Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(62)

“So he will be weak where the other forces are weak. If we sallied out, broke through—”

Radu shook his head. “He will have enough men to spare to make certain the irregulars maintain as much order and discipline as possible. There will be no breaking point in his lines. He will concentrate his attacks on your weaknesses, but he will have no weaknesses vulnerable to direct attack.”

Giustiniani sighed. “So we wait.”

“So we wait,” Radu echoed.



The next day dawned bright and clear. From the looks on the soldiers’ faces, they wished it had not.

Radu was once again at Giustiniani’s side, along with Cyprian. Nazira had stayed home. Her parting embrace had been too tight, her whispered caution tucked around him. Radu had to be more careful than ever.

Giustiniani handed him a spyglass. He pointed toward the back of the camp, in a corner where smoke was billowing upward. “What are they doing there?”

It took a moment for Radu to focus, and another few moments for him to train the glass on what he was trying to find. Familiarity warmed him, and he hid his affection behind a grim look. “Forges,” he said, handing back the glass.

“What do they need forges that big for?” Cyprian asked.

“Cannons.”

“They are going to make cannons on the battlefield?” Cyprian laughed. “Are they also planning on a brick kiln? Building a wall of their own while they are at it?”

“I think it is to repair cannons, mostly.”

“They would need a tremendous amount of supplies.” Giustiniani frowned. “The logistical aspects would be a nightmare. Do you think they could actually do it?”

“I do. Mehmed—” Radu cringed, and started over. “The sultan is organized and methodical. He has resources he can pull from two continents. If he needs it, it is already here or on its way. I have been in an Ottoman siege before, under the sultan Murad. This will be even bigger, cleaner, more efficient. Mehmed watched and learned. He will have enough supplies to last as long as he needs. The men will be limited to one meal a day to preserve food. He will keep things meticulously ordered and clean to prevent sickness.”

Giustiniani pointed toward the rows of tents. “By my estimations, there are almost two hundred thousand men out there.”

Cyprian let out a breath, as though he had been hit in the stomach. “That many?”

Radu nodded. “But roughly two men in support for every one man fighting.”

“That still leaves sixty thousand? Seventy thousand?” Cyprian covered his mouth with his hand. Radu was shocked to see tears pooling in his gray eyes. “So many. What could Christianity accomplish with a mere fraction of the unity Islam has? How can our God ever withstand the ferocity of this faith?”

“Do not blaspheme, young man.” Giustiniani’s tone was sharp, but it softened when he spoke again. “And do not despair. The odds are not so against us as they look.” He patted the stone in front of them with one thick, callused hand. “With a handful of men and these walls, I could hold back the very forces of hell itself.”

“Good,” Cyprian said, his voice hollow as he looked back over the Ottoman camp. “Because it looks like we will have to.”

Giustiniani left, but Radu and Cyprian stayed where they were. Cyprian waved his hand in disgust. “Look at those animals in that pen. That one, there. Those are not even war animals! That lord brought those to show off!”

Radu’s eyes never left the red and gold tent in the center—Mehmed’s. “A pasha, probably. Or a ghazi from the Eastern regions. They do not see each other often, so they would want to use this as a show of wealth and strength.”

Cyprian laughed. “They do not even care about scaring us. They are here to impress each other.” He sighed, finally turning and sinking down to sit with his back against the stones. Radu knew Mehmed was not here yet, that the tent was empty. Still, it was all he could do to look away and sit next to Cyprian.

“If they have all that—if they can do this much on a military campaign—why do they even want our city? That camp is nicer than anything we have in here.”

Radu sighed, resting his head against the cold limestone that stood between him and his people. “They think Constantinople is paved in gold.”

“They are two hundred years too late. How can the sultan not know that?”

“He knows.” Radu was certain of it. Mehmed was too careful, too meticulous not to know the true state of the city. “He lets them believe the city is wealthy so they are willing to fight. But he wants the city for itself. For its history. For its position. For his capital.”

“And so he will take it.”

Radu nodded, echoing Cyprian. “And so he will take it.”

“What is life like under the Ottomans? For the vassal states and conquered people?”

Radu closed his eyes and saw a red and gold tent in the darkness. Saw the face of the man who would be there, so soon. Saw himself, where he should have been, in the tent next to Mehmed.

To impress his loyalty on Cyprian, he should probably talk of horrors. But the look of despair in Cyprian’s eyes haunted him. There was comfort in the truth, so Radu extended it. “Honestly? It is better than many other things.” Radu blinked away the images of what would not be, focusing on the city on a hill in front of him. “The Ottomans do not believe in the feudal systems. People are far freer under their rule. Industry and trade flourish. They let their vassal subjects continue to worship how they wish, without persecution.”