Fall of Constantinople

[edyzmedieval]

Chapter III. Hope you like it!!

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Chapter III – Wolves gather together




Summer of 1422




More than a year passed since Murad took over the leadership of the Ottoman Empire and he was ready to enter history. They say that what you're most afraid of, you will never escape it. The war that Manuel had been fearing for so long was on the verge of erupting, and what a show it would provide for the onlookers and for the participants as well. What the sun shines down upon doesn't necessarily mean the person is up to good deeds, or so a Roman would tell you upon seeing the large gathering outside the Turkish capital. Everything there was made for the people to look upon with pride, to be amazed at the display of power from their beloved leader. The full force of the army descending down the large boulevards in an organized march caused serious stir within the city, neither man or woman able to ignore the incredible spectacle provided by the young Sultan's armies.


Nobody minded the excess of detail, the waste of money, the opulence and exquisiteness of the entire show. It was a real display of power in its purest form and it was supposed to be like that. The show was destined to have a powerful impact upon the viewers, and Sultan Murad was cherishing every moment of it. He basked in the adulation of the commoners who were simply hysterical at this display, seeing how powerful the empire they are part of is. It wasn't hard to impress the masses, Murad thought, and with a simple military parade and the announcement of the assault upon the Byzantine capital, his popularity was at unimaginable levels. The show provided a double strike, raising the morale of his troops in the meantime who clearly enjoyed seeing hordes of young women simply coming to them without even making an effort. The demonstration was subdued by the Sultan's personal interest, but he wasn't too concerned about it. Grinning proudly to the sun after he exited his lavish tent placed in the plaza of the Ottoman capital Edirne, Murad set on to examine his elite troops, the Yeni Cerii and the Sipahis, along with his own personal bodyguards, which would accompany his suite. He always stressed the important of hand picked and vastly experienced bodyguards as they could be the different between life or death, win or defeat, in a crucial battle. Shortly after his prolonged inspection which took him to the barracks behind the royal palace, satisfied with his bodyguards and his auxiliary retinue, Murad returned to his tent only to find a bleak figured Khalil standing with a small roll of parchment in his hands. He took the roll without saying anything, read it fast and then collapsed on his divan, ordering his servant to bring him dates. He struggled to keep his joy away but was unpleasantly surprised upon meeting the gaze of Khalil, who stood petrified in the same position where he was when he handed over the telegram.


“What's wrong Khalil?”


“I do not like this my Sultan. Everyone seems to be enjoying the display but I am far from impressed. Am I the only one realising the full implication of this assault?”


“Khalil, your attitude in the past months has been concerning me deeply. You initially supported my attack, and now you don't even want to hear about it. What's going on?”


“Subterfuge reports. It seems our Byzantine friends have reported to the Pope after you were enthroned, requesting for help, and also to the German Emperor. Not only this, but they have caused serious internal problems by stirring up the minorities and they have encouraged the independent principalities of Teke, Menteshe and Germiyan to revolt. So far nothing has happened, but troublesome reports have come from those areas.”


“Such as?” said Murad, Khalil noticing a trail of fear and precaution in his words.


“The population lately has been consistently demanding complete independence from the Ottoman Empire.”


“They can demand whatever they want, I won't give them even one dirrham. Your reports however are most interesting. Have you informed the Grand Vizier, Ibrahim-Pasha?”
“Indeed I have. He ignored my warnings.”


“We will give it a thought at the meeting we will have later on. For the moment, we won't take it into consideration. Go enjoy the parade, try to find some more women for your harem.” replied Murad grinning.


“As you wish, my Sultan.” said Khalil, leaving his tent.




Even with all of the elaborate arrangements, something was still bothering Murad, and it wasn't Khalil's warnings. He had every reason to be pleased with what he had achieved in his life so far at this very young age, but even so, he was in a constant fight with his neighbours, especially those at the eastern border of the empire. With this assault, any mistake in the organisation, planning and execution of the siege and everything could be completely compromised. Any attack, any intent of attack, any skirmish between his forces and his foes could call off the siege, giving even more time to the Romans to defend themselves. The risks were huge, but for him, it was now or never, and as he so often thought, any risk can be taken when it comes to Constantinople. The city evaded the grasp of so many of his predecessors, but he was determined not to let it go this time. Although time was not lost, Murad considered it was his sole chance to take it and he felt up for the task. He quickly wrote a telegram for Khalil, ordering him to summon the high ranked generals in the Edirne Palace, and left for the palace himself.


The lavishly decorated Ottoman palace could rival any Byzantine palace built in the 10th century, being a exact copy of the Roman governor's house of Ravenna, with obvious Turkish influences and other architectural additions which added to the beauty of the imposing structure. The Sultan galloped with a small force of bodyguards towards the palace, stopping to admire it at the entrance of the courtyard. Dismounting his horse, immediately followed by his retinue, Murad stepped inside the palace. He found himself inside a large hall adorned with splendid Persian carpets hanging from the ceiling on the sides, the floor covered with the finest oriental marble while golden excerpts from the Qu'ran were hanging from the walls.
Outside the ceremonial hall, all ministers were waiting for Murad to arrive, dressed up in their ceremonial outfits as the protocol duly imposed. The Sultan didn't even bother saluting his cabinet, immediately entering the room without saying a single word, instead ordering his servant to bring him refreshments. He walked confidently to this throne, hurriedly and with firm steps, not glancing a look behind towards his ministers. Many rumours about their loyalty came to his ears, mostly coming in from his palace eunuchs who knew everything that was happening at the high court. Most of the discontent came from the fact that he was excessively taxing the nobility and subsequently attacking their own private interests, and this made him a vigilant man, as he knew they could take his throne away or simply just assassinate him. Murad took into the account even the possibility of a simple coup d'etat which could exile him away from his throne. He even employed personal hand picked bodyguards to guard him during his sleep, literally having a small private army at his door every time. Ignoring his intrusive and paranoid thoughts, Murad approached the throne and took his seat, sitting on the opulent golden chair, covered in precious Indian diamonds. Murad immediately started ordering around, willing to finish with this unpleasant meeting which he had to forcefully attend.


"Map! And don't bother sitting down, this will be quick." said Murad, talking to his ministers, who were still outside the hall, waiting to be called inside.


A beautiful young Persian squire, Murad's own personal assistant, brought 5 large parchments and rolled them neatly on the wooden table, forming a detailed view of the surroundings of Edirne and Constantinople, a work of the Genoese sailors and mappers on his payroll. They were a valuable aid to him, as they were educated and knowledgeable men, helping him keep secret ties with the Genoese Principality in the meantime regarding military information and international trade. The Sultan looked closely at the map, analysing different possibilities of attack, until he was interrupted by Khalil who decided to interrupt the silence and speak first.


"My dear Sultan, if I am allowed to talk, I wish to remind you that the siege of this great city is very very dangerous and can pose useless peril for our empire. Whilst I understand the benefit we can gain from conquering the city, we cannot risk to expose ourselves so much in these times, so much so that it could lead to a complete loss of stability in case of a new attack.”


Murad looked up from his maps, surprised to hear his advisor's words. Khalil then turned towards his fellow ministers and read out from a parchment he wrote on his notes.


“I have received reports from our spies which are actively providing us with valuable information behind the enemy lines in the Byzantine Empire and also in the beyliks situated at our eastern border. It seems that the Byzantines have been actively seeking aid from the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor and in turn they have been instigating the population of the beyliks to revolt against out rule and attack the pacifying troops settled in their area. With this assault, we practically leave our borders unguarded, and even a sudden, organised attack would break our thin defence lines, destroying the painstaking organisation which our ancestors have struggled so much to build unless we take action immediately. On top of this, Constantinople is very well defended and I am under no illusions that they will fight until the last man and until the last stone of those walls has been destroyed. The siege will not finish fast, and it will be a very big drain on the empire's resources."


Murad just grinned to Khalil and clapped his hands after his advisor stopped his speech. Ibrahim-Pasha, the Grand Vizier, replied.


“Are you sure of this Khalil? Even if it is true, I wouldn't stop the attack. Those bastards need to be punished once and for all. And their city taken already!” replied Ibrahim-Pasha, the Grand Vizier.


“With all due respect Ibrahim-Pasha, the risks that we are taking are immense.”


"My Sultan, with all due respect to your close advisor, Khalil does not know what he is saying. This is our golden chance! If we conquer Constantinople, nothing will stand in front of our powerful armies that Allah gave us. As Khalil said, before we conquer it, we are at peril, but with the grace of God and with his will, we can triumph on every front, we can triumph against everything that is hurled towards us. If our enemies do not decisively attack us during these times, we cannot be stopped any more. Constantinople is the jewel of Europe, and it must be conquered as soon as possible!" said Zaganos Pasha, the newly appointed Minister of War, half the age of Khalil.


“The risk of a decisive attack is very high, and if it does happen, by the time we mobilise our armies to counter the threat, the enemy can take most of Anatolia, as surely the beyliks will group together in an alliance and take our territories on four different fronts. Not a beautiful picture, and I am sure Zaganos you do not want to see it, especially when you are the minister of war.” spit Khalil towards his court foe.


“Gamble and win. Either way we cannot be defeated completely. We just lose territory we can easily regain. We win, we keep our territories, we get the best city in the world. We lose, we lose our territories, we rebound, we try again to conquer it.” said Zaganos dismissively.


“The siege will have considerable impact on the state's finances, my Sultan.” Alyadin-Pasha, the First Defterdar.


“Efendi, the risks are negligible. The amount of money we gain after conquering the city is far beyond our wildest dreams, I assure you.” replied Zaganos.


“And if we fail?” came the reply of Ibrahim-Pasha


“Well, we have to support the huge gap in the finances.” said Khalil.


“It won't be of a problem afterwards. We can manage it.” said Murad


The displeasure of the ministers became obvious as they were increasingly annoyed by the fact that the conversation was going on and they were standing up. Murad decided to intervene and finish off the discussions so he can concentrate on more pressing matters instead of conversing with his ministers.


"I deeply appreciate all of your contributions to today's meeting, and of course, your presence. I am sorry Khalil, but Zaganos and Ibrahim-Pasha are right. You can condemn my belligerent attitude as much as you want afterwards, but the risk must be taken in order for us to progress. Inform the generals to prepare for the march, were are ready to go forward and attack.”


Nobody from that moment dared to reply to the Sultan, who was already busy examining the maps with the top generals of the Ottoman army. He motioned to the ministers with his outstretched hand, not even bothering to lay his eyes off the maps laid out on his table. From his part, the meeting came to a swift and decisive conclusion in his favour, imposing his will once again without much problem. The ministers left leaving Murad all alone in the hall, some of them visibly moaning and unhappy with the result of the meeting.






Not before long Murad left the palace once again and after a brief meeting in the spectacular bright green courtyard, filled with all kinds flowers, with his generals, he mounted his horse and headed towards the walls of Edirne. Murad arrived shortly, saluting everyone around him as he climbed the stairs to the top of the main gate which was also the crucial entrance to the city. Climbing up the tower offered a spectacular view of the entire military parade, Murad laying his eyes upon the perfect formations of the elite troops . The walls of the city were formed in a U shape, enabling the young Sultan to see the entire bulk of his troops stationed inside this U, all eyes on him, every soldier attentive to every detail and every word Murad would speak. Beside him were his ministers with parchments in hand offering different speeches, but Murad resorted to one single word which had power over everything else.


"Constantinople!!!"
Resembling something of a volcano, from each and every soldier's chest army shouts and war cries could be heard, quickly changing to a single word rhythm which filled the air surrounding the city. "Sultan! Sultan! Sultan!". Grinning, he turned to his ministers who couldn't help but smile and applaud the impressive show, even Khalil setting aside his differences, participating along with the others. Murad winked to both Khalil and Zaganos as he left the tower, returning swiftly to his palace to prepare the final details for the assault on the Byzantine capital.






Over a hill near Edirne, three man sat motionless, stunned by celebration of the Ottomans that was happening right in front of their eyes. The Byzantine spies sent by Manuel could not hide their amazement and disbelief, not moving a single finger even when the Ottoman armies started marching towards Constantinople. One of them suddenly woke up from his reverie and shook his companions, urging them to leave the place and return to Constantinople to escape and report their findings to the Emperor anxious for information.






It was well past midnight but the two men in the private chamber of the Sultan inside the Edirne Palace weren't sound asleep as someone might expect, instead engaging in a heated conversation about the assault that was about to be unleashed over Constantinople. The two were seated on a low divan, Murad eating his dates as usual with Khalil joining in. Murad's advisor was looking through different military treatises, trying to study the Byzantine warfare in as much detail as possible, at the same time responding to his Sultan's questions.


“Since we are going to siege Constantinople, I want you to double the border guards in the eastern side of the empire, and supplement them with regular troops which will not be assigned to the siege. Those beyliks need to know that they should think twice before attempting an attack.”


“What about the cities? They need sufficient garrisons.”


“Forget it, they won't revolt. There's enough stability in the Empire. Any news regarding foreign intervention?”


“None so far, it seems.”


“Did your spies make anything of the Byzantine diplomats who visited the Pope?”


“It seems that he has rejected their request of help, out of the severe lack of funds.”


“And the one who visited the Holy Roman Emperor?”


“The same result. No help, at least not for this very moment.”


“So any chance of foreign intervention is out of the question, I understand.”


“Exactly my Sultan. Everything goes as you masterfully planned.”


“Perfect. Everything is set then. Inform me tomorrow morning when we leave Edirne if you have anything to say to me. You may leave. I need to get some rest before.”


“Yes, my Sultan. Have a good night.”








The next morning, down the road leading to Constantinople from Edirne, merchants, peasants, noblemen and passers by alike were shocked by the grim spectacle offered freely for everyone to see. Hanging from a blossoming cherry tree right beside the road were three men, hanged from one of the branches. They were stabbed in the back by curved Ottoman swords, limbs cut completely and each had a piercing iron arrow shot in the neck, sent forth by the military groups organised and trained by Zaganos Pasha as counter-espionage...




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Galata quarters, Constantinople




The Galata Tower was the tallest building known to the easterners who never ventured out of the lands of their empire, each child and even adult awing at the sheer size of the fortification. It was imposing, but what caused the displeasure towards this structure was its ownership. The Genoese were one of the most hated people in Constantinople, along with the Venetians, who ironically, both of them, were close traders with the Empire and the imperial family. The two Italian Republics controlled the Galata commonly, but it was the Genoese who had more influence and much more territory within the quarter than their cohabitants.


At the top of the tower on the balcony, the Genoese podesta Paolo Bocanegra and his longtime friend and companion Nicolo Doria were sipping through a bottle of French wine, discussing the recent events and court rumours, not only Genoese, but also Byzantine and Venetian. Rumours spread around the Galata quarter faster than disease, and every ball or special occasion which dictated a party fuelled the river of chit chat even more. It provided endless laughs and discussions, perfect for the taverns but also talks between men and women alike, each giving more and more time to these talks. Friends as they were, the two Genoese were significantly different from one another.
The Genoese podesta, the administrator of the Galata quarter, Paolo, was born into a noble family which gave the first doge of Genoa, quickly becoming the podesta of Galata because of his connections. Tall and good looking, he used his position to impress the court women of Genoa, attracting even higher positions than he could have hoped for by using his family name. He distinguished himself early with his intelligence and ease when it came to diplomacy, and it soon became clear to the Genoese doge that even without his connections, Paolo was more than capable to become the administrator of one of the most important Genoese colonies, and surely the most delicately situated one. Paolo's friend, Nicolo, was the son of a Genoese merchant, joining the ranks of the army after he ran away from home to escape the constant beatings from his father. He initially wanted to become a merchant, but the thought of combining both warfare with trading appealed to him dearly, becoming a senior officer just after his twenty second birthday. A naturally gifted warrior, he served on the Genoese warships until he switched to the land armies, going wherever the Doge's armies went. Engaging in trading as well, it soon became so profitable that he quit the army and hired his own personal mercenary army which guarded him and protected his interests. Even with all the wealth he had accumulated, this didn't change his pleasant character at all. Paolo admired Nicolo for his loyalty and his firm beliefs, and from the moment Nicolo saved the life of his friend in a battle against the Algerian pirates, the two became best friends ever since. Paolo was the diplomat and the brilliant politician, while Nicolo was the general and the affluent merchant between them.


“What do you make of it? The Ottomans are marching forwards.” said Nicolo, motioning towards the walls of Constantinople.


“I think we're in for another spectacular Greek theatre from the balcony of the tower, that's what I make of it. Take another cup of wine when it happens and enjoy. The wine or the battle, you choose. The Ottomans won't break it, however.”


“What makes you think that?”


“Right now, the Byzantines are strong enough to hold their own with the army they have and think about it, they are protected by those massive walls. If we had those walls over here, nothing could break them and we would be living here forever.”


“Aren't you concerned about any possible attacks on our territory? The Ottomans won't have a good eye towards us when we are this close from the battlefield.”


“We have a neutral treaty with them. If we support the Byzantines, then it is a declaration of war between our states.”


“What if they ask for help?”


“Who's they?”


“The Byzantines”


“We won't give them any help whatsoever. We're neutral in this useless conflict. It's not within our interests to help whoever comes in our way.”


Nicolo took another sip of wine and switched his position on the balcony, now looking dreamily towards the horizon, easily spotting Chalcedon and the Prinkiponisia Islands covered in the glow of the sunset.


“If you would be a Byzantine, how would you react to seeing the Genoese on the walls with their troops while their city was falling?”


“I would probably be extremely angry and I would curse those bastards to hell.” laughed Paolo.


His laugh soon turned to terror as a messenger crashed through the door that lead from the balcony to the tower, sprawling on the floor and panting heavily after running up the narrow stairs inside the building. The messenger quickly rebounded from the crash and stood up, looking the podesta directly in the eye.


“My lord, Genoa has been conquered by the Republic of Milan! The doge has been deposed!”


The two friends looked at each other in horror, Paolo's glass slipping from his hand in shock crashing to the floor in a flurry of glass shards, injuring himself at the same time.


“What do we do now?”


“We help them.” replied the podesta in a solemn voice.


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