The Truce

At nine in the morning, the Ottomans' first assault came to an end. They left thousands of corpses behind as they withdrew to their camp. At the sight, a continuous wave of cheers erupted from atop the walls.

Vitus did not join his comrades in celebration. He looked over his battlefield notes, nibbled on some dry rations, and planned to find a quiet corner to sleep.

Suddenly, a procession slowly made its way through the city. Most of its members were clergymen dressed in black robes, led by the Crown Prince, John, and the Patriarch of Constantinople.

In keeping with an ancient tradition, the clergy carried an icon of the Madonna and Child out of Hagia Sophia and around the Theodosian Walls to bolster the defenders' morale.

As a member of the imperial family, Vitus was obliged to take part. Fighting off his exhaustion, he trudged along at the back of the procession. Before he knew it, they had reached the northwestern section of the walls, where a young man, smeared with blood from head to toe, joined them.

The man was Constantine Dragases Palaiologos, the emperor's fifth son. Tall and robust, with a high-bridged nose, handsome features, and a thick mane of dark brown hair, he cut an impressive figure.

Vitus looked much like Constantine, except that years of seclusion had left him thin and somewhat fair-skinned.

"Did you fight in person just now?"

Constantine wiped the blood from his face and put his iron helmet back on. "I did. The Ottomans filled in part of the moat with sandbags, and a large number of soldiers poured onto the outer wall. Things got urgent, so I led a group of guards over and, luckily, drove the enemy back down. It's a shame this sword's been hacked to pieces."

He drew an elaborately crafted longsword. Its blade was riddled with countless notches and no longer fit for use. "You were on the southwestern wall. Was the fighting fierce?"

"It was manageable. The Serpent Cannons smashed the Ottomans' stone-throwing machines, siege towers, and battering rams. Only a handful of men made it onto the walls."

The procession lasted more than an hour. Yawning, Vitus returned to the southwestern wall.

In the afternoon, the Ottomans launched their second assault. Vitus stuck to his earlier tactics, directing the Serpent Cannons to smash the enemy's siege equipment. The battle went on until three, when the sound of a retreating horn rang out beyond the city walls once more.

As the defenders watched in relief, Ottoman soldiers began taking down their tents. They loaded their supplies onto wagons and left the siege camp one group at a time, ending the three-month-long siege.

"Did we make it through?"

Vitus stroked his chin, pondering the rumors spread by Venetian merchants. They claimed that a large-scale rebellion had broken out in the Ottoman Empire's eastern territories. It seemed the rumors were true.

He left the walls and went to the stables for his mount. Then he rode along broad Mese Avenue toward the eastern district. The scenery along the way was desolate.

At its height, Constantinople had been home to a million people. Now, only sixty thousand remained. Nature had reclaimed the once-thriving city center. Vast stretches of farmland, vegetable gardens, and even barren grassland lay within the city. Every now and then, he spotted a few goats grazing on weeds amid the ruins.

The eastern district still held a little life. Ancient columns still stood tall in the grand Theodosius Square, and the streets teemed with all kinds of people: Greeks, Venetian and Genoese merchants, who enjoyed various commercial privileges, and a few Slavs.

In the distance, Hagia Sophia stood on a hill in the city's southeast. The setting sun bathed its massive dome in a solemn glow, tinged with loneliness and decay.

At dusk, Vitus arrived at Hagia Sophia and handed his new sword to a guard. A religious service was underway, and Vitus stood quietly at the edge of the crowd. When it ended, the empire's leaders gathered to discuss what to do next.

The Eastern Roman Empire was ruled by Manuel II, now over seventy. His eldest son, John, stood beside him. John had already been crowned co-emperor and was gradually taking over the affairs of state.

By now, the empire had lost most of its territory. Its population was sparse, its treasury depleted, and its only chance to turn things around lay in aid from the West.

John intended to travel to the West himself, persuade Venice, the Holy See, and other powers to form an unprecedentedly vast Crusader army, and destroy the Ottomans once and for all.

The others debated the Crown Prince's plan.

As early as 1399, Emperor Manuel had sailed west to visit Venice and the Roman Holy See. In 1400, he reached Paris, where the French king welcomed him warmly and promised to send soldiers.

Half a year later, Manuel traveled to England and met Henry IV, who likewise promised military aid. The rulers of Castile, Aragon, and other lands also agreed to join the Crusade.

Yet all of it was nothing but empty promises. Manuel had spent more than three years traveling abroad to little effect. Needless to say, the Crown Prince's own visit would probably achieve little more.

After the meeting, Vitus found the Crown Prince and asked to accompany him to Italy.

"Are you sure?" The Crown Prince looked at his tall, slender younger brother and paused to consider.

His second and third brothers had been named despots and sent to govern elsewhere, while his fourth brother would accompany him on the mission. He could entrust the affairs at home to his fifth brother, Constantine.

In fact, if the Crown Prince had to choose one of his brothers, Constantine was the one he trusted most.

His second brother was ambitious, his third was frail, and his fourth had lived in seclusion for years and was unequal to the task. As for his fifth brother, Constantine stood firmly by him no matter what—even if the Crown Prince and the emperor quarreled. He had never wavered.

"Very well. I'll grant your request. We'll leave next month, so make your preparations in advance."

"Understood." With permission secured, Vitus returned to a secluded courtyard in Blachernae Palace and began organizing the notes he had taken during this period.

Before coming to this world, he had been an idle college student with little knowledge of European history from this era. All he knew was that the Eastern Roman Empire had finally fallen on May 29, 1453. In that battle, the Ottomans had deployed more than a hundred thousand troops and captured Constantinople—the City Desired by the World. The last emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, Constantine XI, had died in battle...

"This is the Ottoman Empire's rise. Its power is formidable, and its people are warlike. As an unlucky prince with no power or influence, how am I supposed to turn things around?"

Vitus grabbed his hair and sketched an eighteenth-century muzzle-loading cannon on the paper, pondering its caliber-to-barrel-length ratio and the design of a field carriage.

After working for a long while, he flipped a few pages and found a fragmentary system of differential equations recorded there.

These were the work of the eighteenth-century mathematician Euler, used to calculate the trajectory of a cannonball under air resistance. Unfortunately, Vitus's memory was hazy. He could not recall the precise equations and had to derive them himself.

"If I remember right, this involves numerical integration. Let me think..."

Once he worked out the relevant mathematical formulas, Vitus planned to persuade the emperor to fund a cannon foundry and produce more advanced artillery. By using the cannonball's initial velocity and weight, he could calculate practical firing tables.

That would bring their artillery accuracy close to the standard of the Napoleonic era. Even if the Ottomans besieged the city with the Urban Bombard, Vitus would have enough confidence to destroy the superguns.