The Walls of Byzantium (27 page)

Here, on this winter day of snow and approaching dusk, the braziers glowed with fresh and scented coals and three huge dogs slept at the feet of the Sultan Bayezid. He was, at this time, around forty years of age and the dash of his youth had largely departed, leaving behind a bloated husk of rouged and temperamental decadence. His appetite for female companionship had largely disappeared as had large numbers of his teeth, but his appetite for wanton cruelty remained stolidly intact.

He was still a formidable and dangerous man and his sons, vassals and courtiers feared every hair in his luxuriant beard. The rise of a tapered eyebrow in displeasure was still enough to cause men to tremble, and the slow lift of a pudgy finger enough to send them to the bowstring.

He was magnificent, all-powerful and capricious.

Now, he lounged across several large cushions and tickled the flank of a dog with his toe. He was dressed in a tunic of damask studded with pearls buttoned over straining silken pyjamas. A jewelled turban of intricate layers sat above a
face ruined by excess; heavy lids shielded eyes that darted to left and right in a parody of his former verve. With one hand he stroked the flaxen hair of a pageboy of teenage years and perfect skin, a gift from the Emperor of Trebizond. In the other he balanced a silver goblet of wine between two fat fingers. On a table beside him sat a dish piled high with sugar.

The Sultan’s tongue was stabbing the inside of his cheek. He had toothache again and nothing his doctors did could alleviate the pain. So he drank instead.

Anna was watching him closely from the other side of the grille. Beside her sat Devlet Hatun and Olivera Despina who was whispering into her ear.

‘The one next to the Sultan, the one with the heron’s plume, that is the Grand Vizier Kara Halil Candarli. He is wise but devious.’ She paused. ‘He served the Sultan’s father, Murad, before him.’

Anna looked at the other people present. There was Prince Suleyman, Prince Mehmed and, beside him, a younger boy. Despina followed her gaze.

‘That is Prince Musa, third son to Bayezid. He shares the same mother as Suleyman but the brothers hate each other. Musa is only ten years of age but is very serious. He reads the Koran every moment of the day and seeks only the company of learned men. He despises the excesses of his eldest brother.’

Anna looked at the pale-skinned boy with large, uncertain eyes and a hooked nose. He looked nothing like Suleyman.

‘Who are those two, standing behind the Princes?’ whispered Anna, pointing slowly at two well-made men standing together.

‘The taller one is Evrenos Bey,’ answered Olivera Despina. ‘He is the Sultan’s best general and has been with him at every
victory. He is fanatically loyal to Bayezid and would die for him. He is of Byzantine descent but a convert to Islam.’

‘And the other?’

‘The other is the brother of the Princess Devlet. He is Yakub Bey, Emir of Germiyan and one of the most powerful gazi princes in Anatolia. He became vassal to the Sultan three years ago.’

Anna studied Yakub closely, something about him inviting further enquiry. He was a man of medium height but powerful build and wore a long, quilted coat trimmed with the furs of different animals. His face was lined and weather-beaten and his nose flat, interrupting a scar that ran from eye to lip.

‘What is a gazi?’ she asked.

‘They’re the men of the steppe, the tribes that Bayezid and every other Ottoman Turk are descended from. There are many tribes, and the Germiyans are one of the largest. Each tribal land is called a
beylik
.’

Then someone spoke.

‘Grand Vizier,’ said the Sultan, dismissing the boy from Trebizond and putting his goblet down on to the table, ‘we have summoned our subjects and vassals here to Serres to decide where will be our next Dar ul-Harb.’ He paused and ran his tongue between his lips, wincing. ‘There are those, like my son the Prince Suleyman, who believe that our destiny is to the west. There are others’ – here Bayezid nodded at Yakub – ‘not least the beyliks of our tribal homelands, who believe that we should confront the Khanates of the Black and White Sheep who threaten our eastern frontiers. Our Christian vassals await our pleasure outside but first we of the Faith should talk between ourselves.’

Bayezid turned to Candarli. ‘Tell us your view, Grand Vizier.’

Candarli bowed low to the Sultan. ‘Majesty, we are fortunate to be ruled by a sultan who can rightly call himself Lord of the Two Horizons. But what do we have on each of these horizons? In the east there are the Khanates and the remaining beyliks who have yet to see the glory of your rule as our friend Yakub of the Germiyans has. But these are not our enemy.’

Anna looked at Yakub, who was looking at his feet. She saw that Bayezid was watching him closely.

‘Meanwhile,’ Candarli went on, ‘we have both opportunity and threat before us in the kingdoms of Christendom. What remains of the Roman Empire is weak and the lands of Thrace and Macedonia are empty of people and we can settle the akincis of Anatolia there at will. But the Christian kings are jealous of your success and, even now, Sigismund of Hungary and Mircea of Wallachia are entreating the Pope to bless another crusade against us. The lord Evrenos Bey can talk further on this subject.’

Evrenos Bey stepped forward to stand directly before his sultan. He bowed. ‘The Grand Vizier is right, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Duke Philip of Burgundy has raised seven hundred thousand gold ducats to spend on such a crusade. There has been a long war between the English and French, which is in truce at this time, so there are many knights eager to join it. The new Pope Boniface is urging all the Kings of Christendom to act.’

‘And how would our armies fare against such a crusade?’ asked the Sultan. His tooth was throbbing ever harder.

‘Majesty, our armies have been everywhere victorious. There is no army in the world that can beat us.’

The Sultan smiled and nodded. ‘Indeed. We are everywhere victorious except where our eldest son sees fit to show mercy on a Greek city. Prince Suleyman, what is your view?’

Anna saw Suleyman’s face colour. He bowed stiffly to his father and looked around the faces in the room. ‘Father, Evrenos Bey and I decided
jointly
’ – here he glanced at the general – ‘not to risk an assault on Mistra because we wished to preserve our army for the attack on Constantinople. And we must secure Constantinople before making further advances into Christendom.’

‘Ah,’ said Bayezid, ‘Constantinople. The Red Apple. Why do you think we call it that, Prince Suleyman?’

‘Because, Majesty,’ replied Suleyman, ‘it is the sweetest fruit. Constantinople is still the greatest city on Earth and you cannot truly call yourself Lord of the Two Horizons until you have conquered it.’

Bayezid flushed and his hand moved to his beard. He looked hard at his eldest son. Then he laughed. It was a rasping sound without humour. ‘And perhaps the Prince Suleyman will be the one to do it? Or would the charms of the city’s female citizens again be enough to deter him?’

Suleyman was holding himself in check. Just. Anna could see that his fists were clenched.

The Sultan turned to look at his second son. ‘I believe that the Prince Mehmed and Yakub Bey take a different view?’

Mehmed didn’t reply immediately. He glanced at Yakub beside him. Then he spoke.

‘Father, the Emir is chief amongst the leaders of the gazi tribes and it is they that form the heart of our empire. These men sense threat from the East, not the West. From the Emir Temur, whom some call Tamerlane, whose horde is moving westwards and may ally itself with the Khanates to attack us. Prince Yakub believes, as I do, that we should make peace with the Kings of Christendom and move east to secure our frontiers against the greater threat of Temur.’

The Sultan Bayezid was slowly shaking his head. ‘You speak with great wisdom, Prince Mehmed. And it may be that we need to confront Temur before long. But our spies tell us that he will be employed for some time in the north fighting his cousin Tokhtamish of the Golden Horde and afterwards is more likely to attack the Ming Empire of China than move west. Yakub Bey?’

The gazi chief spoke slowly in a voice little above a growl. ‘It is well known that the Mongol Temur claims sovereignty over the Turkmen tribes of Anatolia and is angered by your annexation of the beyliks. Temur is your enemy.’

Bayezid ground his teeth and one of them exploded in pain. He lost his temper. ‘Temur?’ he roared, thumping the cushion to his side and leaning forward so that his beard brushed his knees. Muscles had appeared in the walls of his neck. ‘Temur?’ he shouted again, and Anna, behind her grille, felt the shock wave of his anger. ‘Who is this Temur? Who is Temur?’

There was complete silence around him and even the dogs seemed to have stopped breathing.

Bayezid had risen to his feet and was standing directly in front of Yakub, staring down into his eyes. ‘I have no fear of turning my back on Temur or Tamerlane or whatever he calls himself,’ he hissed through shaking beard. ‘Tamerlane is an illiterate barbarian who delights in massacre. I am Bayezid, Sultan of Rum and Sword of Islam. I have never lost a battle and have sworn that I will see my horses watered at the altar of St Peter’s in Rome.’

He paused. ‘Believe me, emir, when I tell you that I will see that happen. And so will you. By my side.’

He glared at Yakub for a while longer before turning to look at the others, each in turn. ‘So my will is this: we will take
Constantinople quickly – if, that is, we do not manage to persuade the Emperor Manuel to surrender the remnants of his eunuch empire beforehand. And we will do nothing to dissuade the armies of Christendom from marching against us. And when they do, we will defeat them in such a way that they will never march again.’

He looked around again at the assembly, breathing hard and challenging any dissent. None came. He sat heavily back on his cushions. ‘Then we will deal with this Tamerlane.’

Anna sat with her face very close to the grille, its thin material rising and falling with the tiny pulse of her breathing. There was utter silence around the Sultan now and Devlet Hatun leant forward and gently touched Anna’s shoulder, indicating that she should draw back lest the movement be seen. Anna turned in the semi-darkness and saw that she and Olivera Despina were holding hands. The fear that radiated around Bayezid had reached beyond the tent walls to envelop them like smoke. Anna sat back in her chair and reached out to place a hand on theirs. She thought suddenly of how it must be to live every hour of every day with this fear, to watch it wind its ugly coils around the people you love.

Bayezid had ordered more wine to be brought and sat staring darkly into the contents of his goblet. Then he rose slowly and walked over to warm his hands at a brazier. ‘Prince Suleyman,’ he said without looking around, ‘tell us how we are to take Constantinople.’

Suleyman exchanged glances with the Vizier. Anna saw that a small dagger, its hilt heavy with jewels, was held to the Vizier’s belly by the folds of his sash.

Suleyman said, ‘The sea walls are the city’s weakest point and it was these the Venetians breached two centuries ago
when they finally prevailed. But we will need command of the sea to achieve that.’

‘Which is why we have built Anadolu Hisar,’ said Bayezid. ‘You told me that the castle would prevent any Genoese ships from coming to the city’s aid from the north.’

‘And so it will, Father,’ said the Prince. ‘Especially when it is equipped with cannon. But there remains some threat from the south. The Byzantines still have some warships that they’ve prudently kept beyond our reach at Monemvasia. These we have managed to delay from setting sail until our own ships have cannon on them.’

‘And they have cannon now?’

‘I have arranged it so, Father. The ships have cannon and the city of Constantinople is sealed. The blockade is intact.’

Bayezid looked sulkily at his eldest son. ‘That may keep the Byzantine fleet away, but how do we get through the walls?’

‘Bigger cannon, Father,’ said Suleyman. ‘And ships. So that we can destroy the walls and starve the city.’

‘And where do we get those?’

‘Venice. The Venetians make the best ships and cannon in the world.’

But Bayezid was already shaking his head. ‘I won’t talk to those dogs.’

Suleyman stepped forward. ‘Father, you don’t have to. Outside awaits the Archon of Monemvasia, Pavlos Mamonas. It was he who ensured that the Byzantine fleet has sailed too late to prevent our blockade of their capital. But the Archon has done more for us. He has also got us cannon, Venetian cannon.’

Suleyman paused. ‘Father, the fleet from Monemvasia is sailing into a trap. With the cannons, we will blow it out of the water.’

Bayezid looked warily at his son. ‘And you trust these Mamonases? They are not of the Faith.’ The Sultan pulled slowly at his beard. Anna looked round at the other men who were all regarding Suleyman with interest, some friendlier than others. She wondered what deeper connection Suleyman had with the family she had married into.

‘Very well,’ said the Sultan eventually. ‘Bring them in.’