Free Constantinopolis by James Shipman

only one piece of bad news My Lord but I have two.”
    “What could it be now?” repeated the Emperor.
    “First My Lord, I have news of the Venetians captured last fall when their ship was sunk. They were ushered before Mehmet after a period of imprisonment. Mehmet ordered them beheaded. They were all executed.”
    “Terrible. Spread the news through the city. The people must remember what we are dealing with, and what will happen to them if the city ever falls. I hope that’s the worst news.”
    “No My Lord, unfortunately it is not. The other news is far more grave. Apparently that Hungarian Orban who came here last year searching for work has instead been retained by the Turks. He has constructed a number of cannons, including a huge monster, larger than any cannon ever constructed. This cannon was tested ten days ago. It lobbed a giant ball a mile or more and caused a huge crater outside Edirne. This cannon could potentially tear our walls apart. Without our walls, we cannot hold the city. I have to surmise that the construction of this cannon can only be for the purpose of attacking the city. I predict the Turks will move against us in March or April, as soon as the roads are sufficiently dry and firm.”
    Constantine could not believe it. Must his life be filled with impossible odds and unfortunate surprises? He knew the Turks had cannons, but they were small and unreliable. While they made tremendous noise, they blew up and killed their crews more often than they did any real damage. These smaller cannons might have posed a risk to some of the buildings beyond the walls, or against his forces in the open field, but not against the city walls themselves. Constantinople could withstand any siege, against any sized army, if the walls remained intact. But if the walls were breached, the city would fall to the Turks. He had nothing like the number of troops he would expect Mehmet to have. He might be able to field 15,000 or 20,000 men against probably two to three times that number. They would never be able to survive in the open against the Turks. Constantine considered all of this while he kept his face impassive. He knew he must encourage even his closest advisors.
    “Thoughts on this, Notaras?”
    Loukas had remained silent thus far, considering the question before he answered.
    “I still don’t think these rumors are guaranteed to be true. Even if the cannon was actually as powerful as Sphrantzes says, they might be intending to use it for the defense of Edirne, or for operations to the north or even in Anatolia. Let’s assume Mehmet intends to use it against the city. No weapon has ever made any real impression on our walls. They would have to transport the cannon to the city, a distance of almost 150 miles. Even when it gets here, we don’t know if it will work. It might explode at the first shot. Finally, if it does work, that doesn’t mean it will breach the walls. I have no idea what kind of cannon would be needed to break down our walls. Perhaps no cannon could do so.
    It is grave news, My Lord, but it is not the end of all things. It is but one piece of bad news among so much that we have had yet we still sit here and Mehmet still cannot get in. We must plan, we must pray, and if the cannon destroys the walls, then we must fight our best and hope for a miracle.”
    Constantine nodded in agreement. He smiled to himself. They all knew how desperate the situation now was. But Notaras was correct, the situation had been so grave for so long, yet they still possessed the city. He must pray for further miracles.
    “My Lord, surely now you will agree to at least send out feelers to the Georgians regarding marriage and potential aid,” said Sphrantzes. “Clearly the situation has changed. We need support now.”
    “You’re an idiot!” said Notaras. “The Emperor has refused you again and again. Why do you persist, when you know it only causes him pain?”
    “No Loukas my friend, don’t blame