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“You only now missed him. There was a fight, and he went to see about it.”
Constantine leaned out over the wall, itching at his beard. “If the Italians send us nothing else but Giustiniani, they have still done more to help than anyone. I cannot keep the Genoese from fighting with the Venetians, who fight with the Greeks, who suspect the Genoese, who hate the Orthodox, who hate the Catholics. Only the Turks under Orhan seem to get along with everyone.” He smiled wryly at Radu.
“Orhan is still here?” Radu was surprised that he had not fled the city in advance of the siege.
“He has nowhere else to go. And I am glad for his help, and the help of his men. He is no Giustiniani, but no one is. Except perhaps Hunyadi.”
Radu was eager to contribute to a topic he knew something about. “I had never heard of Giustiniani before, but if he is anything like Hunyadi, the Ottomans will fear and hate him.”
“They fear Hunyadi that much?”
“He is a specter that haunts them. Even their victories against him count for little when stacked against how much he has cost them. His name alone would cause problems for Mehmed.”
Constantine nodded thoughtfully. “He should have been here by now. I am afraid we have lost him.”
“But you have more Venetians?” Radu hoped it sounded like he was trying to be positive rather than fishing for more information.
“Only a handful. We hope more are coming. Galata, our neighbor, will send no men. They are too afraid of being caught in the conflict. They are everyone’s allies, and thus no one’s. It was all we could do to make them attach the boom across the horn.”
The giant chain that closed access to the Golden Horn bay was strung from Constantinople to Galata. Sitting along the swift water leading to the horn, Galata lacked Constantinople’s natural defenses. If Mehmed attacked the city, it would fall. But he did not want to waste resources on Galata. If he took Constantinople, Galata would effectively be his.
During the day, people walked freely between the cities, but at night both closed and locked their gates. Radu wished everyone in Constantinople would walk across the bay to Galata and stay there. He did not understand why they stayed in Constantinople. When Mehmed arrived, Radu hoped they would finally see the futility.
“There,” Constantine said, pointing. Cyprian was taking detailed notes. Radu moved closer, following the direction of Constantine’s finger. “We need as many men as can be spared on the Lycus River section.”
Though Constantinople was on a hill, there was one section of the wall that did not command high ground. The Lycus River cut straight through it, making a fosse impossible to dig, and lowering that section to a dangerously accessible level. Radu knew all this from Mehmed’s maps, but it was still a strange thrill to see it in person, and from this side of the wall, too, where he had not expected to be until after the siege.
Constantine detailed which men and commanders should be stationed where. Radu committed it to memory, secreting it away with all the other information he heard. Everywhere they went, Constantine stood straight and confident, complimenting the men on the work in progress, giving suggestions for further improvements. He may have been jeered in the streets, but among the soldiers it was apparent that he was deeply respected—and returned the respect.
“Here,” he said, stopping again. They had come to a patchwork section. Where the other walls were shining limestone with a red seam of brick running through, this one had a haphazard look to it. And, unlike the rest, there was only one wall, rather than two. It jutted out at a right angle, the palace where Constantine lived rising behind it.
“Why is this section so different?” Radu asked, though he knew the answer.
“We could not leave a shrine outside the walls.” Constantine’s tone hinted at annoyance, but his confident smile never left. “We are better protected by one wall and a holy shrine than by two walls without one. Or at least, that was the reasoning a few hundred years ago when they built the wall out to encompass the shrine.”
Constantine noted several weakened and crumbling points as he talked with a foreman directing repairs. Finally, the three men descended the stairs and went back into the city through a sally port, a heavily guarded gate used to let soldiers in and out during attacks. “Tell me, Radu, what do you think of my walls?” Constantine asked.
“I think they deserve their tremendous reputation. They have stood for this long for a reason.”
Constantine nodded thoughtfully. “They will protect us yet.”
They had lasted a thousand years of unchanging siege warfare. But Mehmed was not the past. Mehmed was the future. He brought things no one else had yet imagined, and that no walls had yet seen.
Constantine spoke again, his thoughts apparently on the same man as Radu’s. “I hear the sultan is repairing roads and bridges all over my lands. It is very generous of him to perform maintenance while I am busy. Do you think he would spare some of his men to help us repair the walls while he is at it?”
Radu laughed weakly. “I am afraid I am no longer in the position to make that request.”
Constantine’s face turned serious so quickly that Radu feared he had betrayed something. The emperor’s hand came down on his shoulder, but instead of a blow, it was a reassuring weight. “I know why you fled. Everyone has heard of his depravity, his harems of both women and men. You are safe here, Radu. You never have to go back to that life.”
Several moments passed while Radu worked through Constantine’s words and tone. He looked at Cyprian, who was staring determinedly up at the palace. And then everything made sense. The sneering guard they had passed at the Rumeli Hisari. Everyone’s willingness to accept that Radu would so easily turn from Mehmed. Eyes filled with scorn or with pity.
“I— Yes, thank you. I have to— Excuse me.” Radu turned and walked stiffly away. When he had rounded a corner and was out of sight, he sank against the wall, pushing a fist into his mouth in horror.
Was that the rumor, then? That Mehmed had a male harem? And that Radu had been the jewel of it? Radu the Handsome. Someone else had called him that recently, before the soldier. Halil Vizier, back in Edirne. Was he the source? Was this another tactic of his to demean Mehmed, to make him seem evil?
Radu did not know which filled him with more despair—that everyone had heard this rumor except him, or that the mere suggestion of Mehmed loving women and men was seen as evil. His feelings for Mehmed had never felt evil or wicked. They had been the truest of his life, bordering on holy. To hear his love so casually profaned made him sick to his stomach.
And then another, more horrible thought occurred to him. Mehmed must know about these rumors. Surely he knew. Was the ruse of Radu’s distance from Mehmed not simply for their enemies? The way Mehmed had jumped on the chance to send Radu away, too, with so little preparation or aid. Mehmed had been eager to take the opportunity without any information or guarantees. Radu had thought it was because Mehmed trusted him. Now he wondered.
