Chapter XVIII: The Storming of the Walls

The capture of Galata permitted the Crusaders to break the chain which guarded the entrance to the Golden Horn, and the next morning the Venetian fleet sailed triumphantly into the sheltered waters of the port of the Imperial City. Constantinople was now definitely cut off from communication by sea, but as much could not be said for the land blockade established by the host. Boniface led his battalions around the head of the Golden Horn to the hill which rises above its waters opposite the imposing bulk of the Palace of Blachernae, that forward-jutting bastion at the junction of the land walls with the barriers protecting the Golden Horn frontage of the city.

It was impossible for the Crusaders to attempt to hem in the capital. Their numbers were wholly inadequate to the task of warding the line of the land walls stretching for three leagues from the Golden Horn to the shore of the Marmora. The best that Boniface could do was to concentrate his attack upon one section of the walls, and the manifest course for him to follow was to select a section adjoining the scene of the marine operations of his allies. There was also to be considered the circumstance that the walls surrounding the Palace and quarter of Blachernae, strong though they were, lacked the outer bulwark which the great moat provided for the walls that ran southwest ward from the adjoining Palace of the Parphyrogenitus. This ditch, 61 feet broad and from 80 to 50 feet deep, scarped and counter-scarped with masonry, would have required the undisturbed efforts of an army to fill or bridge over.

As a matter of fact, the position of the host was anything but an enviable one. The Venetians on their ships were safe because of the total collapse of the Imperial navy. But the Crusaders ashore soon discovered that while they were besieging Constantinople, none the less was Constantinople besieging them. So frequent were the alarms, outfalls and forays that it became necessary for the host to fortify their camp, for the vast numbers of the Greeks enabled the enemy to advance simultaneously from three or four gates and from the open country as well. The collection of provisions was thwarted, and as the days went by the confidence of the Greeks increased.

But there was no slackening of determination on the part of the leaders of the host. On the morning of Thursday, July 17, 1203, ten days after the seizure of Galata, they launched their crucial effort. Boniface, with the men of Champagne and the Burgundians, mounted guard over the camp, whilst Count Baldwin led the other divisions to assail the walls between the Gate of Blachernae and the Golden Horn, and the fleet of the Venetians attacked the walls covering the quarter of the Petrion that lay between the Palace of Blachernae and the Gate of Platea on the side of the port.

The comrades were riding out from the camp to seek places in the assaulting columns, when they were hailed by Villehardouin.

"With your favour, Messers," he said. "The Marquis Boniface sends word by me to ask if you will remain at his side for the nonce. It may be that he will have need of messengers to pass betwixt the fleet and the shore, and seeing that you are known to the Doge he would rather have you do this service than others."

"We will serve him right gladly, Lord Marshal, thus or otherwise," rejoined Hugh.

"Then follow me."

Villehardouin led them to the brow of the hill in front of the camp, overlooking the valley, on the farther side of which rose the walls of Blachernae, and the waters of the Golden Horn. From this point Boniface and a group of attendant lords and knights watched the development of the attack. The comrades could see the whole panorama of the action spread out beneath them--the line of the Venetian fleet, full half a league from wing to wing, bearing down upon the harbour walls, and the phalanxes of knights and sergeants on foot, advancing toward the land walls, carrying with them wide scaling ladders that two men abreast might climb and hide-covered mantlets to protect the climbers against arrows, stones and the dreaded Greek fire.

The sun was shining brightly, and the warm air was filled with hurtling missiles from the mangonels, petraries and ballistæ, which were used in hundreds by both sides. Men were falling continually on the walls and amongst the ranks of the Crusaders, but many more were lost by the attackers than by the defenders. The shouts of the combatants came faintly across the intervening distance.

"Look, Matteo," said Hugh. "Who are those tall, bearded men with axes who hold the wall so manfully?"

"They are no less than countrymen of yours," returned Matteo with a laugh. "They are the Varangian Guard of the Emperor, and those few who are not Englishmen are Danes or mayhap Russians. And there is one you should note especially, Hugh. The officer in full armour with the scarlet surcoat and the winged helm. He is Sir Cedric Halcroft, brother to your neighbour, the Lord of Blancherive, commander of the Varangians--Great Acolyth is his Court title."

Hugh's eyes were fastened upon the far-off figure. So that was Edith's father! She seemed nearer with the thought, and his gaze shifted across the miles of house-roofs beyond the walls, as he speculated in what nook or corner she might be hidden. It was difficult to understand that he had come at last to the threshold of her new home, so many long, long leagues from Crowden Wood.... He looked up to meet Matteo's quizzical smile.

"You spoke, comrade?" he asked.

"Our people have two ladders on the wall. See! To the left of the gate. By Our Lady! Do but watch them swarm up! Ay, naught shall stop them! Brave hearts! A-aah!"

A huge stone rolled down the close-packed ladder and swept the rungs clean. All that it left was a heap of shattered bodies and splintered timbers.

"But they try again," exclaimed Hugh excitedly. "Beyond the round tower! There are three ladders placed--no, four! Others are coming. Mark how our archers shoot! I would we had a company of men like Ralph. Then--St. Cuthbert, but that is too bad!"

A petrary farther down the wall had jerked a stone fairly into another crowded ladder, which, in overturning, had upset a second one.

"It is those cursed Englishmen of yours," said Matteo gloomily. "The Greeks would never fight like that. There are no men-at-arms in the world better than the Varangian Guard."

"So much the more glory for us if we vanquish them," replied Hugh. "You are impatient, comrade. Ay, by St. James, 'tis so! We have the wall! We have won!"

There was a murmur of comment in the group surrounding Boniface. What had begun to seem impossible was actually happening under their eyes. A dozen or more of the assailants were on the wall, their swords clashing on the axes of the sturdy Varangians. The ladders behind them creaked with hurrying reinforcements; they had almost cleared the curtain between two towers. But in the very moment of victory the scarlet surcoat of Sir Cedric appeared in the ranks of the Varangians. The defence tensed, contracted and pushed back the invaders. The Varangian axes rose and fell resistlessly; the curtain was reconquered; one by one the Crusaders were thrust over the battlements or slain.

Undaunted by the defeat, the attacking battalions of the host recoiled only long enough to secure fresh ladders and mantlets. Then, shouting their war-cries, they returned to the hazardous assault of those mighty walls, beside whose massy cliffs men looked insignificant as flies. But a look of deep concern clouded the face of the Marquis of Montferrat.

"I like it not, Messers," he said uneasily. "We have lost many good knights, and naught gained thereby. Messer Hugh, I prithee take boat to Messer Dandolo. Tell him that we of the host have done all that men may, and unless his people can exert some diversion in our favour it is like to go hard with us."

"Ay, Lord Marquis," answered Hugh, and saluting with his lance, he rode off with Matteo to the basin behind the hill where certain of the smaller craft of the Venetians were beached. One of these he secured, together with the necessary shipmen, and, leaving Ralph in charge of their horses, the comrades bade the mariners row them down the Golden Horn to the fleet.

The ships and galleys were drawn so close to the shore that the boarding-parties on the flying-bridges which were rigged from the mast-heads were able to cross lances with the Greeks behind the battlements of the towers. But notwithstanding the clamour of the fighting and the volumes of arrows and other missiles, the Venetians were no farther forward in their project of seizing the harbour walls than were the Crusaders on the landward side. So much Hugh and Matteo saw for themselves in their progress behind the line of the fleet.

They found Dandolo on the prow of his galley _Pilgrim_, with the gonfalon of St. Mark beside him. Despite the burden of the day and the weight of his full armour, the gaunt, white face of the Doge gave no sign of fatigue, fear or other emotion. He stood serene amidst all the uproar and confusion, looking away over the masts and the city walls, seeming to scrutinise some vision that was only for him to see.

He received the comrades courteously, and heard their message without comment.

"I warned the lords of the host that we should risk failure if we divided our forces," was all he said when Hugh had finished. "But they would insist that your people could not fight to advantage on shipboard. Now it is for us to save the situation. Messers, I crave your attendance. Do you follow where I lead, and after, if there be question amongst the lords, tell them Dandolo did not fear to risk all for victory."

He summoned his officers to his side with one masterful gesture.

"Signori, so far our attack hath failed of its purpose," he said calmly. "The lords of the host have called upon us to relieve them. It is not enough to work the engines and exchange thrusts from the boarding bridges. Run the galleys ashore at the foot of the walls and set up the scaling-ladders."

The order was repeated from ship to ship of the line, and the oars urged the galleys closer. Ship after ship ran her bow into the mud of the bank or berthed beside the shallow wharves that stood in front of gates in the walls. The _Pilgrim_ was the first to take ground, and Dandolo, with an agility almost unbelievable in a man of his age, caught hold of a rope that hung over the bowsprit and leaped ashore.

"Bring on the gonfalon," he called to his standard-bearer. "Let the Lion of St. Mark wave beside me."

A cry of amazed protest went up from the Venetian captains. Riniero Buondelmonti, one of the Vice-Admirals, ran to the prow of the _Pilgrim_ and begged the Doge to return on board.

"You bear the fate of Venice on your shoulders, Magnificence," he pleaded. "Bethink you before it is too late. Without you we are lost."

"Without victory the Republic will be lost indeed," returned Dandolo firmly. "I have led you so far, Signori, for all my years. Now do you come at least as far, and the Greeks will see that you are people who may not be scorned."

The galley next in line to the _Pilgrim_ was slow to move up to the foot of the walls, and when Dandolo saw this, his dim eyes blazed with rage. He ran to the edge of the bank, heedless of the bolts and arrows that hissed and spat around him, and shouted to the vessel's master:

"Come hither to my side or I will do justice on you with my own sword! Is this the time to tarry when the Republic is at stake?"

The gonfaloniere beside him waved the standard overhead, so that the crews of the shipping might see where it stood by the walls, and a wave of enthusiasm possessed the Venetians. Officers who had fought half-heartedly, holding that it was impossible for sailors afloat to capture walls on land, now plucked up their courage and followed the lead of the Doge. The ships spewed forth men by thousands. Ladders were reared against the walls; the flying-bridges were flung out from the mast-heads so close that the bolder spirits might jump from their ends upon the battlements. The archers, slingers and engineers at the machines worked tirelessly to keep down the hail of missiles which came from the walls. And through it all, Dandolo stood by the Gate of the Diplophanarion, guarded by the shields of Hugh and Matteo, overseeing everything with his wellnigh sightless eyes, directing and controlling the progress of the attack.

The battle which had been waged so languidly of a sudden flared into a conflagration of the utmost violence. The Greeks on the walls were bewildered by the abrupt change. As the attack waxed bolder and more desperate, their bewilderment became panic. Scores of ladders were raised from the shore; gigantic cats or rams made their appearance and commenced to pick at the foundations, already jarred by the blows of stones from the catapults on the ships. There were no Varangians here to brace the resistance. The defence had been entrusted to troops of the Scholarii, or Noble Guard,--a very different body from the Varangians,--and the train-bands of the city, together with certain mercenary corps. These fought well enough so long as the combat went their way, but courage deserted them at first sight of the banner of St. Mark waving on one of the towers.

The Venetians themselves were surprised at the ease of their victory, and once they had gained a footing on the walls, they pushed ahead at will. Twenty-five towers were taken; the gate was thrown open and the Doge entered the city. The Greeks fled before them. From the streets that led away from the walls there came the wailing and lamentation of the people, who feared the ruthless hand of an enemy and the tortures of the sack. But there was only brief opportunity for looting. The Venetians were still exploring the possibilities of the warehouses which filled the water-front streets when the look-outs posted on towers gave warning of the approach of fresh bodies of Greeks.

So soon as word had reached the Emperor Alexius at Blachernae of the success of the Venetians, he had withdrawn the Varangian Guard and other bodies of picked troops from the land walls and hastened as fast as he could to repair the situation on the Golden Horn. After leaving enough men to hold in check the disheartened attacks of the Crusaders, he was yet able to bring against the Venetians an overwhelming body of tried troops. But in Dandolo he had to reckon with a captain who was second to none in the wiles of warfare.

The Doge heard of the approach of the Greek reinforcements with perfect equanimity.

"Bid the men withdraw to the wall and the towers," he directed. "But first they are to fire the houses in their front betwixt them and the Greeks."

The wind was blowing across the Golden Horn on the backs of the Venetians and drove the flames southward into the faces of the Greeks. Their advance was halted immediately, and their efforts diverted to the essential task of checking the fire. But notwithstanding all the toil of the troops, assisted by the citizens, who were fearful of the destruction of the entire city, it burned over an area of many blocks on the waterfront of the Petrion and wrought untold damage before it was finally stayed by the dying of the wind and the wrecking of buildings in its path. It was the first of many scourges which were to descend upon the Imperial City for its sins, a mere foretaste of the doom to come. But it was no small tribute to the splendour of the New Rome that even those of its attackers who were obliged in self-protection to give it to the torch experienced a sensation of remorseful compunction at the immolation of so much that was beautiful and worth while.

Both Hugh and Matteo were grieved by the spectacle of warehouses, monasteries, churches and mansions, to say nothing of hundreds of meaner buildings, disappearing in clouds of smoke and pillars of flame. They stood behind Dandolo on the tower above the Gate of Petrus, waiting to take from him a report of his operations to Boniface. He brooded over the scene of destruction he had created, remote, unimpassioned, the incarnate spirit of judgment.

"It awes you, Messers?" he said suddenly, stretching out one hand toward the sea of flames.

"Ay, Lord Doge," answered Hugh.

Matteo could not find words. His artist's soul was enthralled by the horrible magnificence of the picture.

"There are as many houses burning here mayhap as there are in all Venice, Pisa or Florence," continued Dandolo detachedly. "Well may you be awed, young sirs. It is seldom given to us to witness Divine retribution administered to the culpable, yet I say to you that that which you see here is just so surely the vengeance of God as though St. Mark himself had descended from Heaven to scatter brands. Woe to the wicked city! Woe to the oppressor! Woe to the selfish! Woe to the monarch who set pleasure and luxury on a pedestal, and neglected the well-being of those he was charged to protect!"

He was silent a moment. Then his hand struck out again in a gesture of denunciation.

"This that you see here is the healing of a sore, for it is often necessary in healing evil to sweep clean the seat of the affliction, in order that healthiness may take root and grow. We will purge Constantinople, and make it whole. We----"

A messenger panted up the stairs of the tower.

"Lord Doge! Lord Doge!"

"Well?"

"A messenger from the lords of the host. The Emperor Alexius is issuing from the gates of the land walls. A hundred thousand men march with him. The host are surrounded, and in sore peril. They cry your aid and counsel."

"Say to them---- But hold!" He turned to Hugh and Matteo. "Messers, you will favour me by carrying the message. Tell the Lord Boniface that I am coming. They have but to stand firm. The Greeks fear us."

They left him on the tower despatching orders to captains, still standing on his feet in full armour as he had stood all day since dawn, wearing the mantle of his ninety-two years like a demi-god.

"Is he human?" asked Matteo with a shiver.

"Truly I know not," answered Hugh. "I could hope he is not, for in sooth we are in a sad plight. The day goes badly, after all."