Free Siege by Jack Hight Page A

liking. ‘They are to rule in the Morea, Demetrius from Clarenza and Thomas from Mistra.’
    Mehmed could hardly believe the news. The last he had heard, Constantine was in Mistra, a good month’s travel from Constantinople. How had he managed to be crowned so quickly? Mehmed’s spies had assured him that the brothers would contest the throne. He vowed silently to have every last one of them beheaded. ‘And what is this message that your emperor sends?’
    ‘He has sent me with a tribute of one thousand silver stavratons as a token of his goodwill and desire for continued peace between our nations.’
    ‘Peace?’ Mehmed laughed. He gestured to the army stretching away behind him. ‘As you can see, it is too late for peace.’ The Greeks might be united, but that would not stop Mehmed’s plans. ‘I have a message of my own for your emperor. Ulu, cut off his head and send it to Constantinople on a platter.’
    ‘You speak out of turn, Prince Mehmed.’ It was Murad. He was on horseback behind Mehmed, sitting stiffly in the saddle. Mehmed wondered how long he had been there. ‘One should always treat ambassadors with courtesy,’ Murad continued as he urged his horse alongside Mehmed’s. ‘We are not savages, to ignore all laws of civility.’ He turned towards Sphrantzes. ‘Greetings, Lord Sphrantzes. You are welcome in the lands of Osman.’
    ‘Many thanks, honoured Sultan,’ Sphrantzes replied with feeling and bowed. ‘I bring you greetings from My Lord Constantine, newly crowned Emperor of the Romans, who offers you a gift as token of his goodwill.’
    ‘This is joyous news indeed,’ Murad said. ‘I approve of Constantine’s coronation and thank him for his gift. I, of course, desire nothing but peace between our two great empires. Tonight I shall hold a feast at my palace in honour of the new emperor, and you shall be our guest of honour.’
    ‘You are most kind, Your Highness.’
    ‘Now, Lord Sphrantzes, I beg your leave. I shall see you tonight.’
    Sphrantzes bowed and was led away. ‘But what of our army?’ Mehmed asked as soon as he was gone. ‘We should strike now, while we are ready.’
    ‘Silence, my son,’ Murad replied. ‘My decision is made, and I will not be swayed. A wise sultan knows the value of peace.’
    ‘And a wise sultan is not afraid to strike when the time is right,’ Mehmed insisted. ‘They will not expect our attack, even less so now that an emperor has been crowned, and you have promised peace.’
    ‘I will not attack after I have given my word. Striking now would be foolish. I had hoped for a swift campaign, to take advantage of the fighting amongst the Greeks. Our army is not strong enough to take a united Constantinople, nor is it prepared for a long winter siege. This campaign is over, Prince Mehmed. Disband the army. You may return to Manisa.’
    ‘Yes, Father,’ Mehmed said, his voice thick with disappointment. He sat dejected as the long column of the army reversed direction and began the short march back to Edirne. Silently, he cursed his father’s cowardice. He cursed the new emperor as well. They had ruined his plans, taken his army from him. They had stolen his chance for glory, his chance to be the true sultan once more. Mehmed spurred his horse to a gallop, streaking past the long line of troops, flying back towards Edirne as if he could outrun his disappointment. But he could not, and as he rode his eyes stung with bitter tears.

Chapter 4
    FEBRUARY 1449: GENOA
    L a Fortuna arrived in Genoa in the evening, gliding across the smooth waters of the bay and tying up at one of the Giustiniani family piers. Beyond the pier, the city rose before Longo, densely packed buildings huddled beneath the steep hills that encircled the city. The tops of the hills were lightly dusted with snow, glowing crimson in the evening light. Longo left his men to unload the ship while he, Tristo and William walked through the city’s narrow, winding streets and to the nearby