Casca 53: The Last Defender, page 16
They poured in at the defenders and were met at the lip by determined men with no place to retreat to. Casca smashed a rock down on the head of one and kicked another in the mouth, shattering his jaw. His new sword was just as effective as his old one and he slashed down on another, chopping into his neck and chest, laying open his ribs. The Janissaries pressed up and fought the defenders hand to hand, but the Greeks and Italians were men possessed, hacking, kicking, biting and stabbing at them. Fresh though the Janissaries were, the defenders fought them with every ounce of strength left in their aching bodies.
Giustianini went from post to post, encouraging, fighting, and as the dawn broke his huge form was seen by more and more as a rock to fight around. The Emperor stood at the gate behind them shouting encouragement.
Suddenly a shot rang out and Giustianini staggered back, his face twisted in pain. Carbone ran to his side and saw to his horror the breastplate punctured from some missile and blood was seeping out. “Help me!” he shouted, and two men, one of them Rafael, came to his aide.
“Get me out,” Giustianini moaned in pain. “Get me to the ships!”
Carbone ordered for the gate to be unlocked. Constantine came forward and looked shocked. “Why? Please stay and fight, my brave general!”
Giustianini shook his head. “I’m exhausted, sire, and I cannot fight any longer. I’m too badly wounded.”
Constantine watched helplessly as the gate was unlocked and the group staggered through, most of Giustianini’s men following, thinking it was a general retreat. Casca looked round in amazement as half of the defenders suddenly left. “What’s going on?” he yelled.
Constantine waved his hands helplessly, then turned in shock as a shout came to him. “They’ve taken a tower by the palace!”
They looked to the north and saw a Turkish flag fluttering in the growing light from a small tower. Constantine moaned and grabbed his horse and galloped off to investigate, leaving the Greek soldiers to fight the growing pressure. Casca took charge and yelled at the men to fight in groups.
The pressure was intense and the Turks, realising something had happened, roared and pushed in one big effort. Hands pulled down the palisade and Janissaries jumped into the breach. Casca turned to face them and saw it was Hasan who led them. The giant Turk screamed in triumph, being the first to cross the barrier.
“Hasan!”
The Janissary turned to face the scream of rage. He saw Casca standing there, fury on his face, a rock in both hands, raised for the blow. “I told you I’d kill you if you stepped into the city!”
The stone crushed Hasan’s face and the giant toppled to the ground, but half a regiment poured in behind him. Casca hacked at them, helped by John and a few others, and ten went down in a pile of dead, but more came at them and the Greeks were pushed back. Many fell into holes in the ground that had been dug to provide earth for the stockade and the Janissaries butchered them.
Casca saw it was hopeless to hold the outer wall. “To the inner wall, now!”
The men retreated, but in the confusion many were cut down. Casca staggered into the street and waved the men to slam the gate shut but he saw it was useless, Turks were climbing unopposed up the inner wall and standing atop the last line of defence. Constantine came galloping up, his three aides with him. His face was stricken.
“Sir, they’ve broken through,” Casca panted.
“Not only here, but up there too. The Bocchiardis cannot hold them.” He dismounted and strode forward to the gate where Turks were now appearing. John Dalmata, Theophilus and Don Francisco stood alongside him, all grim-faced and determined. Casca looked at the fleeing Greek soldiers and set his mouth in a firm line and came to stand by the Emperor’s side.
Constantine gently put a hand on his shoulder. “No, my friend,” he said, tears in his eyes. “You must escape, you are the Last Defender of the Roman Empire. Please go, this is my last order as Emperor, your last order from an Emperor of the Romans. Go, escape, tell the world we died bravely, like Romans!”
Casca’s eyes filled with tears and unwillingly he stepped back, then he bowed and gave him the old salute of the legions. “Ave et vale, Imperator,” he said, choking.
Constantine pointed to his horse. “Take my horse, it will help you get away!”
Casca grabbed the reins, mounted and looked back at the four men who stood against the approaching horde. Theophilus gritted his teeth. “I would rather die than live!” and he sprang forward, his blade flashing, cutting down a Turk. He was run through a moment later and sank to the ground, the Janissaries stepping over his body.
Casca wheeled and watched, his heart almost bursting, as Constantine threw off his cloak. Then, with his two remaining aides with him, pressed forward and was engulfed in a mass of black.
Casca groaned and hauled the horse round and galloped off along the road away from the Turks who were now running through more and more gates, heading for the houses and churches.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FLIGHT
Casca rode like a demon through the streets, his heart heavy in his chest. Pain wracked his body and fear gripped him unlike anything he’d felt or a long time. His only thought was now to get to Helena’s house and get her out before the Ottomans reached it in their lust for plunder. The distance he estimated to the house was about a mile, and the harbour another mile beyond that. The horse would take him there quickly but how far ahead of the pillaging victors he had no idea. He had no time to lose.
Screams were all around and people were running through the streets, wild expressions on their faces, and he had to swerve to avoid knocking one or two down in his headlong flight. The Greek soldiers were streaming off the walls to get to their homes and families while the Italians were trying to get to the harbour and a ship out of there. That’s what he needed, a ship.
Smoke was already beginning to billow up from behind him as he reached the suburb of the house and brought the horse skidding to a halt outside the door. He dashed to the door and pounded on it. “Helena! Helena!!”
There was no answer. Again he smashed on the door. “Helena! The Turks are coming! They’ve broken through, all is lost!! We’ve got to get out!”
Nothing.
Sobbing he turned to see a soldier run to his horse and make a grab for the reins. Casca bounded out into the street and caught the man by the arm, pulling him aside and throwing him to the floor. The man, an Italian, swore and pulled out a knife and scrambled to his feet, lunging forward. Casca swerved aside and kneed him in the face, following it up by smashing a fist into his neck. The Italian dropped like a stone into the street. Shouting came closer and he glanced up the street but saw nobody approaching. They were all running away. He swung back to the house but there was no sign of life. Just then a man stuck his head out of a top floor window to the right and shouted down to him. “You say the Turks have broken through?”
“Yes! Do you know if the Notarias’ are in?”
The man shook his head. “They left a few hours after dark. I don’t know where they went but there was a large crowd. They went towards the Old Quarter.”
Casca waved in reply and bounded back into the saddle. “May God help you my friend!” he shouted and urged the beast into another gallop, this time down to the old part of the city. The man sobbed and withdrew into his house, slamming the window shut.
Casca galloped towards the harbours that lined the Golden Horn, hoping they were still holding out. The streets to his left were beginning to fill with Turks and he realised these men had come through the gates in the Golden Horn walls, and must be sailors. Spurring his tiring beast on, he rounded a bend and saw to his relief a gate filled with fleeing people.
He dismounted and smacked the horse on the rump, allowing it to gallop off to some place away from the madness, and armed with his sword, he waded into the panic stricken crowd, smacking the flat of his blade on a few heads and backs to allow him space to pass through. He recognised a few Genoese soldiers and followed them through the gate and saw to his amazement the harbour filled with ships all getting their sails up. To the left the Turkish fleet had come to rest against the city walls and their crews had plunged ashore and into the city, leaving the Golden Horn free for the refugee ships to get away.
But the floating boom was still up.
Venetian, Genoese and Byzantine ships were filling with people, all trying to get out before the triumphant enemy arrived. Smoke was billowing up from the city now that fires were being started by the Turks as they began to loot, and Casca knew this was going to be too painful to endure. Something was dying inside him and he didn’t know what the future would hold for him. He looked round anxiously but saw nobody who resembled Helena or her father.
A ship, a Venetian, was beginning to cast off and he took one deep breath and ran hard for the widening gap, launching himself over the water and landing on the hard wooden side, bruising a few ribs and a knee. Helping hands pulled him on board and he turned to watch the shoreline recede, people diving off into the water pleading for help. The dome of Hagia Sofia was being obscured by the drifting smoke as it was pulled by the wind, and the screams of those still in the city carried clearly across the water to him.
A ship was at the boom and the Venetian captain pointed at the fastenings. “Cut that fucking boom, now!” Two sailors sprang forward with axes and, leaning over on ropes, chopped through the bindings and the boom sank into the waters and the way was finally open. A rag-tag collection of refugee ships made their way out into the Propontis and turned south, rounding the headland and made for the Aegean.
____
The mighty church was locked, and throngs prayed inside for deliverance. The priests chanted the matins as the doors shook to the first assaults of the enemy, and the congregation screamed and huddled together. The doors burst open and the Ottomans rushed in, seizing the helpless people. Helena saw her father being grabbed and she screamed, reaching out for him. Rough hands grabbed her and tore off her veil and cloak. She never saw her father being run through, for the old do not fetch good prices in the slave market.
Her hands were bound behind her with her veil used as a rope and her breasts were bared by the appreciative soldiers. She would make an excellent slave in someone’s harem. Other young women too, were treated similarly. The old were slaughtered and the priests overcome even as they continued chanting. A few took up the holiest possessions and vanished through secret passages behind the altars.
A stream of captives were pulled out of the church and herded off to the soldiers’ bivouacs ready for the auctions to come.
In his home Phrantzes waited patiently until the soldiers arrived, and he was led, unresisting, dressed in his finest clothes, away to captivity. He was determined to survive and tell the story of the last days of Byzantium, and would wait no matter how long it took. He knew his rich appearance would mean his life would be safe, for people like him always fetched good prices.
Around the Blachernae Palace the victorious soldiers looted with a zeal unseen since the crusaders took Jerusalem, and the piles of Venetian dead were searched vigorously, watched by the tied and bound survivors with lacklustre eyes, including Minotto, who wondered what his fate would now be.
____
The ships that sailed south that morning included the one with a dying Giustianini lying in his bed, his chest wound deep and mortal. He moved restlessly, his conscience tortured by his desertion of his allies at that vital moment. He wished now he had remained to fight rather than flee. Carbone and Rafael stood by his side watching as their commander’s life slowly ebbed, wondering how their return to Genoa would be received.
At his camp outside the city Mehmet smiled and watched as his soldiers continued marching through the great holes in the walls and the gates that had now been opened. He cared little that some of the infidels had escaped, the city was his, and would be his new capital, Istanbul! He turned to his commanders, and waved his hands in the direction of the smoke-shrouded city. “Here is going to be the jewel of our empire. We shall rebuild it and make it a city that will be the envy of the world.”
Halil Pasha bowed and knew that he would never live to see that happen; his life was in the hands of his master and his opposition to the entire venture meant that one day soon he would be put to death. He felt a great sorrow at the destruction of the world of Byzantium and hoped that some of its knowledge would survive.
Out in the Propontis a Venetian ship sailed south, containing a mass of weeping people. Many looked back at the burning city, their hearts and minds numb, not being capable of taking in the enormity of what had happened. They would one day, and their lives would be scarred by the memory forever.
Casca stood at the stern, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the rail. His eyes, blind with tears, still pictured Constantinople as it had been in the heyday of the Empire, and he didn’t see the ruin of the last remnant of the Empire he had served, on and off, for fourteen centuries. But his mind knew and his body shook with uncontrolled sobs as he mourned the death of a surrogate parent.
His life, no matter how long it might turn out to be, would never be the same.
He wondered about the girl he had left behind within the city and wondered if she had survived. His heart rested heavily in his chest as he realised he would probably never see her again.
Dear Reader,
I was intrigued as to the fate of those who fought alongside or against Casca in that epic siege, but I was reluctant to ask him as he obviously found the telling of this sad tale too traumatic to further inflict painful memories on him, so I myself searched out their fates.
Phrantzes was a slave for eighteen months before obtaining his freedom and he made his way to Italy and rewrote his journals for the world to read, a sadder man as he learned his children had died at the hands of the Turks. Lucas Notaras was slain a few weeks after the fall of the city by Mehmet for refusing to allow his teenage boy to be used by the Sultan for his pleasure.
Mehmet went on to rule the Ottoman empire for another 28 years, earning himself the name “Conqueror” for his part in the capture of the city. Halil Pasha indeed paid for his opposition to the attack with his life, being strangled a few weeks later, Zaganos taking over as Grand Vizier.
Minotto, the Venetian commander, was executed along with many Italian officers in the days following the taking of the city, but two of the Bocchiardi brothers escaped back to Venice. Giustianini died on the island of Chios, still tormented by his courage failing at the critical moment in the battle.
Of course, nothing was known about Rafael, Carbone or Helena, as they were not prominent people and history passes those over in favor of the notables.
Constantine’s body was never identified amongst the thousands of corpses, and rumours of his final resting place have sprang up but it is probable he was placed in a mass grave with other unidentified soldiers. Only 500 of the defending soldiers survived the battle, the rest died during or shortly after the fall of the walls.
It was, as Casca said, one of the most heroic but tragic battles he ever fought.
Danny Landries
Casca series available new in paperback, all $12.95 except the Warlord which is $11.95
Although prices are listed in USD, they are postable to any country. Conversion to your currency will be made at the time of purchase.
CASCA: THE ETERNAL MERCENARYCASCA: GOD OF DEATH
CASCA: THE WARLORDCASCA: PANZER SOLDIER
CASCA: HALLS OF MONTEZUMA CASCA: JOHNNY REB
CASCA: THE CONFEDERATE CASCA: THE AVENGER
CASCA: NAPOLEON’S SOLDIER CASCA: THE CONQUEROR
CASCA: THE ANZAC CASCA: DEVIL’S HORSEMAN
CASCA: SWORD OF THE BRO’HOOD CASCA: THE MINUTEMAN
CASCA: ROMAN MERCENARY CASCA: THE CONTINENTAL
CASCA: THE CRUSADER CASCA: BLITZKRIEG
CASCA: THE LONGBOWMAN CASCA: BARBAROSSA
CASCA: SCOURGE OF ASIA CASCA: BALKAN MERCENARY
CASCA: EMPEROR’S MERCENARY CASCA: THE CAVALRYMAN
CASCA: THE VIKINGCASCA: THE AUSTRIAN
CASCA: THE LOMBARDCASCA: THE COMMISSAR
CASCA: THE SARACENCASCA: THE ROUGH RIDER
CASCA: THE LAST DEFENDER
CASCA: THE KILLER (coming in 2021)
Available from author’s Casca website - www.casca.net/shop
Tony Roberts website www.tonyrobertsauthor.com
Other series by Tony Roberts – prices on website
Kastania series
Empire of Avarice
Prince of Wrath
House of Lust
Path of Pride
Throne of Envy
Gods of Gluttony
Sins of Sloth
Dark Blade series (ebook only, kindle or kobo)
Dark Blade
The Heir of Gorrodan
Okra’s Tower
Faerowyn’s War
The Black Island
The Mountains of Butchok
Siren Series
Siren
Sirensong
Katie
Siren’s Return
Love’s Refrain
www.tonyrobertsauthor.com for details of each novel and prices.
Roberts, Tony, Casca 53: The Last Defender
