 1204, sold some Imperial assets. Well, they didn't sell some of them, they sold almost all of them. One of those was a highly valuable jewel coming from the East, from Persia, which now is on your crown. But what actually is on your crown are fake jewels made out of rubies, the exact copy of that precious diamond made more than 200 years ago by one of the court artisans. The artisans' manufacture is impeccable and only a very experienced eye will detect that it is a fake jewel. The only thing that is truly authentic on the crown is the gold. It's pure gold mined long ago in the period of our glorious emperor Justinian. We can try selling them, both the crown and the jewels, but if somebody notices our credibility will be lost forever."
The last words came as the final blow for Manuel, who let his head drop slowly on the table, cupping his hands over his aged face. He quickly recovered and looked Sphrantzes directly in the eye, who was shocked to see the desperation in his emperor's eyes.
"What you have reported to me right now is beyond what I have expected and what I have prepared for.”
He stood up shaking from all his joints, heading for the edge of the palace balcony.
“What if we raise the taxes? The revenue seems to bring in a fair amount of nomisma to our coffers.”
“I'm not sure if the population will react too well upon hearing this measure. Although vital supplies are in plentiful quantity, the usual trade has been dwindling heavily. Another tax will cause serious unrest.”
“What is the situation of the army?”
“Acceptable, I must say. Enough to defend our possessions, but a major assault which has been well prepared will easily tear our defences apart, especially in Moreea.”
“Another error from my part. I shouldn't have refused Murad's proposal.” said Manuel.
Seconds passed on, no man daring to speak a word.
“We prepare for war then. Murad won't take the refusal kindly.” ended Manuel in a ghastly tone.
Sphrantzes remained silent and motionless on his chair, opting to look at the parchments once more instead of replying to his leader.
“Very well. Send a messenger to the dockyards to inform the naval engineers to prepare my Imperial trirema and 5 other ships for sail. I am leaving next year to seek foreign aid, hopefully the leaders will be more receptive once they see me in person. I know the first expeditions in the West were only moderately successful, but once they realize the actual implications and the situation we are facing, I hope they will intervene. You may leave now, and please keep me informed regarding our ambassadors.”
After a quick bow which wasn't acknowledged by Manuel, Sphrantzes left the balcony and headed directly for his home, leaving the reports on the table for Manuel to read. Clutching his fists tighter around the edge of the balcony, the emperor started singing quietly an old cradle song which was always recited by his mother before he went to bed. Somewhat more relaxed after this melody, Manuel entered the porphyry dormitories, still thinking about the state affairs. He blindly hoped that the diplomatic missions would have some success, as it was all they had at the moment if Murad attacked.
Arriving in Rome was no easy task for a foreigner, and especially when using a merchant trireme. The city itself was impressive, the imposing outlines of St. Peter's cathedral easily visible from the seaside dockyard, even if the structure wasn't complete. Along with the gracious statures of the massive Roman constructions, the dilapidation of the city's buildings was striking. The advanced state of decay of the homes and the neglect from the Roman citizens was so obvious that the Byzantine diplomats thought they were in the suburban slums of Constantinople. Shocked by this appearance but eager to leave the unsafe boat, the ambassadors stepped nervously on the creaking wooden quay, immediately meeting a team of cardinals waiting at a nearby wharf to guide them to the fortress of the Vatican. After exchanging quick pleasantries and gifts from both sides, the Pope's men took the diplomats with a double-horsed cart towards the acropolis of the city where the Pope's quarters were located. Arriving shortly after a detailed tour of Rome given by the priests, the ambassadors were quickly rushed in the waiting room outside Pope Innocentios personal study, sitting along with other emissaries and political figures waiting to be greeted by the Catholic leader. Within the Byzantine group, the leading ambassador was one of Sphrantzes' most trusted friends, Alyates Cerularius, a nobleman with illustrious ancestry. Intelligent but also imposing, he was an able diplomat who proved his worth in dealing with the formerly independent Ottoman states, rousing them to war against Bayezid the Thunderbolt during the siege of 1396. Along with him were two other diplomats, both young men who were picked by Alyates to join him in the delicate mission. They were here to learn from the master himself.
The ambassadors did not have to wait for long to be invited inside, even if they were the last ones in the queue. Coming out of a room covered by a large oak door, a medium-sized stocky man with a few locks of white hair at the temples, dressed in a full white outfit with a small golden cross hanging from his neck smiled briefly to the ambassadors, courteously inviting them inside his personal study. Once inside, Alyates and his aids were most surprised by the austerity displayed by the leader of the Catholic Church. Apart from a few personal items which were scattered along the oak table which was inadvertently matching the door and an extensive library built inside the walls containing a wealth of perfectly arranged vellum-bound parchment manuscripts, nothing else of value could be seen in the Pope's personal quarters. A bamboo cross, most likely received as a gift from the Far East, was the only religious item on his table, sitting beside his tall, greasy candle which was light up during the night.
Pope Innocentios invited the Byzantines to take a seat, collapsing into his own chair at the same time.
“This most surprises you, I see. You are not accustomed to see such an important figure have such a austere personal chamber. Do not worry, you are not the first person to be amazed by this.”
“Your Holiness, I cannot hide my surprise regarding your decorations. However, I am sure the manuscripts are valuable more than any material object that can be placed inside this splendid chamber.” replied Alyates.
“Indeed they are. Along those shelves are simple Bibles translated into different languages, treatises of rhetoric and philosophy, but also histories of the glorious Roman Empire.”
“Impressive...” trailed Alyates.
The Pope stood up and headed for the nearest shelf on his left, extracting a large leather-bound book from the pile and gave it to Alyates. The ambassador noticed immediately the smooth texture of the leather cover and the painstaking detail the inscriptions were made, noting the Latin text – Istoriae Regnum Romanum. Alyates opened his eyes wide with shock, realising this was the original copy of the Roman history compiled in the time of Emperor Heraklios, stolen from the Imperial library during the 1204 siege.
“Yes, taken during 1204.” confirmed the Pope.
Shaking off his shock, Alyates didn't wish to waste any more time and dived straight in.
“Your Holiness, I shall make things short and to the point, I do not wish to take your time longer that it is necessary, preventing other important ambassadors to take forward their message towards you. We have come here with a request of aid from our emperor, Basileos Manuel, who seeks help from your Highness to defend the last bastion of Eastern Christianity against the infidel represented by the Ottoman Turks. As you might know already, the status of our glorious Empire is as bad as it can possibly get, and any helping action towards us must not be delayed in any way. Our coffers are completely empty and we are confined only to a handful of territories around our capital Constantinople, Thessaloniki and Mistra. Relying on our army to defend our posessions isn't enough, we will not be able to withstand a full scale organised assault against our territories. Our leader, God bless him, is seeking help from your Holy Fist to take action and defend the Word of God in Eastern Europe. Only you can bring the armies of God together, to protect His word in the area where Islam has perpetrated beyond any imagination.“
The Pope listened carefully to every word Alyates said, even if the sleepless nights were finally getting to him, slowing down his thinking and his movement. He weighed every possibility and every solution in his mind that might help the Byzantines, even if he didn't have them to his heart for their disrespect and hatred towards the Catholic Church. He kept his thoughts to himself however, not wanting to ruin the relationship between the two forces. He made up his mind quickly about his response, and it wasn't because he hated them, it was because he had absolutely no means of helping them. He continued however the dialogue, out of diplomacy but also willing to find out more about the problems of the eastern empire.
“But I have heard you are at peace and friendship with the Ottomans...”
“The new Sultan, Murad, is not friendly towards our cause and our spies indicate that they are preparing for an upcoming attack on our lands.” lied Alyates. He personally wasn't too sure either if this was now a lie.
“Have you tried contacting him directly, asking for more information?”
“He refused the audience for our ambassadors and warned that the next request will be met with total retaliation from his part.”
Upon hearing the words, the Pope stared with horror at Alyates' face, who kept his cool and prevented any emotion from displaying on his face. He struck where it counted, and Alyates hoped that in the end it would have an effect on the Pope. The former cardinal quickly rebounded from his shock and readjusted his position on the chair, giving him the opportunity to look all diplomats right in the eye.
“My friends, your presence here gladdens my soul and I am sure God himself is happy that you have chosen to help yourself with his followers. Your empire, and your capital especially, have maintained the spiritual and cultural greatness of Europe during those Dark Ages which hovered in this western part of Europe after the fall of the Roman Empire. We are deeply in debt to the Byzantine Empire and its people for keeping the flame of learning and Christianity alive, protected at all costs and ready to be passed on to the next generations, which your ancestors have done with grace and willingness. Regarding your current problems, I am fully aware of your current status, and I fully agree help is needed for you to continue the fight against your sworn enemies.“
He paused briefly, clearing his throat in the meantime, so the words would have maximum effect.
“Unfortunately, I cannot award you any help whatsoever at this very moment. Immediately after I took over the reigns constant rebellions erupted, mainly from the Ghibellin parties in Rome, and the subsequent return from Avignon of the Papal cortège, have drained all the money from the Papal coffers. If I impose new taxes and levies, it will give even more reasons for those bastards to revolt and lead the whole city to revolt against the Papal rule. But fear not, not everything is lost. Some of my trusted cardinals will be sent to every kingdom friendly to the Papal Throne to support your cause, using our entire skill to persuade them to join the fight against the Ottomans. And when money will become available, I shall send it to you so you can keep resisting, if God allows it. We shall triumph over the infidel in the end, do not worry my friends.”
Dissapointed, Alyates could only bow to the Pope's words without any reply.
“We thank you your Highness for your actions. We can only hope that our pleas won't fall on deaf ears, or else we are destined to disappear.” said Alyates
The Pope slightly bowed his head and said nothing.
“Your Holiness, we shall not retain your time any longer. We thank your for your patience and may God bless you.” continued Alyates, inviting his companions to the door.
“Wait one moment.” said the Pope, taking the manuscript from the table and heading towards the group.
“It rightfully belongs to you. The men who wrestled it from your grasp don't deserve to even be called men.”
Alyates was more than impressed at this galant gesture from the leader of the Catholics, gladly accepting the gift.
“My Emperor will surely cry of joy upon seeing this marvellous treasure.”
“I hope he will.” replied the Pope, smiling to the group as they left his chamber.
The emissaries left the Eternal City discouraged, albeit still impressed by the chivalrous gesture of their host. They expected his answer, but he managed to actually twist the knife in the wound by confirming their darkest of doubts. Surely at least one king or a prince would respond to their cries of help. They also hoped by that time the open confrontation would start, or their credibility would be forever destroyed by requesting help in times of peace.
Back on the merchant trireme, heading towards Constantinople, Alyates was gripping the edges of the unstable boat while looking at the horizon. The water splashed on his face as the boat went up and down on the strong waves that were forecasting a gloomy night for the boat and its passengers. The Genoese merchant ship was a sturdy boat, but Alyates wasn't too sure about the crew which seemed to be a bit phased out by the force of the nature unleashing upon them. Breaking his reverie, one of his diplomats crashed into his back slipping on the watery deck. Alyates was nearly thrown off board but managed to get back on his feet, baffled at what had just happened.
“I am sorry Kir Alyates. I slipped over the deck and crashed into you.”
“Do not worry, Demetrios. Come join me if you wish.” said Alyates, returning to his place.
“Thank you.”
Demetrios, the son of a Constantinople merchant, graduated from the famous university in the Byzantine capital and quickly joined the ranks of the Byzantine diplomats after pursuing law and rhetoric. He was spotted by Alyates who admired him for his wits and the naturalness he emanated when talking, a great aid when it comes to diplomatic discussions. He was young, no more than twenty years of age, but his mentor already took him in the important missions Manuel assigned him.
“Kir Alyates, what will happen to us? I am very worried about our future.” said Demetrios, looking towards the senior ambassador.
“There's only one thing that will happen my dear Demetrios.”
Alyates let himself breath deeply until continuing. He looked Demetrios straight in the eye and replied.
“War.”
He took over. He finally managed to do it. The sense of accomplishment overwhelmed Murad over any possible measure or restraint. He was barely 18 but he knew already how to defeat his enemies in diplomacy and fair battles. The turn of events in the recently ended civil war in the Ottoman Empire surprised everyone, as Murad's display of administration and military brilliance worthy of his glorious ancestors turned the tide in his favour over the pretender, Duzmece Mustafa. After a brief siege in Gallipoli against his enemy, he showed the entire world that he wasn't willing to talk it diplomatically with his foes, putting Mustafa immediately to death after his capture. Returning to the capital in Edirne, acclaimed by thousands of loyal troops, Murad became the sole contender to the Ottoman throne, receiving the blessings of the Imam and the entire population. He knew how to reward his friends and allies as well, offering valuable gifts to the Genoese general Adorno who greatly aided him in the storming of the Gallipoli palace. The recent civil war between the two contenders left the state in a complete mess which Murad sought to arrange and guide the empire back to its glory.
Murad was a warrior and a distinguished general, but he was a man who greatly enjoyed sumptuous parties and a lavish lifestyle. He was enjoying the company of two young Egyptian girls, with their skin as soft as the silk sheets they were enjoying themselves in, when his servant came in, disturbing the act but also causing him personal displeasure at this sudden interruption. He was beginning to get bored of them anyways, so he signalled to them accordingly, the girls leaving his private quarters for the large harem which he had. He dressed up quickly, wearing a large cotton turban on his head and an elaborate caftan which made him look all imposing in front of anyone who laid his eyes upon him. Murad's servant led him into a nearby room which was his personal study, filled with shelves encastrated in the walls on which leather-bound manuscripts from all corners of the world were resting on display for every guest to see. The young Sultan let himself fall on the divan in the room as the servant brought in dates and other fruits on a silver plate.
Murad was visibly enjoying his dates as a middle-aged person entered his study. Wearing a similar caftan but much larger and without any embroideries, with a larger turban and ceremonial sabre hanging by his decorated hilt, the man bowed slightly to Murad as the sultan invited the newcomer to take a seat beside him. Murad analysed his personal advisor and one of the most important statesmen of the Ottoman Empire, immediately promoted to such a position by Murad after he took over the power. His name was Candarli Khalil Pasha, the grandson of Hayreddin Khalil Pasha, the former Grand Vizier.
“Enjoying your dates as always I see, my Sultan.”
“Why shouldn't I? They're delicious.”
“May I?” said Khalil, pointing towards the silver plate.
“Help yourself.”
Khalil took a handful of dates and chewed them slowly, watching the Sultan finish his.
“I see that you have something important to tell me since you interrupted me from my pleasures.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Speak then.”
Khalil cleared his throat and started to speak.
“I have received two days before, while you were in Gallipoli, an embassy from the Byzantine Empire. Unfortunately, they have refused the demand of help that you have sent towards them.”
“Not surprising. Their lack of response until now indicated so.”
“Even so, I did not expect something else. I have received a report from one of my men inside Mustafa's camp, and it seems that they have helped Mustafa whilst you were fighting him. Some of the men you have fought may have been Byzantine forces in a different uniform.”
Murad stared dangerously at Khalil, sending a shiver down the latter's spine, fiddling with a date in his hands in the meantime.
“This is most surprising. I thought Manuel was part of our camp.”
“This is what we all thought so. We were proved wrong however.”
“How trustworthy is your man?”
“He's been serving me for the past three years without a single hint that would make me doubt his loyalty.”
“So the reports are somewhat accurate in regards to their credibility.”
“Indeed.”
“I am dismayed by this duplicity, but I should have known better. The Romans were no better, turns out their descendants are the same. My warrior nature is telling me to attack but my other side is telling me to stay put. There are many tasks to do within the empire, we don't need any more expansions right now. We need stability.”
“Our armies and ready and willing to support you my Sultan, if you decide to attack in any case. The demilitarization hasn't been made so far and the border guards are supplemented by regular troops at this very moment. The Yeni Cerii and Sipahis are training every day, ready to engage and fight under their new leader. The stability you are wishing for is so far assured by your amazing popularity within the empire.”
After hearing Khalil's tirade, Murad smiled towards him.
“You know it's easy to convince me. And you're pressing on.”
“I'm just informing you of the state of your Empire, my Sultan. Doing my duty as a your loyal servant. It is your call.” came the diplomatic reply of Khalil.
“Will the state treasury provide the necessary money for a siege?”
“The treasury is of no problem.”
“Very well. One thing Khalil, how do you know all these things? You're not a high ranked statesman, at least so far.”
“Being your personal advisor has enabled me to have my own strong connections which can prove to be very useful.”
“Old wolf...” trailed Murad.
Khalil only smiled towards his leader. Bowing slightly after Murad's hand sign, his advisor left immediately leaving the Sultan all alone in his personal study. Walking towards the window which was offering a superb view of the entire city of Edirne, Murad chewed the last of his dates, spitting small bits outside.
“I swear that I will conquer Constantinople...” muttered Murad to himself.
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