January 14, 1439 – Afternoon, Constantinople
Having wound their way through the streets of Constantinople and negotiated the twisting and turning interior of the well-fortified Imperial Palace, Thomas Palaeologus halted before a pair of ornately carved wooden doors, covered in beaten gold leaf and depicting the battle of Milvian Bridge with Constantine the Great in all of his glory. To either side a soldier in the immaculate dress of the elite household guard was standing at attention. One – presumably the senior of the two – saluted the young noble.
“He is expecting me, I believe.”
“Whom shall I say accompanies you, my lord?”
“Robert of Brandon.”
“Very good, sir. Please wait here for a moment.”
The soldier crisply turned and passed through the portals while the other adjusted his position, almost apologetically, to stand immediately in front of the entrance. They did not have to wait long, for the heavy oak was soon pulled aside and the guard gestured for the two men to follow him. “The Prince will see you immediately,” he assured them.
The room was bright with gold and other rich ornamentation, comfortably furnished although perhaps in some state of slight disrepair. The stuccoed walls, once covered with vibrant murals were cracked and peeling in a few places, and dark soot stains marred the images above the wall unlit sconces.
At the opposite side of the room was a large desk with an ivory top and deeply stained mahogany legs. Rising from a chair behind it was a man in opulent garb – although this too seemed to mirror the state of the room in that the elbows and cuffs were somewhat threadbare and the dyes that coloured it seemed faded.
“Welcome, welcome. Please come in,” he said, rounding the edge of the desk and coming to greet the visitors with outstretched hand.
Captain, striding forward to return the gesture, found himself following his usual habit of quick assessment, and what he saw surprised him. The Emperor’s brother was, by all accounts, only three or four years older than his guide was, and yet it seemed a gulf of time separated the two. Where Thomas was young, energetic, pleasant and cheerful, the man he now clasped hands with seemed weary and old. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and deep worry lines creased his face; his gait was one that seemed as though the body carried the entire weight of the world upon its shoulders and almost struggled to place one foot in front of another; his grasp seemed…weak.
None of this registered on the Free Company commander’s face as they released their grasp and Constantine gestured for both he and Thomas to seat themselves and ordered the guard to return to his post.
“Would you care for some wine, Sir Robert?”
“Your highness is too kind, but I would never decline his hospitality.”
Thomas quickly rose to pour out three healthy measures from a nearby decanter, handing the first to his brother and passing the other to Captain as he seated himself once more.
“You have come a long way, Sir Robert; and I understand that you have already met the enemy and sacked his lands. I would expect nothing less of a man with a reputation for excellence such as yours.”
Captain winced internally at the words, although his slight smile showed none of this. Instead, he nodded ever so slightly. “News has a tendency of becoming somewhat…exaggerated when the distance it travels is far. With the help of the Knights of Saint John I was able, briefly, to capture Antalya when it was, for all intents and purposes, undefended. Shortly thereafter we engaged the Emir’s army and defeated it soundly but I would say, with all due respect, that we have only given the vanguard of the Sultan’s army a bloody nose.”
“How so, Sir Robert?”
“The army, as I said your highness, was the Emir’s force. They were poorly trained, poorly equipped, and the Emir does not have much of a reputation for tactical brilliance. He was baited into a trap, and our highly trained forces crushed his disorganised masses. We were forced to quit the area at nightfall though.”
“You were?”
“Yes your highness. Some ten or fifteen thousand Ottoman troops arrived at day’s end and against those numbers, well trained or not, we could not stand. The Knights remained to try to hold Antalya for as long as they could, but I would be shocked if they managed to delay the enemy for more than a day.”
“And that is but the vanguard?”
“It seems likely, your highness. The army of Teke is shattered and may be discounted, but not a single drop of Turkish blood was spilled that day and I think it highly improbable that this represents more than a fraction of their army. I am certain that the sultan was not there, and I saw no person insignia to even suggest that a pasha, let alone a vizier commanded. I suspect that this was merely a show of force, and the message they intended to deliver was one that they hoped would strike fear into our hearts.”
“Ten to fifteen thousand,” the regent sighed, ignoring Captain’s last comment. “And that is not even a drop in the bucket. Where is Murâd with his hordes, then?”
“I think, highness, that this was still a sizeable force. Murâd, according to some prisoners we questioned in Antalya, is rumoured to be far to the east dealing with some sort of insurrection or rebellion. Anatolia, as far as they knew, was virtually emptied of troops. That so many came down upon us so quickly would suggest that the sultan has sent part of his army home, which can only mean one thing.”
“He is preparing to attack us.”
“Most likely, highness, and soon.”
“Sooner than you think, Sir Robert. Less than two weeks ago a large host - at least ten thousand - marched into Laimokopia. These could not have been the same men you saw, and so another army is nearby and it is only a matter of time before they cross the Bosphorus to assail us.”
Captain quickly tallied the enemy forces. Bad, but not too bad.
“We are doomed.”
The despair in Constantine’s voice cut through Captain’s mind like a knife. With an attitude like that, the defenders certainly would be. Constantine was reputed to be an able commander, and with the cream of the Byzantine army under his command he should easily be able to hold a city as defensible as this. He opened his mouth to respond when Thomas spoke.
“Hardly, my brother. We will hold.”
“Hold? Hold with what? For how long? How can we withstand the devil’s hosts?”
“Sir Robert brings many men with him, Constantine. Enough that, added to our existing numbers, we can hold the walls for months. When John returns with the armies of the west…”
“Armies of the west!” Constantine spat. “What armies? You now as well as I do that there will be no crusade – not unless John offers our souls as payment.”
“And what if he does!”
“Gentlemen!” Captain sensed an ongoing and bitter dispute threatening to erupt even further.
Thomas looked a little sheepish for having been stirred to anger so quickly, and Constantine seemed too tired to pursue it further.
“Perhaps we should discuss how my Company may best be employed in your defence? I am at your disposal, highness. What would you have me do?”
“More than you expect,” was the unexpected and downcast reply. Constantine looked up from studying his goblet and seemed to search Captain’s face, though what he was looking for was unknowable. “Tell me,” he continued; “are the stories true about you?”
Captain was uncertain how to respond, for this could be dangerous ground. “I am not sure what you have heard, highness.”
“The siege…the…” the regent seemed unsure how to phrase it. Eventually he chose a course. “You are familiar with sieges and warfare. Intimately familiar, I’ve heard.”
Captain almost smiled. “Yes, highness.”
“You have commanded them? Many of them? You know the Turk?”
It was not a pleasant memory. “Yes.”
“Then I must ask you to serve me by taking over command of our defences.”
“WHAT?!”
From beside him, Thomas spoke up once more. “The plague has taken the lives of our two best leaders, Sir Robert. Lord Julius died on the same day that the Turks arrived in Laimokopia leaving us with no man of any real experience to plan our defence. Constantine has been doing his best, but the demands of his office…”
“I need you, Robert,” pleaded the regent. “There is no one else.”
Captain regarded the Emperor’s two brothers. He had not come here to take over such a burden, and yet here they were thrusting it in his lap. Could he refuse? Probably, but there was a problem with doing so…he’d be under the command of someone less suited to do the job. Poor commands had a nasty way of being very bloody.
“You wish me to command the entire defence?”
Constantine nodded.
“All of it…including your forces and any mercenaries or other men who are here or who might join us later?”
Again, the regent confirmed this.
“And no one will gainsay my orders, yourselves included?”
Thomas seemed concerned with this stipulation. “Except for my brother or myself, or course.”
Captain turned full to face him. “No. No exceptions. If you wish to command then you must take command and hold it absolutely. When there is a question of command, men begin to question orders. When they question orders, they tend not to obey the ones they don’t like and seek, instead, to persuade others against them. If I command then I will command.”
“But…”
“He is right, Thomas. Very well, Sir Robert, I agree to your terms on two conditions.”
“That is…?”
“I reserve the right to remove you from command if I feel you are failing your task. Also, when the Emperor returns he may wish to do otherwise. I may not agree to something that is binding on my brother.”
“I understand, highness, and I agree to your conditions.”
Constantine began writing orders onto a parchment on his desk. “Then I hereby appoint you to be in supreme command of our city’s defences. Now, how do we begin?”
