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Neighborhood.
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Then Doug, there's nowhere I wouldn't go
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to help someone customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual. Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show.
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We help people customize and save on
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There is a concrete link between the works of philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche and Star A New Hope. In between Thus spoke Zarathustra and may the force be with you is Joseph Campbell and his best known book, the Hero With a Thousand Faces. Campbell formulated a theory of the monomyth, a journey of the archetypical hero, shared by mythologies across time and throughout the world. This hero's journey seemed built into the human psyche, and Campbell's discussion of it profoundly influenced psychologists, philosophers and young filmmakers in the 70s like George Lucas. On today's Saturday matinee, we'll revisit the hero's journey with a podcast called Anthology of Heroes. This episode focuses on the siege of Constantinople, witnessing the final desper of the Byzantine Empire through the eyes of our two heroes, the last Byzantine emperor, Constantine XI and his formidable rival, Sultan Mehmet ii. As the walls of Constantinople trembled under the relentless bombardment of Ottoman cannons, these two very different leaders prepared for the last battle of the great Christian empire, and both sides knew it would be a fight to the death. I hope you enjoy While you're listening, be sure to search for and follow Anthology of Heroes. We put a link in the show notes to make it easy for you.
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If the world were like a sleep number mattress, everything would adapt for your comfort. Because as your life changes and your body changes, sleep number mattresses adapt and shift to give you personalized comfort night after night. And now everything's on sale during our Memorial Day event. Save up to $1200 on mattresses for a limited time. To experience a whole new world of comfort, visit a sleep number store or go to sleepnumber.com number to a good life sleep when you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters. But when it's for a hospital system, they matter even more. Grainger gets it and knows there's no time for managing multiple suppliers and no room for shipping delays. That's why Grainger offers millions of products in fast, dependable delivery so you can keep your facility stocked, safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. This is the story of the 1. As a procurement manager for a hospital system, she keeps every facility in her network stocked and ready. That's why she counts on Grainger to be her single source for thousands of products, from disinfectants to lighting, air filters, and more. And with fast, dependable delivery, Grainger helps her keep every facility stocked, safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-granger. Click granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done.
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It's the night of May 29, 1453. Constantinople is under siege, and the roar of battle drowns out everything else. The air is thick with ash and smoke, stinging the eyes and burning the lungs. The bitter smell of blood and gunpowder fills the dilapidated streets. Cannon fire thunders like an unending drumbeat, shaking the earth and shattering what remains of the city's ancient walls. The cries of the wounded mixed with the shouts of desperate defenders and the battle chants of the Ottoman janissaries. Atop the battlements, Emperor Constantine Xi Palaiologos surveys the scene. How had it all come to this? The Theodosian walls, the same walls that had turned back Attila the Hun and countless armies of the past. A crumbling before his eyes. His defenders are stretched to their breaking point, a ragged force of exhausted roman conscripts and 700 Genoese mercenaries, led by the fearless Giovanni giustiani Longo. For 53 days and nights, these men had fought with everything they had, smelting arrows by the day and rebuilding the shattered walls by night. But tonight was different. Tonight the Sultan had thrown everything he had at the walls. Suddenly, a runner bursts through the smoke, shouting over the din that the Romanus Gate had been breached and that the soldiers were routing. Constantine doesn't hesitate. Sword in hand, he rushes to the gate. Through the haze of battle, he spots Giustiani. The once unshakable commander is limping from the breach, an arrow embedded deep in his shoulder, covered in ash. His face is pale, his breath shallow, and in his eyes, Constantine sees something he'd never seen in the man before. Fear. Knowing the impact his injury would have on morale, Giustiani barks out commands, ordering his men to hold the line. But his soldiers already knew their leader was gravely wounded and their will was breaking. Desperate, Constantine commits his last man to the fight, ordering them to defend the breach at all costs. But it's no use. A tide of retreating Greeks rush past him, almost knocking him to the ground. Behind them, a wall of Ottoman janissaries surged forward, their spears glinting in the fiery glow. The horrific crash of cymbals and the piercing shriek of war horns grow louder with every passing second. His heart sank. And in that moment, he knew the city was lost. An emperor should never outlive his empire. So be it. He exhales deeply, steeling himself grimly, he tosses aside his purple cloak, raises his sword and charges into the fiery maw. Welcome back to the Anthology of Heroes Podcast. The podcast sharing stories of heroism and defiance throughout world history. You've just tuned into our series covering the fall of the Eastern Roman Empire, sometimes called the Byzantine Empire. It's the 13th of November, 1444. In the palace of despots, southern Greece, Constantine Palaiologos sat grimly in his council chambers as news from the north was read aloud. The crusade against the Ottomans had ended in disaster. On the fields of Varna, modern day Bulgaria, the rulers of Europe had mustered all their strength into one final attempt to drive the Turks back out of Europe. Soldiers from Hungary, Poland, Croatia, Lithuania, Bohemia and Bosnia had pooled their resources, set aside their quarrels and marched to war with the Pope's blessing. And yet, it hadn't been enough. Sultan Murad II and his army crushed them. Constantine, more than most, understood what this failure meant for his family, for his people and for the empire. Constantine was the younger brother of Emperor John viii. Palaiologos, Constantine and John were the sons of Emperor Manuel ii, who we followed in our previous episode. If you've listened to that episode, you'll remember that we finished the episode with a devastating Ottoman civil war. Emperor Manuel II was triumphant. After regaining several provinces from the Ottoman prince Suleiman Salibi. It seemed that there was a brief glimmer of hope for the Byzantine Empire. But that hope only held if Suleiman Salibi won the civil war. For a time, it looked like he might be able to pull it off. Suleiman defeated his brothers on several occasions, and Emperor Manuel supported him however he could, even transporting his troops across the Bosporus to the battlefield. But in the end, Manuel backed the wrong horse. The civil war dragged on for 11 years, leaving the Ottoman realm fragmented and broken. But by 1413, the chaos came to an end as a single claimant emerged to reunite the empire. Suleiman was dead, as were his brothers Musa and Issa, leaving Mehmet I, known today as Mehmed the Restorer, to reclaim the throne. And he wasted no time rebuilding what had been lost. By 1420, nearly all traces of the civil war had been razed. Territories and cities briefly regained by the Byzantines were swiftly retaken or sold off, leaving the Palaiologos dynasty once again broken, isolated and clinging onto a patchwork of territory. The Battle of Varna was supposed to herald the beginning of a new crusade. Instead, it served only to confirm what many already believed. The Ottomans were invincible and resistance was pointless. Constantine worried how his brother was dealing with the news. He grimaced at the thought, his dark, focused eyes narrowing as he recalled the gloomy city of his namesake. His medium length hair framed his face neatly, and his well kept beard gave him an air of regality. We have a good idea of what Constantine looked like today, thanks to a fresco discovered very recently on December 12, 2024. But to those who knew him at the time, it wasn't his appearance that stood out. It was the calm, resolute presence he carried. Constantine was a man of action who always kept a cool head in crisis. Already in his late 40s, Constantine had spent most of his life at Constantinople, but far preferred his new home in the little peninsula of Morea, situated at the very southern tip of modern Greece, was like a breath of fresh air for the despot. The little peninsula was really the only territory the Romans held sway of outside the capital, and it was one worth holding onto. Life in the capital had become a stuffy tug of war between slavery, stubborn orthodox priests and government bureaucrats, each group more concerned with their own petty squabbles than facing the grim reality of the city's decline. Bickering over everything and anything, all while ignoring the deplorable state. Constantinople had fallen into collapsing churches, entire districts empty and choked with weeds, while debris and litter piled up in the defensive ditches. Morea, though, was raw, untamed, beautiful, a melting pot of cultures and traditions brimming with a wealth of untapped natural resources. It was here that Constantine met a figure who had become something of a mentor to him. Gemistus Plethan was a philosopher and a scholar, but more than anything, he was a Greek patriot. Plethon was the first to link the modern Byzantine Empire to the glory of ancient Greece. Philosophy, art, culture, science, all of it sprang from the very soil they now tread. He told Constantine Plethan would not have been a popular figure in the capital. He was quite literally a heretic and a pagan, obsessed with reviving ancient Greek Hellenistic culture. He advocated abandoning Christianity altogether and returning to the worship of gods like Zeus, Athena and Apollo. While Constantine never went to such extremes, Plethon's influence might explain Constantine's later flexibility in navigating between Orthodoxy and Catholicism. It may also explain his decision to refortify the Morea. With the loss at Varna, Constantine had no doubt that the Ottoman host would swing south into Morea if Plethan was to be believed. Constantine now stood on hallowed ground. Here was where the first Olympic Games were held. Here was the homeland of Agamemnon, Diogenes and even the mighty leonidas of the 300. If the sultan wished to take it, Constantine would not make it easy. Leading the Ottomans was Sultan Murad ii. Murad was very much a man shaped by his times. His father, Mehmet the Restorer, had rebuilt and stabilized the Ottoman Empire after years of civil war. And this legacy deeply influenced his son. Even many Christian accounts describe Murad II as a fair and just ruler who was patient, calculating and risk adverse. But if anything or anyone threatened the stability of his recently united realm, the Sultan would roar into action. Stability, stability, stability. If Murad II had a motto, that would have been it. And while Murad had been mopping up the Crusaders at Varna, Constantine had seized the opportunity to reconquer Athens, ousting one of the Sultan's vassals in the process. An Ottoman invasion was now imminent. Constantine was about to have a practice run for the siege that would ultimately cement his place in history. There's a reason why the Byzantines had managed to hold onto Morea while losing almost all their other territories. Morea's connection to the Greek mainland was just a narrow strip of land barely 3 miles or 5 km wide. Rulers all throughout history had the same idea you're probably thinking of right now and how to defend it. Build a wall. If you've listened to our earlier episode on Leonidas and the Last Stand at Thermopylae, you might recall that some of the Greek city states proposed an alternate solution. Instead of defending it Thermopylae, they would build a wall at the narrowest point. This was the same location Constantine found himself defending. And he would come to the same conclusion. According to legend, a prophecy foretold that four walls would be constructed on this very spot. The first three would be destroyed by invaders, but the fourth would finally repel the enemy and drive them back. Constantine would be the fourth. Now, whether Constantine believed this prophecy or even knew about it is debatable. But it definitely seems like the sort of thing Plethan, with his deep fascination for Greek mysticism, would have eagerly championed. So, at considerable expense, Constantine built what's today known as the Hexamelian Wall. The cost to construct this wall was huge for such a risky project, and it infuriated the locals, who had to either pay for it or labour in its creation. But by March 1444, the hexamylen wall was finished, and it was an impressive structure, nearly 8km long, with around 150 guard towers. Constantine must have looked upon it with some pride. But that sense of accomplishment would soon fade. Murad II, leading an army of about 55,000 men, marched through the Balkans, determined to remove this nuisance lord and his little state. The massive army he brought with him might have seemed like overkill, but Murad was already learning that rebellion in Europe needed to be crushed quickly with excessive force. With Christian power now at such a low ebb, petty princes became rallying points for discontented soldiers, as Murad was already learning. With the Albanian warlord Skanderbeg, Constantine and his brother Thomas stood ready on the wall at the head of their defenders. If this had been a traditional siege, it would have been winnable. But Murad had changed the game. Like any modern government that was facing financial strain, an ancient state would typically avoid risky new investments and stick to what it knew. But Murad didn't have that problem. He commanded a stable, wealthy empire with plenty of surplus cash to fund new technology. And in this case, that technology was gunpowder. Gunpowder and cannons are a huge part of this story, so it's important to spend a minute discussing their history up to this point. By the 1440s, gunpowder was nothing new. According to Gabor Gaston, author of Guns for the Sultan, the Balkans had already become Europe's de facto production hub for gunpowder and firearms. In the last 50 years, engineers had slowly and bravely begun tinkering with early muskets, working to make them shoot further, cause more damage and reduce the time between shots. European monarchs had begun experimenting with how best to make use of these proto cannons, but it was all small scale. A local engineer here and a few of his home built cannons, that kind of thing. But thanks to a find by history professor, Idris Bostan, we know that under Sultan Bayezid the Thunderbolt, who you might remember from our last episode, the organized these artillerymen into something resembling a division. Quoting Gabor Augustin. The main contingents of the permanent artillery corps were stationed in the Empire's central, along with other branches of the Sultan's standing army. As a consequence, the Ottoman artillery corps could be deployed by the Sultan with relative ease and swiftness. The introduction of artillerymen as a regular part of siege warfare would change the game forever. From this point in history through the Napoleonic era and into the trenches of World War II, artillery would become as vital to an army as its cavalry or infantry. Is it any surprise, then, that Constantine's Hexamilian wall fell so quickly? Laionicus Chalcondyles, one of our main sources, tells us of this rolling barrage Murad II used. Shrieking of cymbals, clashes of gongs and blaring horns, combined with this just unending rifle fire, this complete bombardment that just assailed all of your senses at once. Constantine's marine soldiers could barely poke their head above the walls to fire back. After softening up the wall with his cannons, the Sultan bought his ladders forward and eventually forced back the defenders. And here we get a sample of the bravery Constantine would employ a few years later as he doggedly tried to stop the routine. Again quoting Chalcokondals. There was a great slaughter among those fleeing the leader of the Greeks. Constantine and his brother, meanwhile, fared as follows. When they saw the Greeks were facing disorder with all their might, they attempted at first to restrain them. But when they failed, they too fled away from there. As Constantine and his brother retreated towards the coast, Murad II gathered 600 prisoners and executed them. Morea, the empire's last possession outside Constantinople, had fallen. Murad II had given Constantine a taste of what battles with the Ottomans would look like. But Constantine, too, had given the Sultan a warning about the kind of man he was. If he fought this hard for a colony, how far would he go to defend the capital?
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When you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters. But when it's for a hospital system, they matter even more. Grainger gets it and knows there's no time for managing multiple suppliers and no room for shipping delays. That's why Grainger offers millions of products in fast, dependable delivery, so you can keep your facility stocked, safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done.
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This is the story of the 1. As a maintenance tech at a university, he knows Ordering from multiple suppliers takes time away from keeping their arena up and running. That's why he counts on Grainger to get everything he needs, from lighting and H vac parts to plumbing supplies, all in one place. And with fast, dependable delivery, he's stocked and ready for the next tip off. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done.
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When you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters. But when it's for a hospital system, they matter even more. Grainger gets it and knows there's no time for managing multiple suppliers and no room for shipping delays. That's why Grainger offers millions of products in fast, dependable delivery so you can keep your facility stocked, safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click granger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. This is the story of the 1. As a procurement manager for a hospital system, she keeps every facility in her network stocked and ready. That's why she she counts on Grainger to be her single source for thousands of products, from disinfectants to lighting, air filters and more. And with fast, dependable delivery, Grainger helps her keep every facility stocked, safe and running smoothly. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done.
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As Constantine scrambled back to the capital, Murad II finally had the breathing room to deal with issues closer to home. The Ottoman Empire had no clear rules of succession. Once a ruler died, it was something of a free for all as to which son inherited the keys to the empire. A sultan had numerous wives, which often meant a large number of sons. Murad, for instance, had at least eight sons, far more claimants than you'd usually see in a European dynastic dispute. As we saw after the death of Bayezid, this unstable period always had the greatest potential to tear the empire apart. From then, Murad was only in his 40s, but he was eager to retire. He never seemed to crave power and viewed his responsibilities as ruling as a duty. A duty he'd given himself in mind, body and spirit to. For over 20 years, he'd taken great care to preserve the stability his father had fought so hard for and had carefully planned to pass succession over to his favourite son, Alad Din Ali. Unfortunately, Al Ad Din Ali was killed. I've read conflicting sources as to how, but the general consensus is that he had a nasty fall from a horse following a battle. Murad was crushed. His other Six sons are poorly documented, but most seem to have died young, which left him with only one true born heir, a headstrong and fidgety youth named after his father, Mehmet ii. Mehmet was about as different from his father as he could possibly be. Though still just a child at this point, he showed few traits that his father would have considered positive ones. He was stubborn and fiery, but also secretive and scheming. The boy had some experience in learning the ropes of government. Marit had made sure of that early on. But academically, he was a nightmare. His father had gone through almost every teacher in the capital desperately searching for someone who could tutor the prince. The boy's refusal to learn the Quran must have been particularly embarrassing for his father, who probably took some comfort in knowing that the child would never rise higher than the rank of a provincial governor. But now, as heir apparent to the Ottoman Empire, these shortcomings could not be ignored. So Sultan Murad II brought in a renowned mullah, or cleric, renowned for his teaching ability. When he arrived, the Sultan handed the man a heavy stick and told him, listen, this kid has to learn. Don't give him an inch. Upon meeting the prince, the mullah, stick in hand, told the boy, your father has sent me to instruct you, but also to chastise you in case you should not obey me. Young Mehmet raised an eyebrow and burst out laughing as if saying, better men than you have tried. The mullah waited until he finished laughing, raised the stick and beat the Ottoman prince so badly that he had learnt the entire Quran by the time the year was out. There was no bad blood between them either. This was very much how Mehmet operated. If there was a problem or an issue, he didn't try and talk his way through it or find a compromise. No, he went through it. He recognized even in himself the use of violence as a necessary tool. As the many verses of the Quran were drilled into him, one particular hadith stood out. A hadith is a quote, action or event attributed to the Prophet. While not part of the Quran itself, they serve as a body of guidance for Islamic law. It's easy to imagine Mehmet's eyes lighting up, the Arabic script shimmering like gold as he read the following line. Verily, you shall conquer Constantinople. What a wonderful leader he will be, and what a wonderful army will that army be. The hadith seemed written just for him. And as Zamullah forced him to learn and relearn the other verses, this one never left his consciousness. Already obsessed with the heroes of Yesteryear Achilles, Alexander and Caesar. Mehmet now saw an opportunity to take his place beside them. The thought that one day, thousands of years later, people would remember him as the conqueror of Constantinople was intoxicating. Soon, it was all he'd speak about. He told his father's old advisors and his pashas that he would be the one to fulfill this prophecy, that he would take the ancient Christian city. But his ambition was met with tempered warnings. Such a thing could not be done, they told him. Better men than him, his father, his great grandfather, even the great caliphs of antiquity could not do this. It was, they assured him, an impossibility. Constantinople could not be conquered. But their words Mehmed only treated as a challenge. He understood his purpose now. It was he that would deliver the final blow to the ancient Roman Empire. He would turn the Hagia Sophia into a mosque and the prophet's banner would hang from the ancient walls. He knew it now. It would be him. It had to be. Mehmet II was eager to commence his rule, and his father, Murad, was equally eager to retire. So In August of 1444, Murad took his leave to relax in one of his mansions in Manisa, a leafy city just a little south of Constantinople. But before the old sultan could even put his feet up, there were wiring reports coming from his old advisors in the capital. Already, they told him, his impetuous son was threatening to tear up the stability he'd fought so hard to ensure. The crux of the issue came with Mehmet II's ascension to the throne. When the Janissaries, that is, the elite soldiers of the Ottoman Empire, demanded a pay increase. The troops, aware of the full treasury left behind by Murad and knowing the inexperience of the young sultan, believed they could pressure the boy into giving them a raise. They were wrong. Mehmet, a skinny teenager, boldly stared them down, refusing to give them even a single coin. Even as they torched parts of the city, looting and burning, Mehmet held his ground. Eventually, when the chaos threatened to engulf the empire's borders, Murad reluctantly returned to stabilise the situation and prevent a civil war from breaking out in the empire he'd spent so long repairing. Interestingly, before he returned, Murad had made some changes to his will, suggesting even he believed there might be a battle to reclaim control from his son. In the end, though, his return was bloodless. Murad took the throne back and reigned for another five years. To an outsider, it seemed like the failure of an inept young ruler. But beneath the surface, it revealed something deeper about Mehmet's personality. Even as a boy, he was headstrong, unyielding and unforgiving. In 1451, Murad II died, either from natural causes or something related to alcoholism. Europe breathed a collective sigh of relief. Sultan Murad ii, the Butcher of Varna, was dead, and early reports on the temperament of Mehmet II were music to the ears of the Hungarians, Bulgarians and Serbians. The new sultan was said to be immature, unfocused and easily swayed by flattery. He was quick to anger, but just as quick to forgive, traits that many believed made him a weak ruler. Diplomats eagerly retold the embarrassing story of his first ascension to the throne. The incident undoubtedly had been a humiliating setback for the young sultan. But by the time of his second ascension, Mehmet had learnt from his earlier mistakes. When the Janissaries once again demanded a bonus before he officially took the throne, Mehmet paid it, but only to buy time. His very first act as sultan was to reorganise and weaken the Janissary leadership, ensuring they would never again threaten his authority. As Mehmet's royal retinue made its way back to the capital, his father's chief vizier, a man who had been instrumental in recalling Murad II earlier, followed quietly behind the procession. Mehmet summoned the old advisor to his side with a smile, asking, why does my vizier stand aside? The vizier, thinking his past actions were forgiven, was thrilled and took his place of pride next to the new sultan, unaware that Mehmet had already planned his execution. When his father's counsellors argued and bickered in his presence, Mehmet outwardly remained polite and calm, though inwardly he seethed at their incompetence and disrespectful. If there was one lesson Mehmet had learned, it was to trust no one. The young sultan wasted no time securing his throne. Apart from him, there were two other possible claimants to the throne, and one, his baby brother, Ahmet, was within striking distance. Stability, as his father taught him, was paramount, and Mehmet ensured it with sheer brutality. There could be no rivals to his rule. Without a second thought, Mehmet ordered a servant to drown baby Ammit in his bath. And when the hysterical mother came to him, he married her off and sent her away. By the end of the week, he'd had the assassin killed and the whole affair covered up. All the while, his poker face remained unshaken. When Roman diplomats arrived to congratulate him, he treated them well, even agreeing to renew the peace treaty his father had made with them. According to our two main sources, he swore this by the angels, archangels, the Quran, the Prophet, and by Allah. Icy, aloof and impossible to read, the immature boy who refused to learn the Quran had now grown into a secretive and intelligent young sultan. Around this time, the first few portraits of him emerge. A long Roman nose with small deep set eyes, framed by an unusually ginger tinged beard and an enormous onion shaped turban. Like his father, Mehmet II took his duties of statecraft seriously. But perhaps learning from Caesar's self published Gallic wars, he devoted himself to the logistical side of warfare. Siegecraft soon became a keen interest of his. In his studies, Mehmet sought perfection. When he didn't understand something, a concept, a theory, a calculation, he'd call upon an expert to explain it. Scientists, mullahs, astronomers, tacticians, scholars all came and went, but none gained his trust. The man was an island. He shunned close relationships, finding whatever physical comfort he needed in fleeting encounters with both men and women. But even his lovers rarely knew what the Sultan felt or thought. And that, coming from a man who could casually murder his baby brother, was deeply unsettling. His eyes firmly fixed on Constantinople, Mehmet II watched and waited. On 31 October 1448, Emperor John VIII Paliaologos, Constantine's older brother, drew his final breath. At 55 years old, John died peacefully in his bed. Perhaps comforted by the knowledge that he would not go down in history as the emperor who lost Constantinople. John had ruled for about 20 years with the blessing of Sultan Murad II, who after an unsuccessful attempt to capture Constantinople, was satisfied to let John retain the city as his vassal. Like so many emperors before him, John had placed the hope of his empire in Europe. In a particularly controversial move, John had agreed to a church union that had been proposed by the Catholic Pope, a decision that had led to widespread resentment among his people. As we've mentioned over the last episodes, the majority of the Orthodox clergy and Byzantine society were deeply opposed to any union with the Western Church. And the deal John had agreed to essentially made the Orthodox Church subservient to the Catholic Pope. Like every other emperor who had agreed to a similar deal, John had done so out of sheer desperation. There was no sincerity in his conviction, no spiritual epiphany convincing him of the supremacy of Catholicism. No, John had agreed to the poison union solely because the Pope had promised him support against the Turks. But so far, no meaningful support had materialised. And so the decision on how to proceed now fell to a successor. At the time of John's death, Constantine had already been favored as the heir. But his brother Demetrius gained considerable support from the clergy by promising to reverse a church union. After all, what had the union achieved? The empire was now in greater danger than ever before, but now had the added indignation of conducting their services. The Latin was way. Hatred of the Latins ran deep. Commoners spat at the thought of dirtying their souls by taking part in a Catholic mass and named stray dogs in the street after the Pope. A civil war could have easily flared up between the two brothers, but in the end, Constantine's mother stepped in, holding the throne while Constantine travelled to the capital. What were his thoughts, being back in the capital after all the years away? How must he have felt, stepping into a city that had once been the envy of the world, now little more than a shadow of its former glory? As he passed the crumbling hippodrome, its grandeur long gone, he would have seen weeds growing where roaring crowds once cheered chariot races. Makeshift houses now lined the ancient stadium whose last race was held more than two centuries ago. Beneath the towering bronze statue of Emperor Justinian, Constantine might have stopped to reflect. This was the emperor who reclaimed the western territories of the empire, driving the Goths from Rome and forcing the Persians to kneel before the might of Rome. From this very city, Justinian had ruled the world. Now here he was in the same place, struggling to pay the salaries of his advisors. Triumphal columns that once gleamed with gold and bronze lay bare, their intricate carvings and stories erased by time and plunder. Bases of statues cut from rich, sparkling purple marbles stood rough and vacant, the figures that once stood atop them stolen or smashed. The most stinging losses were the most recent ones, the crumbling triumphal arches where the famed bronze horses of St. Mark's once stood. These intricately carved horses, along with countless other treasures, had been stolen by Venice during the city's brutal sacking in the Fourth Crusade. 200 and fifty years prior, he would have walked along the ancient walls that had withstood almost a millennium of sieges. These sagging, weathered defences carried stories of countless victories, with plaques bearing the name of emperors who had restored them in ages past. Under one arch, Emperor Heraclius had swaggered through, carrying within the true cross after smashing the Persians at another. The location where the wily Emperor Alexios I had welcomed the Crusaders, forcing them to swear fealty to him. And just nearby lay the solitary grave of Emperor Basil ii, the Bulgar slayer remembered as the greatest and loneliest man to ever take the throne. He must have bristled with pride in knowing that he got to walk in the literal footsteps of these ancient heroes and the journey duty he owed to their city. Constantine was a strong choice for the throne. While his two brothers continued to argue over the small territories the Sultan had left them, Constantine maintained focus on the bigger picture. He wasn't a philosopher or a deep thinker, but he was a soldier and a man of action, focused, patriotic and capable of inspiring those around him. Constantine had qualities that made him a natural leader. But his lack of skill in statecraft and diplomacy became apparent almost immediately. Constantine started his rule with a critical blunder. With Mehmet's murder of baby Ahmet, the Sultan had eliminated all potential rivals to the Ottoman throne. Well, except one. And he just so happened to be living in Constantinople. Orhan was the grandson of the murdered Ottoman prince Suleiman. This teenager was the only remaining male relative with a blood claim to the Ottoman throne. Living as part hostage and part guest in Constantinople, Orhan was a trump card for Constantine, the only real one he had left against the Ottomans. A sultan always had enemies. And if Constantine released Orhan, he could easily become a rallying point for those that opposed Mehmed's rule. Up until this point, Murad II had paid for the upkeep of the prince. And in other words, he paid the Emperor to keep Orhan in his golden cage at Constantinople. For the cautious Murad, this move made sense. He paid a small fee he could easily afford in exchange for stability. But Constantine, after taking the throne and finding an empty treasury, decided the new sultan should pay him more to keep the Ottoman prince locked away. And so he wrote to Mehmed. The Emperor of the Romans does not accept the annual allowance of 300,000 aspersions for Orhan, who is equal to your leader as a descendant of Osman, has now come of age. Every day many flock to him. They call him lord and leader. He himself does not have the means to be generous to his followers. So he asks the emperor who, because he lacks funds, cannot satisfy these requirements. Therefore, we ask one of two things. Either double the allowance or we will release orhand. It was extortion, plain and simple. Constantine's letter was received by the Ottoman Pasha who grew angrier and angrier with each line he read. Throwing down the paper, he roared at the Byzantine envoy, you stupid Greeks. I've had enough of your devious ways. The late Sultan was lenient and a conscientious Friend to you, the present sultan is not of the same mind. If Constantine eludes his bold and impetuous grasp, it will be only because God continues to overlook your cunning and wicked schemes. You are fools to try and think you can frighten us with your fantasies. And when the ink on our treaty is barely dry, we are not children without strength or reason. If you think you can start something, do so. If you want to proclaim Orhan as the Sultan in Thrace, go ahead. If you want to bring Hungarians across the Danube, let them come. If you want to recover the places you have long since lost, try it. But know this. You will make no headway in any of these things. All that you will achieve is to lose what little you still have. When Constantine's blackmail reached Mehmet, his first instinct would have been to respond with an equally furious letter. He wanted to roar at this upstart Greek duke who dared demand anything from him. But you know what they say. Never send an email when you're angry. Mehmet had learnt from his youth. So instead he calmly wrote back saying that he would consider the matters. Constantine XI didn't know yet, but he had made a gigantic blunder. Verily, you shall conquer Constantinople. What a wonderful leader he will be. And what a wonderful army will that army be. All Mehmet had needed to fulfil his destiny was a casus belli, a reason to declare war. And now he had it.
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A
Since taking the throne, Constantine had a number of issues to contend with. Unlike Mehmet, Constantine vetted his decision through a council of trusted friends and confidants. Chief amongst them was his mother, who had passed away very recently. Though Constantine was very much his own man, he often relied on his mother to be a soundboard for his plans. Without her, he was left with his squabbling courtiers, who, rather than offering solid advice, fought for empty titles like Grand Admiral, despite there being no fleet, Grand Chancellor, or perhaps the most ridiculous Lord of the imperial wardrobe. These meaningless paid positions reveal just how bloated and inefficient the government bureaucracy had become. And perhaps if Constantine's mother had still been around, she would have discouraged her son from taking such a bold, arrogant tone with a sultan whose temperament they hadn't yet gauged. The oversight was even more glaring because prior to this point, Constantine seemed to have been wary of the new sultan's designs on Constantinople. What little revenue the state had, Constantine had wisely spent on repairing the most dilapidated portions of the wall and, interestingly, had begun importing excess grain into the city, clearly preparing for the possibility of a siege. Had he been tipped off of Mehmet's dreams of conquest, the emperor began to reach out to anyone who might be in a position to help. Constantine's first port of call were the troublesome twosome Venice and Genoa. As expected, their motivations were driven by self preservation. Neither wanted to anger the sultan, especially Genoa, whose trading colony of Galata lay just across the strait from Constantinople itself. The pope had the deepest pockets, but despite the church union, he offered nothing but vague promises of help. Further down the line, he sent a few letters, but ultimately, after the defeat at Varna, few European monarchs were willing to march off to a war they believed had already been lost. Alfonso V of Naples remained the most likely European ally. Alfonso had provided financial support to Skanderbecker's revolt against the Ottomans, whose story we covered in an earlier episode. He also seemed to be the only European who appreciated the threat the Sultan posed to Europe. Alfonso sent 10 ships to assist, but after a period of inaction, withdrew them. Ultimately, most of Europe chose to wait and see. Surely the Greek emperor's warnings were exaggerated. After all, the walls of Constantinople had held for centuries. How much damage could a 20 year old infidel barbarian really do? In mid March 1452, the citizens of Constantinople awoke to the sound of hammering and sawing. In the clear morning sun just across the strait, they saw labourers, thousands of them. Constantine was drawn to investigate. When the labourers began to pillage old churches from nearby towns to make foundation stones, fights broke out and Ottoman troops arrived, putting the Greek villagers to the sword. In almost no time at all, the foundations gave way to an imposing garrison, a castle. Constantine sent a diplomat to the site, demanding that Mehmet stop building the fortification on what he considered Roman lands. By the day's end, his messenger returned to him sheepishly with a message that went quote, go away and tell your emperor. The Sultan who rules is not like his predecessors. What they couldn't achieve, he can do easily and at once the things that they do not wish, he certainly does. The next man to come here on a mission like this will be flayed alive. The emperor, desperate and with several Ottoman diplomats in his city, threatened their execution in a futile bid to pressure Mehmet into halting construction. But the Sultan was unfazed. At one point, Constantine even considered a sortie, riding out with what few troops he had to disrupt the rapidly rising castle. But deep down, he must have known it would be an empty gesture. Trapped within his isolated, shrinking city, all he could do was watch helplessly as the fortress loomed larger by the day, its towering walls casting an ever deepening shadow. The pace at which the structure sprung up was a first hand look into the organization of Mehmet's empire. And to Constantine it was terrifying. Mehmet had learnt logistics quickly and secured virtually all building supplies so that when the army of laborers arrived, everything was already waiting. Lodgings, food, mosques, everything was taken care of so the workers could dedicate themselves to the task at hand. The Sultan himself oversaw the construction, promising generous rewards for labouring groups that completed their tasks ahead of schedule and capital punishments for any slackers. Dukas, one of our Primary sources who witnessed the construction tells us the competition was so fierce, it wasn't uncommon to see noblemen hauling stones under the hot sun. Mehmet himself even took part. Under guidance of his court astrologists, whose opinion he placed a great deal of trust in. He slaughtered several rams, mixing their blood with concrete to lay the foundation stones. Even nightfall didn't stop the progress. Galleys crisscrossed the Black Sea, bringing more supplies as a forest of torches were lit so work could continue. Atop a horse, Mammut rode back and forth, checking and rechecking. The dimensions matched the measurements he'd personally calculated. From time to time, his eyes drifted across the narrow strait to Constantinople, its silhouette looming dark and sombre against the horizon, so close it felt like he could reach out and seize it. How hard could it possibly be to capture? But underneath, he knew, many before him, mighty sultans and seasoned generals had tried and failed. Their ambitions dashed against those ancient walls as the capstones were put on the towering structure. Constantine wrote Mehmot, his last correspondence. Since you have preferred war to peace, and I can call you back to neither with oaths or pleas, then follow your own will. I will take refuge in God. If he has decreed and decided to hand over the city to you, who can contradict him or prevent it? If he instills the idea of peace in your mind, I would gladly agree for the moment. Now that you have broken the treaties to which I am bound by oath, let these be dissolved. Henceforth, I will keep the city's gates closed and will fight for the inhabitants with all my strength. You may continue in your power until the righteous judge passes sentence on each of us. It would be this iron resolve that Constantine would carry forward from now until the end of the siege, this idea that the city was not his to give away, it was God's. And just like he said, he would fight with everything he had to hold onto it. By August 31, 1452, just five months after beginning construction, Mehmet's new bastion was complete. Today, tour guides in Istanbul call it Rumeli Hisari. But back then, Ottoman troops called it, perhaps with a grin, Boghaz Kassen, the throat cutter. Mehmet's insistence on speed stemmed from more than just impatience. He knew his history well and understood that the greatest threat to his ambitions was the possibility of a united Christian Europe. The golden age of the Crusades faded over a century ago, but no Islamic ruler needed a reminder of the devastation of that a unified, multinational Christian army could unleash. Mehmet was determined not to give them time to rally. His father's victory at Varna had poured cold water on any plans in the short term, but he still had to play his cards right. The Albanian turncoat Skanderbeg was already gaining a following. And there were whispers that the Hungarian John Hudyadi aside the Pope, were trying to get another crusade started. Mehmet needed Europe distracted and preferably divided so he could concentrate all his forces on Constantinople. As the Sultan gathered his forces, the Emperor's final pleas flew out. From Constantinople to all corners of Europe, to Venice, Genoa, Aragon, Rome and the Morea. The letters begged aid, lamenting that without their help, the city would fall. Throughout Europe, there had always been this persistent myth about the invulnerability of Constantinople. It was this ancient constant that had always and would always be there. But as merchants carried the same grim reports of Mehmet's intentions, this myth had begun to crack. Everyone seemed to sense that something monumental was on the horizon. As the Sultan prowled the outskirts of the city, powers of Europe wrung their hands in indecision. Venice sent a shipment of breastplates. The Pope issued a handful of letters. And Genoa, ever self preserving, entered secret negotiations with the Sultan, securing guarantees that their lucrative trading colony would remain untouched should the city fall. As Constantine paced in his office waiting for responses, an unusual visitor arrived at his door. Bowing gracefully, the guest introduced himself as Urban. Speaking with a thick Hungarian accent, the man claimed that he and his son were engineers, specialists in the art of gunpowder and its deadly potential. He described himself as a pioneer in a new era of warfare, unveiling intricate schematics and a collection of tools before the Emperor. With confidence, he promised he could create weapons so wicked, so hellish, that they could change the course of any battle. The presentation excited the Emperor. The Roman arsenal had a few small caliber guns, but nothing like what this man claimed he could build. Constantine was sold on the idea until he heard the price tag that came with it. The costs were well beyond his means, and the Emperor quickly realized he'd struggle to even afford the materials, let alone the engineer's salary. Still, Constantine couldn't bear to lose such an asset. He offered Urban a modest stipend, a small amount of money to sustain him in the city. The Emperor hoped that in the coming months, when Europe came to his aid, he would have the money to pay the bombardier properly. But after a few weeks, with nothing to go on, Urban and his son reluctantly packed up their stuff and departed the city in search of another monarch who could afford their rates. It wasn't just Urban who left. Those with the means were departing en masse. The last great exodus from the city. Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, Mehmet's throat cutter fortress was now fully garrisoned. And just as the name suggested, Constantinople brought was now cut off from the sea. No ships were permitted to pass into the harbour under penalty of death. The first to test this new rule was a Venetian galley captain bringing a last minute shipment of grain to the city. Captain Antonio Rizzo approached the bay with a favourable wind at his back. He knew about Memet's order, but was confident he could outrun the Sultan's guns. Dropping the sails, his galley picked up some speed as it cut through the crystal clear blue waters. The safety of the harbour beckoning him from across the horizon. From the throat cutter came a warning shot. Then another. A third cannonball landed just beside his ship. But still the galley surged forward. The next shot found its mark, tearing through the hull of the galley and turning the ship into splinters. Rizzo and his crew of 30 managed to swim ashore where Mehmet's soldiers were waiting for for them, his crew were hung. While Rizzo was impaled through the anus, his body left spasming hideously in full view of the city. The winter of 1452 descended on Constantinople with a vengeance, as if nature was already mourning the city's fate. Torrential rains hammered the tile rooftops, drowning out the increasingly apocalyptic sermons echoing from the churches. Bolts of lightning split the skies, casting jagged shadows over the weary city, almost as if God was revoking his ancient protection on the Holy City. A thick, unyielding fog settled in and endless snow fell as representatives from the Pope trudged through the city streets. It was December 1452. The Roman Empire had just over six months left. The delegation was led by a Catholic cardinal tasked with marking the union of the churches in a civil ceremony within the Hagia Sophia. As we've discussed, the church union was deeply unpopular with the common people and the clergy alike. And Mehmet's mounting pressure outside the city walls only intensified this resistance, driving the citizens to cling even more fiercely to their traditions and orthodoxy. If they were to soon meet their maker, they would do it with a clean soul. Most of his government was now behind him, including many senior bishops who'd reluctantly signed their names. But that was as much as the Emperor could do. Just as John Cantacusin and countless other emperors in the past. Constantine had written to the Pope, trying begging him to see that he could not force his people to forgo their ancient religion, instead suggesting another debate to settle the differences. The Pope ignored this offer and his pleas for help, but sent the delegation regardless. And so, within the Hagia Sophia, one of the final liturgies were held in the ancient church. The emperor had cleared the path to the church, ensuring that the usual picketers and their damned pamphlets would not be seen by Catholic officials. But all across the city they flooded in the cold air. Nailed to church doors and bulletin boards, one read, wretched Romans, you have been led astray. You have departed from hope which rests in God. By trusting in the power of the Franks as well as the city itself, which will soon be destroyed, you have lost the true religion. O Lord, be merciful to me. I give witness in your presence that I am pure and innocent from blame in this matter. Be aware, miserable citizens, what you are doing today with slavery which is hanging over your heads. You have denied the true faith handed down to you by your forefathers. You have confessed your impiety. Woe to you when you are judged. As the chanting begun, Constantine must have grimaced at the sight before him. The pews, once filled with people, were nearly empty, except for a few vagabonds his men had forced into the seats. The people, his people, had abandoned the great church, instead gathering in small places where priests read the familiar sacraments their ancestors had heard. High above in the rafters. Crows scattered to escape the noise while the huge bells rang out slow and hollow. What was meant to be a celebration felt lifeless, a ritual without meaning. As Constantine's retinue left the ceremony, the streets filled with jeers. Peasants spat as he passed. The emperor rode on his back straight, but the sting of their scorn was impossible to ignore. The shame of it all must have stung Constantine deeply, a man whose conversion to Catholicism had been driven only by a desperate hope to save his city and the very people who were now cursing his name. All throughout January, all Constantine could do was watch and wait. Mehmet would soon be on the march. All his contacts had told him so. He had sent all the letters he could and lived on the prayer that Catholic Europe would not forget their long lost cousins. A slow trickle of men arrived. Freedom fighters, adventurers, soldiers of fortune. Each of them arrived with a few handful of soldiers, men from Spain, several from Italy, even a lone Scotsman. Constantine eagerly found use for every one of them, assigning them to sections of the wall from the Pope, Nothing. As Constantine's secretary bitterly remarked, we have received as much aid from the Pope as has been sent to us from the Sultan in Cairo. But on 26 January, Constantine was roused by a commotion at the docks. His heart leapt when he saw the reason. Standing at attention were 400 Genoese soldiers, their polished armour gleaming in the dull surroundings. Nearby, 300 crossbowmen sat along the docks, adjusting their strings and chatting lazily. As the men and siege weapons disembarked, their commander swaggered across the gangplank, perhaps giving a nod of respect to the Emperor. His name was Giovanni Giustiani Longo, and second only to Constantine, he would prove to be the most important person in the upcoming battle. Giovanni Giustiani Longo was a veteran mercenary, born to one of Genoa's rich, vicious, blue blooded families. His motivation for coming to the city's aid is a bit of a mystery. What we do know is that he was an expert in counter siegecraft, particularly skilled in defending walls. Desperate for some good news, the citizens of Constantinople must have cheered as the Italian siegebreaker eyed the walls, already analysing and planning defences for the weaker sections. Depictions of Longo were varied, but usually he's tall, with a strong weathered face, unshaven stubble and a thick moustache framing his lips. Dark curly hair falls messily around his shoulders and his eyes carried the sharpness of someone who had seen battles. His chest covered by a slab of steel, armor worn and scratched from countless encounters with a chainmail shirt beneath it. In summary, he looked every bit the seasoned warrior, tough, a little unkempt and undeniably commanding. Longo's arrival immediately gave heart to the Emperor, who put him in charge of the city's defences and promised him the island of Lemnos if he could hold onto the city. Longo's Genoan blood was a bonus too. Constantinople was brimming with wealthy Venetians who the Emperor worried may turn on him and surrender the city to the Sultan. With a jnoan in charge of the city's defence, this distrust would keep the two peoples from colluding. Longo quickly spotted the Emperor's oversights. Without hesitation, he ordered the moat to be cleared and set about identifying the weakest sections of the wall. He had a keen instinct for battle, correctly predicting that Mehmet would first target these vulnerable spots. In his downtime, he drilled the city's defenders in the basics of siege warfare, giving them a crash course on defensive maneuvers and positioning. He taught them how to use their limited resources effectively, transforming them from a ragtag group into something more organized. As storm clouds gathered above the Queen of Cities, Constantine read The results of a census his secretary had conducted. The results shook him to the core. He knew his city was depopulated, but could have never imagined it was this empty. The census results revealed a population of just under 5,000 Greeks, most of which had little, if any, training in warfare. There was also about 3,000 Italians, who were better trained than his Greeks but less trustworthy. In total, it amounted to about 8,000 people. To defend this enormous wall, to prevent hysteria, Constantine forbade the results of the census being made public in the final days. The emperor spent his days inspecting the repairs on the walls and instructing bishops to carry around icons of the Virgin for soldiers to kiss. Priests were assigned to different portions of the wall to administer last rites alongside cauldrons of water. Finally, an enormous chain, or boom, was pulled across the harbour to ensure Ottoman ships could not enter the harbour and attack the city walls. This chain had been a keystone of defence in previous sieges, as it allowed the emperor to leave the older, weaker sea walls virtually unmanned and concentrate more troops on the land walls. The difference in this siege was that the other side of the harbour was now the property of Genoa. Even though they'd given their assurance of neutrality to the Sultan, they looked the other way as Zaboom was attached to their side of the wall. The civilian bridges were hacked down, the city's storerooms brimmed with grain and its walls with men. Constantine gave the order and the ancient gears of the city gates groaned as drawbridges slammed shut. He had done all he could. Everything that came next was up to God. In the final days, before setting out, Mehmet was restless. He slept little, staying awake until the early hours, sketching and re sketching the city walls by candlelight. Was he making the right decision? Were his advisors right in believing the city untakeable? What if he failed and undid all the progress his father had made? Though outwardly confident, the young sultan harboured many doubts, frequently seeking counsel from his astrologers in search of anything that might give him the upper hand. And then, by chance, the advantage that he sought, walked right through his door. A Hungarian engineer and his son, claiming to be experts in the creation and application of artillery. Urban, the same cannoneer who would approach Constantine, had found his way to the court of his enemy. Naturally untrusting, Mehmet wasn't sure what to make of the Hungarian questioning him intensely, he asked if he could create a cannon capable of tearing down the walls of Constantinople. According to Dukas, a contemporary source, who, we should add, wasn't actually present for this Interaction, says the Hungarian, assured Mehmet, I have examined the walls of the city in great detail. I can shatter to dust not only these walls with the stones from my cannon, but the very walls of Babylon itself. But like any good salesman mentioned the fine print continuing quote, but I don't know how to fire it and I cannot guarantee to do so. For Mehmet, this was good enough. He told Urban, smelt the cannon first and we'll figure out how to fire it later. And so he set to work creating what was almost definitely the largest gun ever built at this point in history. For the uneducated labourers forging this cannon, the process must have felt like they were taking part in some sort of demonic ritual. The construction was like a vision of hell, an enormous pit packed with clay moulds and reinforced with iron and stone awaiting their offering. Nearby, furnaces blazed like fiery altars, their mouths spitting heat so intense it warped the air. Naked except for slippers, gloves and a hat, the labourers worked in posses, chanting Allah, Allah, Allah. As they hurled chunks of copper and bronze, often salvaged from church bells, into bubbling cauldrons. Each deposit increased the risk of explosion as the terrified workers inched forward one at a time. The air was thick with noxious fumes that stung the eyes while the roar of the bellows echoed like the breath of some infernal beast. When the bronze was finally liquid, it was released. A glowing river of lava trickled slowly into the mould, casting an eerie glow across the workers faces. As it moved, they scrambled to prod and poke the flow with wooden poles, chasing air bubbles as if trying to exorcise spirits trapped within the molten mass. After waiting for the bronze to set, the cannon was finally unearthed from its clay tomb. It emerged like a creature born of fire and smoke. A man screaming and terrifying. Measuring at nearly 8 and a half metres or 27ft long, with walls of solid bronze 8 inches thick and a barrel wide enough for a man to crawl in, this was truly a monstrous creation. According to history professor Walter k. Hammock, about 39 tons of bronze would have been needed to smelt this. The crew hauled the Colossus from its clay tomb, staring in horrified silence at their creation as Urban inspected it, nodding approvingly. The Ottomans had no name for it, but the Greeks would christen it the Basilica. With this cannon and several smaller accompanying guns, Mehmet's preparations were complete and the 241km, 140mile march to Constantinople began. Special care was given to the basilica. A team of 60 oxen and 200 men worked in tandem to ensure the Sultan's pride and joy reached its destination in one piece. High up on the ancient walls, Constantine watched stoically as the enormous army assembled. Ottoman logistics were already second to none and Mehmed had only improved them. Everything and everyone had their place as what can only be described as a makeshift city began to form outside his walls. Centered around the Sultan's splendid tent in the centre, the army grew by the day. The camp was a vibrant tapestry of all cultures. On display were the wealth of people Mehmet had at his beck and call. There were the Azops, poor Muslim militia wearing mismatched cloth and leather jerkins. These were Mehmet's cannon fodder, destined to be first in and first to die. Clustered around the Sultan's tent were the Janissaries, the elite of his forces. Children of Christian vassals throughout the Balkans. These veteran soldiers were trained in all arts of warfare and could always be relied upon to hold the line. Scattered around the outskirts of camp, never far from their treasured horses, were Mehmet's step archers, distant wilder cousins of his Turks. Concentrated in one corner were the heavily armoured Serbian cavalry men who had been nursed on the glory of the short lived empire of Stefan Dusan. They were now just another subject of the great Sultan. A host of other Balkan nations filled the gaps too. As Archbishop Leonard would later lament, Greeks, Latins, Germans, Hungarians, Bohemians and men from all the Christian countries were on the sides of the Turks. Oh, the wickedness of denying Christ like this. This great coalition of soldiers, many of whom had fought the Ottomans in years past, now stood shoulder to shoulder, ready to do the bidding of their invincible overlord. Inside the city, under pressure from Giovanni, Constantine authorized several punitive raids on the still forming Ottoman camp. Bursting from the specially designed raiding gate known as the Kirkuporta, the Genoese soldiers made mincemeat of the Ottomans they encountered. But the loss of even a single professional soldier was a blow Constantine could not afford. Each man was irreplaceable, literally. And so the decision was made to stop the raids. By early April 1453, the basilica was ready to fire. Heavy bronze bands fused the barrel together and beside it stood an enormous vat of oil. Urban had discovered that immersing the cannon in oil immediately after firing had helped reduce fissures and cracks. The cannon was a potent psychological weapon as well as a literal one. Day after day, Constantine's skittish conscript could do nothing but watch as the ancient equivalent of an atomic Bomb was being primed just outside their city. Even the Emperor didn't know what to expect. He'd faced Ottoman cannons back in Morea, but nothing came close to the size of this monster. The day soon dawned. There was a flurry of activity as engineers rushed around the gun performing the final checks as they loaded in the gargantuan half ton cannonball into the breach. Mehmet watched eagerly in quiet awe as bag after bag of gunpowder was packed into the barrel from the wall. Constantine braced himself, perhaps muttering a prayer under his breath. These ancient walls had served his predecessors loyally. Surely they would stand against this. He could not be the one to lose the city. It just couldn't be him. The fuse was lit and the cannon roared like the wrath of God, shaking the very foundations of the earth. The sky seemed to split as fire and smoke erupted from the monstrous barrel, hurling its half ton missile towards the city's walls 16 kilometers or 10 miles away. Villagers clutched their ears, dogs howled and church bells trembled at the towers. Flocks of birds scattered in a panicked frenzy as the terrible sound thundered across the land. The last great battle of the Roman Empire had begun. And that is where we're going to hit pause today. We'll be back very soon to follow the siege itself and the famous last stand of Emperor Constantine xi. I'd like to thank our generous patrons who made this episode possible. It's really such a privilege to be able to tell the stories I love and have people supporting me as I do. So if you'd like to join our patrons and get ad free and early access episodes for about the price of a cup of coffee a month, you can find the link to join our Patreon program in the show Notes. As usual, a big shout out to our Justinian Tier members, both old and new. Angus, Claudia, Doug, John, H, John K, Megan, Philip, Sam, Sarah, Seth, Shane, the Bosco and Tom. Hope you guys had a great new year. Cheers.
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