The Free Company and the Last Bastion of Empire: Book IV

[Faeelin]

December 22nd, Evening - Antalya

Laurena walked through the Company camp in a daze. Her first battle, and they’d won. She’d killed many Turks. She should feel happy. But she wasn’t sure what she felt.

There was this emptiness inside of her. Even slaying Murad himself, or turning him into the Chief White Eunuch, would only relieve the pain slightly. She sighed, and continued trudging on.

A few mercenaries sat around a fire, showing each other battle scars. One of them pointed in her direction, but Laurena walked on, oblivious.


Laurena wasn't paying attention, and walked through most of the camp. As she walked past a tavern, she heard crying. She jerked her head up. It couldn’t be. Could it?

She ran towards the tent she had heard the crying from. Opening the tent flap, she looked around. The Greek and some one else were talking. She stared, looked at the crib, and wept.

 

[EmprorCoopinius]

December 22, evening - Antalya

The battle against the Tekes had gone well, the Company dealing splendedly with a larger force in their home terrain.

The sighting of the Ottoman banner had soured the mood somewhat.

Severus took another mouthful of water, swished it around and spat it out. His teeth still crunched from all the grime and dust of the morning's battle. Sighing, he resigned himself to sandy food for the next day or two, splashed his face, and walked out of the ersatz quarters Sergio had commandeered for him.

His body ached almost uniformily, and he reflected, not for the first time, that he was entirely too old for this. The problem was, he was too old to learn anything else. Old habits die hard.

Entering the tavern the Company men had swarmed to afterwards, he nodded to the men-at-arms under his command, as well as to any Mongols or Moors who happened to be drinking. He was proud of the way his men had carreid off the envelopment, and hoped it set a precedent for the reast of the campaign.

A bottle of wine purchased at the bar later, he sat with the rest of the officers and poured his first goblet, taking a measured sip and letting the alcohol sit in his mouth. The other officers were describing their part of the action, and he intended to join the discussion but for now, he wanted to drink the alcohol and let it dull the pains in his body.

 

[TheF]

December 22, evening - Antalya

Fyrsil sat at a table at the tavern where a decent part of the Company had decided to celebrate their victory. He was busily analyzing the battle with some of the men of his command when the conversation suddenly fell quiet. Fyrsil attempted to get the conversation going again:

"Another subject then! You never did tell me, or anyone else for that matter, how 250 Welshmen ended up in Italy.."

Silence remained, but after a minute of silence one of the men spoke:

"It has been said that the mab darogan - the Son of Prophecy - would be found if we went on a crusade to the holy land."

"Some of the most respectable bards have told that tale.", another one added.

"Our crusade went awry though, and we got stranded in Siena, maybe it is some twisted turn of fate that we are going to Constantinople now."

 

[Norgesvenn]

December 22nd, Antalya. Evening.

"How is he?", Alv asked quietly.
"He'll live. But he won't be of much help defending Constantinople", the Jewish doctor said. Alv had been fortunate to find the doctor. He supposed the Free Company's gold would buy him good treatment.

Enrico was sleeping. Alv crossed himself over his friend's bed, and exited.

He decided to join the other officers and sergeants for some wine. Not that he was in a very festive mood, but he needed to get his mind off what had happened.

***

"Ah, Alv! How is your friend?", Severus asked.
"He'll live. That's all I know..."
"Have some wine! You'll feel better..."
"Thanks!". Alv took a deep swig of the sour wine. The sight of the Ottomans had put a fear in him. Wine would make that go away.

 

[Craig Ashley]

December 22, After Nightfall - Antalya

Slowly, the main body of the Turkish army began to roll in, shortly after nightfall. One man stood upon a hill watching the columns snake their way into camp. Soon the the Emir's failures would be made right. Soon the rabble that stood in defiance of Murad and all of the Ottoman Empire would be defeated. Antalya lay before him, waiting.

Cautiously, Captain Dragut approached the Russian jannisary. “Kruschovic Bey, it will take most of the night for the entire army to arrive.”

The Bey turned his icy gaze to his subordinate. “When was the army to arrive, Captain?”

Dragut shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, the men, they have been on a forced march for several days. They need rest. Even now, I doubt they will be ready for combat.”

“When was the army to arrive, Captain Dragut?”

It took all of the captain's will not to visibly gulp. “You requested our arrival by nightfall, Kruschovic Bey.”

“I requested?”

“Your forgiveness, Kruschovic Bey. Ordered, you ordered our arrival by nightfall.”

“And you have failed to carry out my orders?”

“Yes I have, Kruschovic Bey.” Dragut dared not look into those cold blue eyes. It was whispered that the Bey carried the bitter chill of the coldest Russian winter within those eyes. Dragut had always scoffed at such rubbish, but now, second thoughts were entering his mind.

“I see. Perhaps I shall need to find an officer who can obey my commands.” Suffocating silence hung in the air. Dragut felt his breath leave him. “The men will be ready to attack at dawn”

“Attack? I beg your forgiveness, Kruschovic Bey, but wouldn't a siege be a safer course of action?”

“A siege? A safer course of action? As we speak, the sultan's glorious army marches towards the City. I will not waste my time here, when glory and battle await us at the gates of Constantinople. We will take this hovel, Antalya, by storm. Then we shall march along the coast. I have a few other tasks in store.”

“As you wish, Kruschovic Bey.”

 

[Lord Durham]

December 22, After Nightfall - Antalya

Pasquale entered the boisterous tavern and waited in the doorway while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Several calls to him to join for ale were pointedly ignored. After a minute he saw the object of his search and threaded his way through the thick crowd to stand and wait before a crowded table.

Captain looked up, then waved a hand for some quiet. "What is it?"

The guard swallowed. "Captain, sir. I think you better come take a look at this."

* * *

Campfires too numerous to count spread across the plains and hills several hundred meters from the city. Pasquale waited beside his commander, stomping his feet in the bitter night cold to drive in a modicum of warmth.

Captain studied the scene in silence. He could see torches bobbing in motion on the far horizon and hear the sound of newly arriving cavalry. Finally, "How long have they been coming in?"

Pasquale jerked at the question. "Since nightfall, sir."

De Lastic walked up, took one look at the campfires, and grunted, "What madness is this?"

Captain shrugged. "Someone's out to prove themselves." He faced the knight. "Well Jean, I'm afraid you will have your work cut out for you."

The knight snorted in derision. "These walls can hold off that rabble. If not, I have the fleet. Does that mean you are going?"

The Free Company commander sighed, "I'm afraid so. Getting caught a siege here will be counterproductive." He pointed at the Turkish camp. "The enemy is split now. I think it wise that we take advantage of that situation."

The Grand Master of Rhodes held out a large hand. "I would have to agree, Robert. I thank you for your aid. The men of the Free Company will always be welcome in Rhodes."

Captain took the hand. "And we shall always be ready to aid the Knights of St. John." He turned to the campfires. "I will give the order to embark immediately. We should be away from here by mid-morning."

De Lastic turned to his aid. "Assemble the officers." To Captain. "No worry. I will provide some distraction for these Turks. Till next time, farewell."

* * *

December 23, 1438 - Late Morning - Off the Coast of Antalya

With the sounds of battle drifting from the city across the calm waters of the Mediterranean to the fleet, Captain watched the buildings grow smaller. The Free Company was on the move, once again, and this time they wouldn't stop until they had reached their final destination... Constantinople.


END OF CHAPTER THREE

 

[unmerged(6777)]

Chapter 4 – The Arrival

January 2nd, 1439 – Early Evening, Constantinople

The sky slowly turned a brilliant red colour as he watched it from the high tower that looked out over the city, the port, and further away the Bosporus.

Blood red, he thought morosely. Fiery.

It’s only a matter of time now. The Ottoman fleet, he had been told, was lethargically gathering in the deep waters of the Black Sea and it was only a matter of time before they sailed through the narrow straits and began their long awaited blockade of his port. When they came, he would order the chain to be pulled taut across the harbour entrance which would hold the Turk at bay.

Unfortunately it would also cut off his only direct link to the rest of Christendom. The enemy’s raiding parties had been increasing in numbers, he’d been told, and communications and food traveled sporadically – if at all – through the lands surrounding the city. Closing the port would signal the end of regular shipments of food, men and arms into his city – all of which were desperately needed - and the long wait would begin. The fires would burn and the blood would flow - a mirror of the sky.

My port. My harbour. My city. Interesting that I think of it as mine, now.

It was…at least for all intents and purposes. With both his brother, the Emperor, and half of the church hierarchy gone - somewhere on the road between Ferrara and Florence according to John’s latest letter – Constantine was the de facto ruler of the last vestiges of the Byzantine Empire. The damned Catholics were dragging their heels, refusing to commit men and resources to the desperately needed crusade until each and every one of their outrageous demands had been met.

I am presiding over the last days of the Empire. How have we offended God so much that he would thus forsake us?

And forsake them God had. Was it not enough that one of the mightiest nations on earth had made clear their intent to bring about the end of the Greeks? The rich and fertile Thracian lands; the bustling port; the command of the trade routes that extended deep into the heart of eastern Europe along the deep, glittering lazy waters of the Danube and fast-flowing torrents of the Volga; Constantinople was the City of Man and the last vestige of a once great Empire.

And they want it! They want it dearly!

But God had not seen fit to deliver unto His people the sword they so desperately needed to hold back the hordes. Instead, He had heaped upon them a calamity of such proportion as had surely not been seen since the days of Moses.

Is not Murâd the Pharaoh of this age?

The City of Man - his city – had been visited by a plague that had decimated the population. Even now, remnants of the black death stalked the streets and alleys of Constantinople, laying low both noble and pauper and filling the small cemeteries to overflowing. Further piles of corpses were burned outside the walls filling the air, daily, with the stench of burning flesh - as had been the case since the horror had first arrived more than a month ago. It had been shortly after part of the Emperor’s delegation had returned from Ferrara and it had entered Constantine’s mind on more than one occasion that this was a devious plot by the Catholics to…but no. Even they would not stoop so low.

It will be worse when they come.

With the city sealed and the gates barred there would be no way to dispose of the dead. Then the wailing – already filling the air with shrill cries as the city’s citizens mourned – would reach terrifying new proportions. His only hope was that the Ottoman army would be further delayed until the plague had finally run its course and until the armies of the faithful came to rid the world of the heathen curse.

“My Prince.”

Constantine turned towards the speaker but the light had faded and the face was in deep shadow, framed by the light of a guttering torch. It took a moment or two before his eyes finally adapted and he recognised his as a cataphract - one of the detachment assigned to guard him this day. The man’s name escaped him.

“Yes?”

“I…” he stopped as his voice broke, and then tried again. “My Prince, I bring grave news.”

Constantine did not trust himself to speak and simply waived the soldier to deliver his tidings.

“Lord Julius is dead.”

And now I have lost the leader both of my army and my garrison.

He turned back to the window and looked out once more over the city. Night had wrapped it in a shroud of darkness which he found, suddenly, a fitting pall. He heard the cataphract leave, then, the footsteps retreating down the steep narrow staircase. Then he saw, across the strait and through his tears, the thing that he had dreaded above all other things: a long column of flickering red snaking across the distant plains towards the new Ottoman construction known as Laimokopia.

They have come.

A gust of wind suddenly extinguished the torch and he was left standing in the night.

* * * * * * *

Ishak Pasha was a patient man when he had to be – which was not often, granted, but one learned such skills as one rose through the ranks of the Janissaries.

His vanguard had reached Rumeli Hisar at last light – and he with them. Now he awaited the pleasure of the fortress’ master, Hilal Pasha, the most favoured First Vizier and right hand of the Khan. His friend was unlikely to be doing so for any reason other than necessity; and the unexpected news that thousands of sipahi, azebs and Janissary within several hours’ march had undoubtedly set off a flurry of activity that would last long into the night.

But while he gave this delay no second thought, the lack of any word whatsoever in the past two weeks from Kruschovic Bey annoyed him to no end and preoccupied his mind, leading him to pace back and forth in the room that had been assigned to him upon his arrival. A half-eaten meal sat on the table where he had abandoned it, and he found himself drawn over and over again to the window that looked out over the black waters of the Bosporus.

He could see the object of his master’s desire springing to light further south along the far shore. When its walls fell and the Janissaries marched through the broken city gates, the Sultan’s Empire would reach a new zenith. New riches would pour into Murâd’s coffers and, by extension, into his own and into those of Hilal. The tattered remains of the pathetic infidel forces would quake as the massed armies of God began their advance. Allah would surely bless his people above all others as they swept deep into the heart of the unbelievers’ lands and forever erased their blight upon the face of the lands.

God is great. God is strong.

I will smite their gates with my fists and God will give me the strength to rend them. I will tear down their castles, stone by blood-soaked stone, and God will give me the strength to see them utterly crushed. There was a light, he saw, at the top of the highest tower of the City - a torch, weaving back and forth with the wind. There was a figure there as well – he could see it silhouetted in the window. A sentry? A Pasha – or whatever it was the thrice-accursed Greeks called their military commanders? Perhaps even the Emperor himself…but no. It had been confirmed only recently by their secret ally that John VIII was still in Italy, trying to resolve his differences with the other infidels and raise and army to oppose the Khan’s irresistible might.

As he watched, the distant flicker went out.

“Ishak!”

The Pasha spun on his heel, bowing deeply to the First Vizier before striding forward to embrace him.

“Hilal Pasha; my friend.”

“Have your needs been attended to?”

“Yes, thank you Hilal Pasha.” Courtesy dictated that he bow again and he did so without resentment.

“And how else may I assist the commander of the Sultan’s vanguard?”

It was said in jest and so he smiled. “I need boats. Many, many boats.”

“Planning to do some fishing are you Ishak?”

Laughter filled the air for a good many moments.

“Only for Christians, my friend. Only for Christians.”

“You will find them hiding behind their walls, and few in number at that. An illness ravages them and has done so for at least a month.”

God is great. God is strong.

 

[driftwood]

January 9, 1439 - Konya

Murad paced the walls of his latest conquest, his boots crunching on the snow. Up on the Anatolian plateau, in January, the weather was much like it must have been back in the inner Asian steppe whence his ancestors came. He huffed, watching his breath hang in the air, like little bits of his soul. Snuffling a bit, he decided that the bitter cold was somewhat pleasant all the same.

Strange, he thought. Right now, my armies could be crossing the Bosphorus. Sacking Constantinople. Being slaughtered by some wily general. And I have nothing better to do than watch my soul freeze in the air in front of me.

He looked out into the maddening emptiness of Karaman, where somewhere Old Musa and his army ran around like headless chickens. Brutally effective headless soldier-chickens.

With a sigh, he unrolled the first of two letters he had just received. Who knows how many other dispatches had been buried in the mountain passes. Maybe he would find them in the spring.

The first, he saw with delight, was from his beloved Mara:

Murad, Khan of my heart,

I have written to my father, as you asked. He says the Serbs will not abandon their suzerain - that no armies have passed through his lands and he will not permit any to do so. He asks if you would like a detachment of his finest archers.

Here in Edirne, the entire Porte is abuzz. It is absolutely dreadful. Every gossip is suddenly the best-informed person in the Empire and every normal person is now a gossip. Of course, there's no news. Except that your new fortress on the Bosphorus has been completed and is magnificent. Your German made a new demon cannon which can destroy mountains across oceans! The First Vizier has ordered more for the fortress, which people insist on calling Rumeli Hisar.

Your son, Ala ed-Din, wants to command the armies assaulting Constantinople, but Hilal Pasha has managed to avoid making any commitments. One of your other sons by a slave girl, Mehmed, stabbed a servant through the foot for spilling some coffee. All the palace guards seem to like him, nonetheless.

As I'm sure you guessed, all the metropolitans and bishops have fallen into line, saying that God has forsaken the Emperor in Constantinople because of his iniquities and that you are the true heir to Rum. Any of the Christians who are still uneasy only need to take a look at all the extra silver they still have after they pay their taxes and they seem to lose their doubts.

I wish I had more interesting news to tell you, but life here is really quite dull without you. I found the last flower of autumn - the chief eunuch swears it was the very last in all of Europe - which I thought you would enjoy.

Your beloved,
Mara

Falling out of the letter was a pressed flower. Murad scooped it out of the snow to smell it, but even as he did so, it crumbled into nothing.

With a sigh, he tucked away the letter and opened the other dispatch. It contained the latest rumors from the campaign.

As he scanned it, he swore violently. Something about pirates and Antalya? The Knights of Rhodes? What the hell was going on behind his back?

He stormed back inside to write Ishak Pasha a demand for explanation of certain matters ...

 

[TheWildFerret]

January 9, 1439 - At sea

Erik checked on the disposition of his men. They had been out to sea for a while now and knew that morale could be suffering. He made idle chit chat with his men, gauging their moods. It ranged from excitement to boredom, but no one seemed depressed or likely to start any trouble on board the vessal.

Once he had made his rounds he called a meeting of his Sergeants and Trenen.

"I want you to section off a portion of the deck and do weapons training. Four men at a time, two up front with Zweihanders, two behind with pikes. No armor and tell them that if they begin to lose their balance or feel like they are about to fall over to release their weapons immediately. Pikes can be replaced, but well trained men can not."

"Is it truly necessary sir?" asked one Sergeant.

"Yes it is, the men are getting bored and restless. This will fill their time and teach them to get the feel for their balance. I want no man in my outfit looking like a bunch of drunk Swiss Pikemen." This created a few snickers from his men. "Any other questions? Good, we start tomorrow. Trenen stay behind, the rest of you are dismissed, arrange a cycle to rotate the men through, 2 hours each. This should rotate the men through once every 4 days or so. Should keep them keen and ready."

The Sergeants wandered off discussing the details of the training. Erik turned to Trenen. "What do you think Trenen? We're now the reserve for the Company."

Trenen looked at Erik and thought before he responded. "To be honest, I'm not sure. We're the best trained pike unit out here, no doubt about that, but we do lack the crossbowmen that the other units have. We're also better trained at handling any quick and precise movements on the battlefield. I especially noticed that a couple of the pike formations seemed a bit clumsy. Not novice clumsy, but perhaps untried clumsy. I think he chose the best unit for the job, I may not like it, but I can understand why he made the decision."

Erik smiled at Trenen's observation. "I concur with your assessment. I just like to get other opinions and observations."

Erik settled into a sitting position by the gunwale and looked out across the water to the coast. Why do I have a bad feeling about this and why do I feel it will be a very long time before I see home again. Erik looked to the sky and sat in quiet thought.

 

[Norgesvenn]

In the Aegan Sea

Sailing at night was strangely soothing. They had left Antalya, and the Knights of St. John behind. Seemed as if it was just a few days since they’d been in Rhodes, Alv thought.

So much had happened. Now he finally had the time to reflect upon it. He had left Enrico behind with the Jewish doctor in Antalya, with a hefty amount of Florins to cover any expenses. Enrico’s arm would probably never be of much use any more, and it had been with a heavy heart Alv left his wounded friend.

Earlier that day he had noticed the new group of infantry training even when on board the ship. Such odd behaviour Alv hadn’t seen for all his time. Somewhat greenish in facial complexion, the Germans had exercised for quite some time.

Alv had watched, and was impressed. He still didn’t trust people who fought with heathens, though.

He took a stroll along the deck, watching the foreign landscapes of the land of the Turk. “Constantinople”. He said the word aloud to himself, then self-consciously looked over his shoulder and to the sides to see if anyone had heard him. He was in his mid-thirties, not some old crackpot tosser.

 

[Craig Ashley]

January 9, Evening - The Countryside of Thrace

Dark, black smoke rose into the brilliant evening sky. Kruschovic Bey watched with grim satisfaction. Another fortress humbled before my greatness. Since the slaughter at Antalya, his army had marched up the Turkish peninsula, crossed the sea at the first possible point and began a march of terror. Caravans and envoys were captured or destroyed. Any local populations known to openly defy the sultan's wishes were shown the folly of their ways. There were still a few Byzantine fortifications that stood in defiance of the Ottoman Empire. They were old, decrepit buildings. Undermanned and out of supply, they made for easy prey. The one now set ablaze had resisted him for most of the day, the longest to date. The Russian's mind still wandered back to Anatlya.

No matter how great his successes here, Pasha would still remember the failure at Antalya. The damnable Hospitallers tried to hold the city against his onslaught. Few in numbers, they gave way and tried to retreat to the sea. Fighting in the streets, his army massacred those who fought, but their sacrifice allowed their brethren to flee. The few who were taken alive confirmed, after rigorous interrogation, that the Free Company had been here. Yes, they employed a variety of Muslim cavalry including Mongols, Moors, and Bedouins. Yes, they also employed Welsh bowmen, Swiss pikes, along with an assorted collection of men-at-arms. Finally, yes, they were on their way to Constantinople.

The Emir was returned to his palace and, to Vladimir's surprise, readily agreed to sign documents, accepting all blame for the loss of the city. The Bey had planned to forge these papers if needed, but this would make his job much easier. The Bey knew he would not escape unscathed, but he was sure that his career and life were safe. After all, if I have failed, then Pasha has failed. In that way we are linked. My failures are Pasha's failures. After a brief pause he bitterly added, And my success, is Pasha's success. Pushing this away - because it displeased him greatly and because, he knew no way to alter this truth - the Bey turned his thoughts to the immediate future. Along the road, one last castle remained. Then the countryside would be subdued. By now, even Pasha and his leisurely pace, will have reached the City of Man. The Bey planned on joining him within the week.

Tonight his men would rest. Rest well. Tomorrow and all the days until they reached the Roman's gates, they would march sixteen hour days. Glory, honor, and battle called.

 

[HJ Tulp]

In the Aegan Sea.

Sergeant Hendrik Johan Tulp stood on the deck of one of the transports. Suddenly Frank Verbeeldt stood beside him.

"And what did Captain say?" asked Frank.

"Nothing, before he could answer he was called away."

"Too bad."

"Well, maybe the harbor of Constantinople are closed and we turn around. By the way, if we still go, do you go with us?"

"Me? Why?"

"You're one of the few who speak greek and turkish."

"I dunno."

"We can collect much loot."

"I'll see."

 

[Valdemar]

The Agean sea, aboard “Athene”

Frederik was standing by the railing looking at the gray haze of the coast that slowly undulated in the horizon as the fleet approached their final destination. The sudden appearance of the Ottoman army outside Antalya had called for a quick boarding of the fleet and Frederik had had no choice but to follow Captain and his officers back aboard the Cyprian’s ship. The first few days he had moved around with a certain amount of wariness expecting either the old man or his surrogate daughter to confront him on the contents of the extra chest. Hopefully the fact that Jacques was now in possession of the Company’s part of the loot prevented the old pirate from claiming further parts. The Mongols had taken their part with them on a different ship, thereby effectively bringing it out of the Cyprian’s reach.

As the days went by without confrontation he stopped worrying, but out of old habits he never one moment let down his guard, unless surrounded by some of the officers.

Frederik was looking forward to reaching their destination; finally he would be back to his sort of environment. First order of business would be to get reacquainted with his contacts and get an update on whatever information had been out of reach. Secondly he wanted to look into the Venetian connection he and Annette had discussed on Rhodes, but until then all he could do was relax and hope they could slip by the blockade without trouble.

 

[unmerged(6777)]

In the Aegean Sea

"What in God's name are they doing?"

Alv and Roos were leaning against the rail, watching a handful of Germans waving their pikes around in a strange manner. The gentle rocking of the ship in the calm seas had prompted the two to go for a stroll around the decks and talk general strategy until they had happened across the...

"Maybe it's some sort of drill?" Renaud guessed, although he was entirely unsure that this was the case.

A small wave struck the side of the boat and a couple of the men dropped their pikes which hit the deck and then rolled off into the blue depths.

"Must have quite a budget for weapons," said the Norwegian, utterly unaffected by the swell. "That must be at least a dozen of them overboard in just the last ten minutes."

Roos, far less comfortable afloat than the northerner, had grabbed the rail and thus almost missed the excitement, but it pleased him that even he had developed better sea legs than the men they'd been watching. Shaking his head, he looked out over the waters to the north. "No sign of any Ottoman galleys."

"Oh they won't bother us out here," said Alv. "I heard the Cyprian talking to Captain just the other day. He said they'd probably wait until we were within the narrow confines of the Bosphorus."

"Delightful."

"Don't worry Renaud. I'm sure the Cyprian has some sort of plan to evade them."

"I hope so," Roos commented dryly, "because that lot sure isn't going to be much use if they keep throwing their weapons overboard."

Alv chuckled, and the two resumed their tour of the deck...

 

[Lord Durham]

January 12, 1439 - The Sea of Marmara - Afternoon

The kingfisher swooped gracefully from the clouded sky, skimming the choppy water, head moving side to side in a search for prey. Diving swiftly, it disappeared, only to reappear with a fish speared squarely on its beak. It flew triumphantly toward the shore to the resounding cheers of the men.

"Got to give that bird credit, it's freezing out here." Captain mumbled to Constance. The slender woman, barely recognizable in a huge fur overcoat, snuggled closer. Captain put his arm around her waist.

"They're still with us, my love." Constance pointed toward the bow of the Athene.

Two dolphins leapt into the air, their sleek blue-grey bodies undulating in a graceful motion, a cacophony of pops and whistles announcing their presence to the fleet. The mercenaries cheered their appreciation at the display.

"Joneaz said dolphins are good luck." Captain glanced to the rear of the fleet, straining to see any sign of Turkish sails on the horizon. There was none. He squinted - his eyes were not as sharp as they once were. "I'm beginning to believe him."

"The Cyprian said we left them behind in the Dardanelles, Robert. If anyone knows about sailing, it's Joneaz."

Captain smiled down at the dark-haired woman, "You're right, of course, Countess."

"You haven't called me that in years."

"Slip of the tongue."

The men cheered again as the dolphins performed a series of flips.

"Slip of the tongue? Show me..."

He did.


January 14, 1439 - Sea of Marmara - Morning

Two days later Captain and Constance stood on the foredeck of the Athene as guests of the Cyprian. The grizzled man held his cane extended forward. "See that smudge - just ahead and slightly to the left? That's Constantinople."

Maria said, "We should be there by mid afternoon, if the wind holds true and we don't have to rely on our oars."

Constance shivered. "Is the sea always this rough?"

Maria laughed. "Rough? This is rather calm for this time of year, Constance. You don't want to see it when it gets rough." She looked at the sky. "Aye, I think we'll be fine."

They returned to watching the smudge as it slowly grew into a city.


January 14, 1439 - Constantinople - Mid-Afternoon

The deck of the Athene was crowded as everyone stared in wonder at the monstrous walls of the most renowned city in the world.

To the vast majority of the Free Company, the capital of the once proud Byzantine Empire was as alien to them as fabled Samarkand. It was a sight most had never expected to witness in their lifetime.

Gone were the reasons why they had come, lost in the marvel and awe of the moment. The buzz of conversation was muted, the men pointing at the high battlements and the evenly spaced towers. Many commented that the Sultan was mad, that the city was impregnable and would never fall. Many, but not all.

Standing off to the side, Otto and Dieter exchanged looks. The walls were too high and too straight. The era of tall, massive fortifications had come and gone. They would provide little protection against a determined assault by an enemy with siege cannon...

* * *

The fleet sailed along the gentle crook of Constantinople, the city lying majestically to their left. Eventually they departed the wide-open waters of the Sea of Marmara and entered the straits of the Bosporus.

Slowly, the fleet crept deeper into the narrow confines of the notoriously rough waterway, hooking around the promontory of the city until another body of water appeared to their left. Here the city of Constantinople cut back to follow the length of the new river.

Joneaz announced simply, "The Golden Horn."

Constance pointed to the opposite shore. "What fortress is that on the other side?"

Maria said, "That is Pera. Pera belongs to the Genoese. If you look closely, you will see the links of a chain anchored on the fortress wall."

"A chain?"

The young woman sketched a path from one side of the Golden Horn to the other. "There is a massive chain that can be raised to close off the harbour. See the wooden floats, over..."

The Cyprian suddenly cut in. "I think we'll have need of that chain sooner than you think, my dear."

The small group followed his gaze. Further up the Bosporus was a large fleet, spanning the width of the strait. It came closer as they watched. The angled sails were Turkish.

* * *

With the sighting the enemy fleet, the commander of the Venetian escort decided that discretion was the better part of valor and ordered his galleys about, leaving the Cyprian to protect the transports.

After uttering a string of rather colourful invectives, Captain Joneaz proved himself up to the task of organising the flotilla. While under the watchful eye of Constantinople's garrison, he directed the remainder of the fleet toward the Horn entrance. Between shouted orders he leaned over to Captain. "Have you got that pretty flag of yours handy?"

Captain noted that the chain was beginning to flex and rise from the choppy water. He said, grimly, "The Byzantines don't trust you?"

"They see a Turkish fleet coming down the strait from one direction and us coming from the other. Would you trust us?"

"I suppose not." Captain called for the banner, and within minutes it was on the foredeck. He said to the flag bearer, a young man named William, "Unfurl it, lad. Let the garrison see who we are."

The ties were released and the banner of the Free Company raised, catching and snapping sharply in the wind. For several minutes there was no reaction. The chain continued to rise, and the Turkish sails loomed larger.

The Cyprian said quietly, "Come on, you dolts! Don't any of you have eyes?"

Suddenly the groaning of the chain stopped, and it relaxed ever so slightly to dip back into the water.

The Cyprian clapped his hands. "Good! Now comes the fun part. We have to sail the fleet between those two wooden floats in the center of the Horn."

"Why's that?" Constance asked.

Maria laughed, "Do you have any idea how many men it takes to operate the winch for that chain? They'll let us through, but they certainly won't release it. The chain will be at its lowest level in the center."

* * *

The race to the Horn turned out to be anti-climatic. The fleet passed into the grand harbour, the chain moving again before the last ship had passed over it. The Turkish fleet sailed past to shouts of derision and the odd mooning.

On the massive dock a party of officials quickly gathered. The fleet was brought as close as possible to the wharves, with the Athene given preference for berthing, and the other ships jockeying for position. Ropes were tossed to the dockhands and the ship was made fast. A gangplank appeared, and Captain and the Cyprian stepped off onto dry land.

They were greeted by several elegantly dressed officials, one of whom stepped forward. "I am Thomas Palaeologus, brother to the Emperor, and to the Regent, Constantine. Welcome to Constantinople."

Captain sketched a bow. "I am Robert of Brandon, otherwise known as Captain. I bring you the Free Company, and offer my services in the defense of your city."

The youngest of the ruling family smiled. "John wrote us of your coming. It would appear you were not a moment too soon." He looked at the bent man beside Captain. "Captain Joneaz? Is it truly you?" His face took on a momentary look of remorse, but it was quickly swept away. "I have servants preparing barracks for you as we speak." He lowered his voice. "Know you that we have just recovered from a bout of plague. It cost us dearly. I ask that your men stay close to your assigned quarters for now, until the surgeons have declared the city completely free of pestilence."

Plague? Captain felt a pang of fear and thought of Constance.

Thomas discerned the worried look. "No fear, Robert. You will be billeted near the Church of St. Theodosia. It is quite removed from the areas afflicted." He smiled again. "You are most welcome, more so than you think. However, let my brother Constantine explain it to you. Come. I'll show you to your billets. Let the men settle and relax, for I fear they will have little time for it."

Captain nodded, then let himself be led through the Gate of Theodosia, and into the City of the World's Desire...

 

[unmerged(6528)]

January 14th, 1439 - Mid Afternoon

"For the love of God, watch out with those spare pikes!" Lochlan yelled, his voice harsh as he directed the infantry who were unloading the supplies. "Pile them over there. No there!" He pointed, not looking away til he was satisfied the men had the right idea.

He looked farther down the pier, where the sergeants were directing similar endeavors, and since Captain was at some sort of meeting, it fell on Lochlan to makesure this got done.

"Alv!" He bellowed, and the norwegian trotted over.

"yes sir?" He asked.

"Any of the regiments formed up yet?" Lochlan asked, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

"Those germans are ready to go I think." He said cautiously. "Probably because they have the smallest number of men total, makes it easier you know." He said in a mildly sarcastic tone.

Lochlan grunted. "Run down there and tell that Jaeger or whatever his name is to come up here." Rather than reply, Alv saluted in an insulting manner, and trotted off down the pier.

"Hans, go find Roos. I since the bulk of the infantry supplies are going to be sllit between us, I want him over here helping me organize this shit." The german, standing behind him taking notes, tossed Lochlan the pad of paper he was using and walked off toward where the swiss Keil was forming up.


"Thanks." Lochlan, and he scanned the list. "Everything seems to be in order." He murmured. Then he heard a massive crash, and the neighing of horses.

"What are you doing to my horse!" One of the bedouins yelled at someone Lochlan couldn't see.

"Have mercy." the ranger said irritably. "Severus better take care of that, those cavalry boys are outside my authority."

Despite the apparent attention, and the standard griping he was giving his task, not all of Lochlans attention was focused on it. There was something in the back of his mind.

It was the city, something about this place bothered him. It could have been the smell, the color of the buildings, the sounds of fluid greek, or even the noises of the Bosphorus. Whatever it was, it was really starting to grate on his nerves.

I have a bad feeling about this place. Which isn't a new thing, but still. The Company has been in a few tight spots before, but nothing like this.

"Otto!" he yelled, and pointed. "What your looking for is over there! No, a little farther, there!."

Maybe I'm just feeling my age, but Captains older than me. Well, he was bred for war. What was I bred for, killing? Is that the same thing?

"Vincent." The scout called out. "Take this list to whoever's going to be provisioning us, and find out where the hell were putting the horses."

"Yessir!" The infantryman said, and ran off.

He's a good kid, goddamn, when did I start thinking of them as kids. Thats easy, since you never had any of you own. Well, who was available? You could have looked harder.

"Shur'tu, I'm over here." He said, loudly enough to attract the mans attention. "I have Vincent checking on where were putting the horses, keep an eye out for him."

"Good." the horseman said, and walked back to his own men. Lochlan rolled his eyes.

whatever is going to happen here, its not going to be good....

 

[J. Passepartout]

"What are you doing to my horse?" cried Al-Waqqas.

"Al-Waqqas! I have found you again!"

"What? Who are you?"

"Abdul Ali."

Al-Waqqas looked closely at the man. He did look like Ali.

"You come from Mecca?"

"Yes."

"I think we must talk to Al-Capitan. If you are Ali, he will wish to know you are back."

"Very well. Lead me. I have never been in this city before."

 

[Faeelin]

The City, January 14, 1439

Omar stepped onto the docks in Constantinople. He couldn’t believe it. “What a dump!” he exclaimed.

The once majestic villas lay empty, and the port was almost completely deserted. True, the threat from the Turk to the city probably didn't help, but Omar got the impression that it was like this even in the best of times.

Omar continued grumbling, and decided to find Yusuf. Yusuf was staring across the Horn. Omar approached. “My sayyad, I have a list of complaints for you.”

Yusuf grunted in acknowledgement.

“First, the food has been of rather low quality. Mostly salted beef, and stale bread. The wine’s been bad as well.”

“Has it?”

”Yes. Furthermore, while there has been a great deal of plunder, I have not received much of it, because I was playing nursemaid to an Italian brat.”

Yusuf clenched his fists. “Haven’t you been taking weapons from the fallen Turks?”

Omar hesitantly nodded. “But they’re all shoddily made.”

”Are they? I thought they were equal in weaponry to the Franks and other Latins.”

Omar shrugged. “Well, maybe the Sultan is, but not the Emir’s army. So I don’t know what to do with the weapons.”

Yusuf made several imaginative but ultimately unfeasible suggestions for what Omar could do with the weapons.

“Alright, alright,” said Omar, waving his arms. “But look. Let’s be practical. The Turks have a bigger army. It has heavy cannon, and has blockaded the city. It also has a great deal of money, which I would happily help them part with.

The Byzantines, on the other hands, are vassals of Venice. And Venice, as you’ll note from its fleet which has sailed off, is doing a very, very, sorry job of protecting it.” He paused, and continued. “Something you might want to keep in mind.”

Yusuf looked at him, silent for a second. “When Murad is dead, perhaps. But not before then will I turn Turk. And Laurena needs help with Roberto.”

Omar sighed, and shrugged. Maybe he’d find something of note in the city. He quickly walked off.

Yusuf remained behind, and looked into the water. Allah certainly loved his irony, he thought. He rescues the baby of a woman who signs up with the Company to get revenge as a cross bower. And she hates Moors, to boot.

Yusuf sighed. Nothing is ever simple.

 

[EmprorCoopinius]

Finally. The City.

Severus stepped off the galley, his feet on Roman soil for the first time in months. He hadn't been away so long since his first foray with the Free Company, all those years ago. Captain was quickly sequestered by the reception committee, and Severus found himself supervising the unloading and transport of the majority of the Company's mounts. Stables had been provided, grudgingly. The inhabitants of the city seemed to be already conquered, shuffling about furtively, like mice six inches from the cat.

Severus grunted at the analogy turned away from the docks, his gaze drfting across the once great city. As soon as he was finished here he had other business to attend to.

 

[driftwood]

January 14th, 1439 - Nova Roma

"One, two, three ... I can only see three." Jacques strained onto his tiptoes, staring intently at the wall of palaces and villas.

"There are seven hills," Annette reassured Jacques yet again. "I walked them. But some of them ... well, you have to be creative about where one ends and the next starts."

"Oh." Jacques didn't appear completely convinced. Annette smiled at him indulgently as he squinted suspiciously at the skyline.

"Do you remember when you chased after me in Thessalonica? After all those years?" she asked as she snuggled closer.

"I remember," Jacques said distractedly, "that you knocked over several old men with your baby trying to catch up to me."

Annette wiggled her small nose. "Well, the details aren't important. It's just been a long time since we've been in a Roman city."

Jacques finally looked down. "When in Rome ..." he said as he leaned over to kiss her.

* * * * *​

Jacques thought his throat would go raw from all the shouting. Anyone who thought the mere threat of plague would keep hundreds of stir-crazy mercenaries from wandering off in a city fabled for its wealth and variety of unorthodox entertainments was sorely mistaken.

"You there! No, the horses go downwind, near the latrines. Well, there will be some latrines soon. Where are the Moors?"

He looked down and realized he was holding the lid of a crate of crossbow bolts. His eyes lit up as he saw a lithe figure wandering off with some of the other soldiers.

"Hey, ah, Lor- Laurena!" She skittered to a halt and turned around. "I want you to find all the crossbow bolts - only some of them are in this crate - and make sure they're correctly distributed between Lt Lochlan, Lt Roos, and myself. But don't give me any now, I don't have anywhere to put them," he finished in a rush as she tried to hand the bolts back to him.

"What am I ---?" she started to say.

"You'll do fine!" Jacques yelled in the opposite direction as he ran after some Welsh longbowmen who had decided to take a nap right there in the middle of the chaos.

Several Neapolitan men-at-arms were fingering the pommels of their swords, glaring at the icons proudly displayed on the thresholds of the churches.

"Is there a problem here, soldiers?" Jacques asked.

"Well, sir," one of them answered slowly, "we're good Christian lads, and we don't much take to these here pictures ... the way they glitter an' such, seems the work of the devil to us. Be best if we smashed 'em. Bad enough we work with the mongrel heathens - an' they're good boys, don't get me wrong! - but God's already a-visited 'em with the plague, an all."

He shrugged, the gesture falling well short of an apology.

"What's your name?" Jacques asked grimly.

The soldier ground some bug under his boot.

"Your name, soldier," Jacques repeated quietly.

"Guido, from Lt. Lochlan's regiment," he finally said slowly.

"Well, Guido, if a single dying bird gets turned around by the wind and ticks a piece of glass of one of those icons, I'll blame you. And I'm sure Captain will consider such blasphemy to be an even more serious crime than theft."

All of the soldiers gulped.

"Fellows," Jacques continued, easing his tone, "Constantinople has stood for over a thousand years. It's been in worse spots than this. You know it has seven hills, just like the first Rome?" They didn't appear very impressed. "Don't worry, there's more going on than it sometimes seems. Everything's going to work out fine."

I certainly hope that's true, Jacques thought as he went off to stop some French who were curiously digging through the Company armory...