{"id":6671,"date":"2020-07-10T12:55:51","date_gmt":"2020-07-10T12:55:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/?page_id=6671"},"modified":"2020-07-10T12:56:27","modified_gmt":"2020-07-10T12:56:27","slug":"the-last-emperor-of-buzantium-or-the-city-has-been-taken-been-taken","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/the-last-emperor-of-buzantium-or-the-city-has-been-taken-been-taken\/","title":{"rendered":"The Last Emperor of Buzantium Or: “The City has been taken, been taken”"},"content":{"rendered":"

The last liturgy in the Hagia<\/strong><\/em>
\nSophia<\/strong><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Extracts from the novel<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Night falls over the Imperial City<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Night is falling over the long-suffering Imperial City that is
\nabout to die. Night is falling on the God-protected City of
\nConstantine. Night is falling on the anguish of those about
\nto die. Behind the unending flow of tears, all things take on a
\ncrystalline appearance. I look at the bloodied horizon and shudder.
\nThe last dusk, I say to myself, and my glance turns insatiably toward it,
\nembraces the Thracian plain, and rushes down to the Sea of Marmara,
\nto the golden waters of the Bosporus, which carry the seafaring myths
\nof my race, and to the wounded Golden Horn.
\n\u201cTomorrow,\u201d I repeat, trembling, \u201ctomorrow…\u201d
\nThe sweetly-echoing semantra of the Hagia Sophia are
\nsounding, the glorious bells are tolling, and people are
\nhurrying from all parts of the Imperial City to take part in
\nthe great liturgy of supplication. They have put on their best clothes,
\nthey hold tapers in their hands and ancient icons, heirlooms, and they
\nrun now toward the Hagia Sophia. The Forum of Augustus and the
\nroyal Mese Hodos are filled all the way down to the half-ruined
\nHippodrome. Filled, too, is the huge peribolos of the Hagia Sophia,
\nwhich is lined with arcades, and whose nine gates open wide to receive
\nthe long-suffering populace that has borne the cross of its martyrdom
\nfor fifty-seven days.
\nI make my way into the crowd that is mourning and running about
\ndazed, to reach the Column of Constantine. That is where my Eleni
\nwill be waiting… there, and I am not mistaken. She is holding
\nConstantine tightly in her arms and looking around with anguish.
\n\u201cHere I am… I have come,\u201d and I take them both in my arms, \u201clet\u2019s go,
\nwe\u2019re late,\u201d she says uneasily and pulls me ahead, \u201cthe Emperor just
\npassed by…\u201d
\nGreeks and Italians. Soldiers and non-combatants. All of them,
\nunited, run toward the Hagia Sophia with tears in their eyes. Today,
\nyes, today the union of the Churches is taking place, I say to myself,
\nand I make the sign of the cross. Today, Orthodoxy accepts the
\nFilioque of Rome, because no one is interested in that any longer….
\nand all those priests, who have obstinately refused to conduct a service
\nin the Hagia Sophia for five months now, all the fanatical antiunionists,
\nnow run in silence to pray in the same space with the others,
\nto celebrate the liturgy together. My Basileus sees these united hordes,
\nsees the triumph of a \u201cunion\u201d that has taken root deep in the soul and
\na smile lights up his eyes.
\nMy Eleni takes the stoa-covered uphill path that leads to the
\nwomen\u2019s section, and I run to the military retinue of the Emperor.
\nDemetrios pulls me close. \u201cWhere were you? Ioannis was looking for
\nyou…\u201d he said to me and I was puzzled, \u201cIoannis… but I saw him just a
\nshort time ago… what did he want? \u201cYou will be among those who lock
\nthe fortress gates… After the liturgy we are all to go to our posts, in the
\nperibolos of the Outer Wall, and the fortress gates will be locked
\nbehind us, you know that…\u201d
\nI shuddered. The hour is approaching, I thought, the final hour…
\n\u201cYes, I will see him,\u201d I answered, deep in thought, \u201cwho else will be
\nwith me?\u201d \u201cThe two of us and Manuelo.. we are to deliver the keys to
\nthe Emperor, those are our orders.\u201d
\nThose frightening words roused me, it seems. My soul immediately
\nstirred, seemed to stand upright, beyond the fear that eradicates. My
\nsoul stood up, and was enlarged. \u201cWe will prevail or we will all die…,\u201d
\nDemetrios went on. And I looked at him roughly, \u201cBy the faith, we will
\nprevail!\u201d
\nI pass through the large, royal gate, with the Emperor\u2019s retinue and
\nreflect that Justinian, too, passed through it, on December 24, 537,
\nwhen it was inaugurated in formal splendor. I close my eyes and try to
\nimagine that winter morning. Perhaps there is freezing rain and biting
\ncold, the streets are icy and the sun\u2019s rays pale. Foaming waves arrive,
\ngalloping, on the Bosporus, and bring prophecies and garlands of gods
\non their backs.
\nO Lord, my God, thou art very great…
\nI hear the voice of the priest. I am leaning against the green column
\nthat was brought from the temple of Artemis in Ephesus, and I try to
\nelicit, from the depths of the thousand years, that wintry morning, to
\nhear the glorious sound, then and now. Will the echoes meet in the
\nfullness of time… in the completion of the circle?
\nHe appointed the moon for seasons; the sun knoweth its going down.
\nMy mind is immobilized. The sun knoweth its going down… One day
\nor one millennium? What are the laws of longevity? What is their ratio
\nrelative to mortal time? And I? Where am I? What is my path? How
\ndid I reach the wintry morning of the consecration? Or perhaps it is
\nsuspended somewhere on the notches of time? I say to myself… Has
\nthe Hagia Sophia clothed herself in her grandeur tonight in order to
\ndie brilliant, clothed herself in the centuries of her grandeur, before
\nshe clothes herself in the frozen night…
\nI look around. I am blinded. She is brilliant. The wintry morning is
\ndull and gray, but hidden suns shine in the sanctuary of her altar and the
\nlighted votive lamps make the precious stones radiate their inner light.<\/p>\n

I know that I must return to the present, to this painful reality moist
\nwith the tears of thousands of men about to die, who are praying
\naround me in pious concentration. I know that if I raise my eyes I will
\nmeet my Eleni\u2019s eyes; surely she is watching me from the women\u2019s
\nsection. But, a moment longer, I say, one tiny moment to wander
\nthrough the desert of negated time… It is as if I am taking my leave of
\nthe Imperial City… Or as if I am trying through the power of my mind
\nto inscribe this final hour in the collective memory of the world, so that
\nit is never lost, never forgotten.<\/p>\n

I escape. I go further and think. I am a pure Byzantine. When on
\nSeptember 18, 324, Constantine the Great with his steel-clothed
\ntroops was defeating Licinius on the Asiatic shore of the
\nBosporus, I was there. It was then, when ancient Byzantium, which was
\ncolonized by Greeks, descendants of the Megarian Byzas and of the
\nfollowers of Antes, opened wide its gates to receive the victor. For a
\nthousand years before that, since 658 B.C., Byzantium had stood. And
\nnow Constantine, dazzled by its beauty, gave it his name and
\nproclaimed it his capital. Weary of the corruption of the West, he
\npreferred to make lovely Anatolia the bulwark of Christendom. And
\nwith a passion he established a New Rome. But I am a Byzantine.
\nBecause I am descended from those Greeks who came from Greece,
\nthe forerunners of civilization in this exquisite cradle.<\/p>\n

I press my hands to my temples. I feel faint. All these thoughts
\nhammer at my mind. A sudden need to trace my roots, my identity, I
\nam the Greek, I am the Byzantine, I am the Roman \u2013 the Greco-
\nRoman. I look up at my Eleni. Her gaze is upon me, anguished, as if
\nshe wants to take away the historic moment, to negate fate. But I am
\nelsewhere. I am still wandering through the negated cycles of time. I
\nwant to see my passage. My tracks.<\/p>\n

And here I am, on May 11, 330, at the inauguration of New Rome,
\nthis beautiful City of Constantine, which is still small, stretching from
\nthe Four Stoas, the ancient agora of Byzantium, to the magnificent
\nForum of Constantine. It was then that Constantine, raised on his tall
\nstele, pointed toward Anatolia, to the spot whence the conqueror
\nwould come one thousand years later.<\/p>\n

Ah, how the ancient prophecies came to pass, one by one, those
\nprophecies written on parchment rotting in moist linen-chests. And
\nlook, I am here again. I, the witness of the confirmation. I, the witness
\nof history. I, who am about to die. I, the innocent one.
\nour City dedicates to you, Theotokos…<\/p>\n

People and clergy are chanting reverently, but I escape
\nagain. I pass by the Bronze Room and proceed to the Gold
\nThrone Room. Golden birds perched on gold plane-tree leaves
\nembellish the Imperial throne. On its sides are two rows of preying
\ngolden vultures, and two lions lie on its base. There I am.<\/p>\n

Eavesdropping. I hear whispers and the imperceptible rustling of
\nImperial robes. I go into the atrium and see the famous fountain.
\nUpon it sits a huge eagle of finely wrought gold and green stones,
\nchoking the serpent in its claws. The same image is in the palace of the
\nPorphyrogenete, I reflect. There, too, the green emerald eagle is
\nslaying the black serpent. For a thousand years, it has been slaying the
\nserpent \u2013 until the serpent turned into a monster, gathered its venom
\ndrop by drop, and is now ready to spit it into the heart of the Imperial
\nCity. I look up and see the new wings of the Sacred palace: Boukoleon,
\nTrikonchos, Magnaura. All destroyed. Piles of rubble. Those are my
\nmarks, I say to myself. That is my journey through time.<\/p>\n

Tears are flowing from my eyes now. The wandering is over,
\nand I kneel next to Demetrios, who looks at me as if he
\nguesses. The Hagia Sophia is fragrant, like a soul that has
\nopened its paradises. The gold and silver and porphyry are fragrant
\nfrom the breaths of the rending. And all these fragrant fumes of
\nincense, of cinnamon, of souls dissolving into grief, make her cyclical
\nspace shudder and rise up high, shudder and waver, like a buffeted
\nsoul that senses its approaching death.<\/p>\n

It was at that moment, the moment of the great lamentation, that
\nher marble and gold were transformed into a shining soul, a soul both
\nbare and brilliant, in all its thousand year-old splendor. A weeping
\nsoul. A herald to the ages. It was that moment, that lament, which
\ntransformed her stone to tears. And she weeps now. I hear her lament
\nrolling down from the sweating metal mosaics, raising her above
\nearthly things, higher than the tallest symbol of the universe. Her silver
\nlamps shudder and weep, as if they know that this is the last time they
\nwill shine… The reverent visages of the saints weep, their metal weeps
\nfor the last miracle of faith. Her semantra weep, too, sounding slowly
\nand painfully. The priests weep and their hands tremble, hands that
\nhold sacred vessels for the last time. The courageous men around the
\nEmperor weep, the Venetians and Greeks and Catalans all dressed in
\nformal battle attire, purifying their souls for the battle of death. The
\npeople weep, the tormented people, who are about to die. There is a
\nheart-rending moan from one side to the other. And I weep.<\/p>\n

Lord, I cry unto thee\u2026 give ear unto my voice\u2026 Hearken unto the voice
\nof my cry\u2026 hearken\u2026 for unto thee will I pray…
\nThere is a fragrance, a fragrance of soul. Incense and
\ncinnamon and myrrh. Everyone is kneeling now. Warriors
\nand people. And a reverent voice arises. A voice of entreaty
\nfor the angelic hosts to return, for the Theotokos, the Hodigitria… But
\nnothing. Not a wing-beat is heard, nor a saintly sword. The Theotokos
\nweeps. Our Lady weeps tonight, because our destruction is written and
\nordained, ordained for a thousand years now, and nothing can change
\nthe fated course of events.<\/p>\n

The Emperor, too, weeps. As if he knows that this is the last time
\nthat he will see his people, the last time that the Hagia Sophia, the
\nsplendid monastery, will celebrate the liturgy, as if he knows that the
\ndawn will not find him among the living. But he weeps not for that; he
\nweeps for his people, and for his beloved City, The City of Cities, the
\nbrilliant Capital City.<\/p>\n

I make my way through the crowd to stand next to him. I want to see
\nhim again, to touch him. His eyes are turned to the heavens and he is
\npraying. What is he praying for? The death of a courageous man,
\nperhaps? The salvation of his City, or death?
\nI see the chief priest come forward with the silver chalice, and the
\nEmperor draws near. He is wearing white battle-dress and his body \u2013
\nthat proud body \u2013 is trembling, as if it is shaken by the wind or by a
\ndead man\u2019s soul. They say that the body is prophetic and perceives its
\ndeath. They say that the soul knows. But I say to myself that his body is
\nshaking from torment, from grief, all alone and struck by the lightning
\nbolt.<\/p>\n

He is holding the scepter in his hand, the scepter that a short while
\nago he had called \u201chumbled,\u201d and I look at it insatiably. How many
\nhands of Emperors have held it, I reflect, how much blood has been
\nspilled for its glory… and now it is useless, a symbol that is dying… and
\nin my eyes it is transformed bit by bit, becomes an unbearable cross on
\nhis shoulders, and the thin purple cloak he is wearing fills with blood
\nthat drips on the mosaics, blood drips from his crown, and I am taken
\naback… I open my eyes wide and the hallucination vanishes… A
\nhallucination or an image from the relentless day that is coming?
\nI see him now, advancing slowly; all eyes are upon him. Everyone
\nwatches him with bated breath. Because he wants to say something. He
\nprepares to say something. He looks around at the huge church, looks
\nfor an entire moment at the thousands of eyes turned toward him and
\nasks his people for forgiveness of his sins, as he asked his officers
\nearlier, he seeks remission of his sins from his God, to fulfill his duty as
\na Christian and as a king, and he leans toward the chalice to receive the
\nBody and Blood of Christ.<\/p>\n

It is a trembling moment in the crowded church. Only sobs can
\nbe heard. No one can contain his grief any longer. Their
\nBasileus is entrusting to them his City and his Scepter, to be
\nguarded. The moment, the great moment has arrived. Their Basileus is
\npreparing for death. For sacrifice. And now shudders pierce
\ntormented bodies, a profound shiver, their Basileus marches with
\ndetermination toward the fate ordained for him by the gods, that bitter
\nfate, which is theirs, as well. Mothers hug children to their bosoms.
\nWhite-haired old men embrace their brave young lads, who will fight
\nin the morning before the locked fortress gates.<\/p>\n

All his generals, officials, and ministers follow the Emperor. They
\nreceive communion one by one and stand beside him, and no eye is
\ndry, no heart, even the most hardened and bloodthirsty. Greeks and
\nVenetians and Ligurians, the head of the defenses, who are sworn to
\ndie at dawn for the honor of the Imperial City and the honor of
\nChristendom, all receive communion.<\/p>\n

I will take the cup of salvation… I will offer thee the sacrifice of praise…
\nReceive me today as a partaker of Your mystical feast…
\nAt the same moment, countless priests stand before the altar with
\nchalices in hand, for the people to receive communion. Embraces and
\ntears and forgiveness of sins…
\nIn one fleeting moment I see Cardinal Isidore and Leonardo of
\nChios with chalices in their hands. Greek and Latin priests together… a
\npartaker of Your mystical feast, today… The people approach with
\nreverence and order, as is fitting for those about to die.
\nPurified by tears, cleansed by suffering, they all receive communion.
\nThey ask for remission of sins. They are those about to die, those
\nwhom the dawn will not find among the living.<\/p>\n

I, too, go forward, to wait my turn. Out of the corner of my eye I see
\nIoannis standing tall beside the Emperor. He is wearing his black
\nclothing, and atop his gold encrusted sheath shines the silver handle of
\nhis sword. He is the giant who wept earlier, the demigod who ached
\nwith mortal pain, and he was not afraid to show his tears. Perhaps deep
\ninside, he felt proud of those tears. Because he was, above all, human.
\nHis gaze passes me over. He is already seeing tomorrow. And I ask
\nmyself, has that fearless and proud body intuited its death? I wonder.
\nWhat messages, what dark premonitions had his lion-hearted soul sent
\nhim?
\n…for I will not disclose the Mystery to Your enemies…
\nThe priest turns to give me communion and suddenly stops. He
\nlooks at me, shaken. The drop of blood is running down my forehead,
\nrunning down and tracing a path down my face, and the ochre mark is
\nglowing, I can feel it. I open my mouth to receive Holy Communion,
\nbut the priest is frightened now. I see an ashen fear in his eyes and his
\nhand remains suspended. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the
\nblood, which has now reached my lips, and I wait. This is the blood of
\nMystery, I say to him with my eyes and I shudder at the thought that
\nperhaps it is the same as that blood of Communion.<\/p>\n

God becomes flesh out of Your sacred blood…
\nThis is how Your purified creatures will be sacrificed… my God,
\nthus will they become worthy of the gift of martyrdom. The tears are
\nstreaming from my eyes now, tears that wash away the trickle of blood,
\nI am entirely cleansed I say to him with my eyes, and he brings the
\ncommunion to my lips. Receive me today…<\/p>\n

I try to immobilize time \u2013 an isolated moment \u2013 to take it with
\nme. It is the unique moment when man meets history, I reflect,
\nand I am the witness of this meeting.
\nI look at the Hagia Sophia. She is resplendent. Her silver lamps
\nsparkle, her gold mosaics are gleaming, her soul \u2013 the hidden sun
\n\u2013shines brightly. A chant of praise echoes now from one end to the
\nother. This last Christian liturgy could not end with mourning. And
\neveryone is standing, chanting, expressions of reverence on their faces.
\nThe immense church trembles; her columns tremble, the Holy Altar
\nof pure gold trembles, the Altar which tomorrow will be taken by the
\nfearless, lion-hearted priest aboard his brigantine, to disappear with it
\ninto the waters of the Propontis, lest it be defiled by the infidels.
\nThat reverential grandeur lifts us up and braces us, so that each of
\nus, alone, can confront his final anguish.<\/p>\n

The sound echoes in the gilded dome, rises to the open heavens, to
\nthe angelic hosts, to the Archangel, to the cherubim, who envelop their
\nswords in hosannas.
\nI watch the faces that are turned to the heavens and are no longer
\nweeping. They no longer weep because profound faith, entreaty, the
\nunassailable wall have turned tears into the sweetness of the angels.
\nI open my eyes wide to embrace all this scene of grandeur, to
\ntransfer it whole into the time that is to come, this vibrating moment of
\npraise, in which rulers and nobles, patricians and monks and warriors
\nand people, Venetians and Greeks and Catalans, join their voices
\ntogether with the same reverence and passion, with the same anguish,
\nto praise God who tomorrow will grant them victory. Because now
\nthey believe it. Their souls are full of hope, full of heavenly light. O, my
\nGod, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not\u2026 hearken unto my cry\u2026
\nNo, He did not hear. He was absent. Or perhaps He was lamenting
\nalone, in some invisible dark place.<\/p>\n

The Emperor is chanting along with his people. The beloved
\nBasileus. He chants for a few moments, choking with emotion.
\nHis eyes brim with tears again, and he turns to leave.
\nI have forgotten my Eleni, I have forgotten my little Constantine,
\nand I leave with him. Kyr Andronikos and Georgios are parting the
\ncrowd to open a path for him. The people see him leaving and move
\ntoward him. An immense, aching, human mass. They want to touch
\nhim, as if he were a saint, and they stretch out their hands, so that he is
\nunable to move. He stops and waits. He looks at that huge chanting
\ncrowd with its outstretched hands and slowly raises his scepter, as if he
\nseeks at that moment to take them all with him on the journey into
\nlegend. He wants to say to them that he is ready to sacrifice his life for
\nhis City, but he does not say a word. His tears are more eloquent. And
\nhe continues on his way. He departs, leaving behind him the crowd with
\nthe outstretched hands. His generals and all his officers, Venetians and
\nGreeks, follow him; the simple soldiers who came down from the walls
\nto take part in the great liturgy now return to their places, to their
\ndefensive posts, before the wall gates are locked behind them.<\/p>\n

The valiant man has departed, never again to see his people, never
\nagain to see the Hagia Sophia, because the dawn will not find him
\namong the living. He comes only at nights now, when darkness falls
\nand an otherworldly chanting is heard. He comes like a breeze and a
\nshiver. He enters through the secret gate and stands, covered with
\nblood, sword in hand, beside the two-headed eagle. Many say they
\nhave seen him. Every night, at the same hour, the lamps of the Hagia
\nSophia flicker and the mosaics weep in the darkness, because he is
\nthere, repeating over and over again the oath of the valiant man.<\/p>\n

Palaeologos takes leave of the palace<\/strong><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

People scattered like birds that have lost their way in the storm. We
\nall made our way back to the walls, to carry out our final duty, to gain
\nthe victory or to die. Night had fallen now, the last dusk had
\ndisappeared and a thick darkness enveloped the Imperial City. The
\ncampfires in the enemy camp, that fiery hell, were not lighted yet.
\nSoon… soon they would surround us once more \u2013 tonight was the third
\nnight \u2013 with their huge flames, lighted at the same time on all three
\nsides of our City, to the sound of shouting and frenzied drums, to cause
\npanic among us for the colossal assault they were preparing, to weaken
\nus, to frighten us with their flaming mass.
\nI raised my eyes to the sky and saw the waning moon, the scarred
\nmoon, whose light turned bitter on that prophetic night. It was waning,
\nalone and impassive, a curved cold light; the people of Byzantium, the
\nancient City, whose symbol it was for centuries, were now marching
\nalone and without help along the path to their fate.<\/p>\n

All the divine powers, those of the idols and those of the saints, had
\ndeparted that night. Neither the goddess Rhea, nor the goddess Tyche,
\nprotectresses of ancient Byzantium, nor the Theotokos, nor the
\nArchangel Michael were there. Yet we came out of the Hagia Sophia
\nour souls filled with hope. Our tears and prayers had raised within us
\nthe false sense of divine aid. Our God-protected City could not
\nbecome prey to their savage hands… And it was with joy, almost, that
\nwe ran to the walls, certain that this time, too, we would prevail…
\nCertain? Those were the moments of courage that exalted us, deified
\nus… We will annihilate them, yes, we said, they will be fighting against
\nthunder and lightning… against gods and heroes of myth… against
\ngiants. Ah, that pride, that exaltation that lasted for a few moments
\nonly, to give way to anguish and fear.<\/p>\n

I was running with the other officers to the Mese Hodos, when Kyr
\nAndronikos stopped me.
\n\u201cThe Emperor is going to the palace of Vlachernae; go there
\nquickly with his retinue,\u201d he said to me.
\nI looked at him questioningly.
\n\u201cIoannis is waiting for me, to lock the inner wall-gates,\u201d I answered.
\nHe leaned his heavy hand on my shoulder, \u201cwe have time for the
\nwall-gates… most of the men are not back yet… they were at the
\nliturgy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I ran to my horse, when I heard a desperate voice behind me,
\n\u201cPorphyrios… Porphyrios…\u201d I turned and saw my Eleni, near the
\nColumn of Constantine, the sleeping, exhausted child in her arms, and
\nI was shaken. I had totally forgotten her.<\/p>\n

I am ashamed. I embrace them both, \u201cforgive me…,\u201d I say to her,
\nand she is puzzled, thinks that I am asking forgiveness of my sins, as I
\nhad earlier, at the hour of Holy Communion. I reflect that, yes, that is
\nwhy I am seeking forgiveness; I am going to my death. I feel her tears
\non my face, warm tears, tears of anguish, \u201cforgive you?\u201d she asks, the
\nsobs choking her, \u201conly God… only God can forgive us our sins now…\u201d
\nI stand there, in the middle of the street.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen to me, I say to her, I don\u2019t have much time, I need to leave…
\nTake Zoe and stay at home… do not go out tonight… And remember
\nthat we are innocent… we are innocent, whatever tomorrow may
\nbring… we are burdened by no sin, do you hear me? Only if the cross of
\nmartyrdom is a sin or expiation for the sins of others… only if unjust
\nsuffering ordained by fate is considered a sin, only then may God
\nforgive us… so that we, too, can forgive Him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes filled with horror \u201cdon\u2019t…. don\u2019t blaspheme at this hour,
\ndo not sin, you mustn\u2019t…\u201d she says to me severely. And I lean over and
\nrest my head on the stone… I am a human, not a god, how can I bear
\nthe unbearable?
\nShe is holding the heirloom that I had placed on my Constantine,
\nthat miracle-working heirloom from the hand of Athanasios, \u201cyou, you
\nwear it tonight…,\u201d she says and tries to place it around my neck. I take
\nit and place it again on my son, who is still sleeping, \u201cEh, warrior… eh,
\nwarrior… why were you late?\u201d Something jars my mind, where am I
\nleaving him? What is in store for him? \u201cYou, you wear it tonight…,\u201d
\nshe says again, and a chill courses through my blood, \u201cno, not I, no…
\nthe child must be saved…,\u201d I say to her quickly and start to leave. She
\nlooks at me, trembling. \u201cWill the wall-gates be locked? Is it true that
\nthey will be locked soon?\u201d \u201cIt is true.\u201d<\/p>\n

As I turn to leave quickly, I see the glow out of the corner of my eye.
\nI look at Constantine\u2019s chest. The small ancient icon is glowing. I am
\nblinded for a few seconds. Then I bend over to venerate it and to kiss
\nmy sleeping son one more time. I see the mark on his forehead
\nglowing, tracing its own cycle on the orbit of the incomprehensible. As
\nI pass by the Acropolis to go up to Vlachernae, I see the triangle of the
\nImperial City surrounded by flame and my soul tightens. The waters
\nare shining in the reflection of the countless fires lighted by the infidel,
\na moving surface, grooved by the shimmering reflections, like breaths
\nof hell. The ominous sound of cymbals disturbs the calm of night. I
\ngallop through the empty, deserted streets of The City. Its houses are
\ndark; I see flickering lights only in the churches, and I hear chanting.
\nNo one sleeps tonight. The occasional window is dimly lit by a tired
\nlamp. I reach the fortress of Petrion and look to the right to see the
\nshores of the Golden Horn and the accursed seventy-two, minus one,
\nfustae that were brought overland to the Golden Horn from the hills of
\nPera, and cold chills roll through my body. It is the first time I hear
\nsuch frenzied shouts, such orgiastic merrymaking.<\/p>\n

I look at the pontoon bridge in the distance; it is aflame, and I hear
\nother noises, the dragging of metal and hurried orders. I see huge
\nmasses that are being dragged toward our walls, and I look more
\nclosely. There are arched screens and tall scaling ladders and mounds
\nof missiles and arrows and harquebuses. All Holy Lady, watch over
\nus…, I whisper quickly, as if seeking pardon for my earlier anger at my
\nGod. Watch over us, whether we be innocent or sinners, watch over us.
\nWhen I reached the palace, the Emperor was dismounting from
\nWhitefoot, his Arabian mare. I ran up to Demetrios, \u201cYou are here,
\ntoo?\u201d He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, \u201cIn an hour we
\nmust be at the St. Romanus Gate…,\u201d he whispers, as we walk behind
\nGeorgios.<\/p>\n

The Emperor\u2019s men run quickly to the palace. His elderly servants,
\ndevoted officials from the time of his father, Manuel, greet him with
\ntears in their eyes. He asks them all to gather in the great throne room,
\nbecause he wants to address them there.
\nI see Georgios, who had known all these devoted, panic-stricken
\npeople from childhood, calling them by their names \u2013Kyr Nikodemos,
\nKyr Nikitas, Bardas, Eudokia, Theodora \u2013 directing them to the ruined
\nhall. Some are holding lighted double-lamps, because night has
\nalready enveloped the ruined rooms, others are holding some sacred
\nvessel to exorcise the calamity.<\/p>\n

I stand with Demetrios to one side and look at a mosaic that
\nrepresents the two-headed eagle on the emblem of the Palaeologi,
\nwith the cross shining in the circle. The light from the candelabra
\nsparkles on the gold and gives life to the symbol, rousing its soul to
\nresist the oblivion that is to come. Through the half-ruined arched
\nwindows come snatches of light every so often from the huge fires in
\nthe enemy camp.<\/p>\n

Palaeologos, his eyes brimming with tears, turns to all those faithful
\nservants of the palace, his kindly and humble men and women, some of
\nthem he remembers from his childhood, others he came to know
\nduring the barely four and one-half years of his tormented reign. He
\nlooks at them one by one and the tears choke his voice. He asks their
\nforgiveness, remission of sins, if ever he had hurt them unwittingly \u2013 as
\nhe earlier asked forgiveness from his people \u2013 and then he embraces
\nthem one by one, and the lamentation is heart-rending.<\/p>\n

I see Georgios go to an empty corner of the hall, alone, to hide his
\nface in his hands. I approach him discreetly. I want to shout, but I am
\nsilent. He turns his head and looks at me with such affliction that I
\nthink he will faint. I tell myself he cannot endure it, and reach out my
\nhand to hold him up.
\nI do not speak. I have nothing to say, and words are useless. And he
\nleans on a reclining seat, a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was writing
\nat that hour the chronicle of our struggle, as if he stepped over time
\nand found himself on the opposite bank… In his deep voice he speaks
\nthese words, to be carried away by the winds of the calamity.
\n\u201cWho can recount the weeping and lamentation in the palace? Even
\nif a man were made of wood or stone, he would grieve…\u201d
\nSurely he is living the moment that is to be; he is already writing the
\nchronicle of suffering, I reflect hastily \u2013 so learned was he, the personal
\nsecretary to the Basileus \u2014 and a shudder runs down my spine, as if
\nthe future is ready and planned in detail.<\/p>\n

I approach the Emperor. I want to see him again, to touch him, as if
\nhe were a saint, yes, because there is no one more saintly at this hour, I
\nsay to myself, no one more of a martyr, and I fall at his feet, kneel, and
\nkiss his hands, forgive me, I want to say to him, forgive me for not
\nbeing capable of the impossible, for not being capable of annihilating
\nthe enemy, of burning him like a lightning bolt, but the words do not
\ncome; deep suffering has no words.<\/p>\n

He looks at me for an entire minute. His eyes look at me, unmoving,
\nas if they were elsewhere. Did those bright moments when we first met
\non Lemnos, on that August morning, near the grave of Catherine… did
\nthose moments pass through his mind? Behind the flow of tears I see
\nhis aristocratic hand, that slow movement as he removed the gold cross
\nand gave it to me, \u201cRemember me…\u201d I was still a tender boy then,
\nlooking at him in shock, I, who had gone to the fresh grave at dawn, to
\nseek the mystery of strength from the tears of the valiant man.
\n\u201cCatherine… he whispers, Catherine…\u201d<\/p>\n

I am trembling. He remembers it, yes, the crystal-clear morning on
\nLemnos, that fated meeting, when I found myself before him,
\nprompted by an inexplicable power, he remembered it, I tell myself.
\nHe is calling Catherine, his beloved wife, whom he buried there, in the
\nearth of Lemnos, twelve years earlier. I, I reminded him of that hour of
\nsuffering, and perhaps that calmed him, I tell myself. If The City is lost,
\ntomorrow will not find him among the living, and perhaps that bitter
\nsmile that appeared on his lips and calmed his expression, perhaps, I
\nthink, it was because he will meet her… That thought perhaps freed
\nhim from the anguish of crucifixion… Or perhaps, for a moment, he
\nsaw in my face his son who was never born… the son who would now be
\na twelve-year old lad, as I was then… He opened his arms, and
\nembraced me on both sides, \u201cYou, you…,\u201d he said, \u201chave climbed up to
\nGolgotha with me, since then… since…\u201d His voice broke, ended in a
\nsob and only his tears now touch my roughened face. Ah, those tears
\nwill never dry. Two wells of tears would be his memory, forever, and
\nonly legend could make them into silver droplets from the moon of
\nprophecy or white drops of wax from an Easter taper… Only legend, I
\nthink now, seventeen years later, could change them into marble in
\nother palaces, those made of fresh holy water and the trumpeting of
\nthe angel.<\/p>\n

It was because the pre-ordained night was controlling us, and we
\ncould not turn back the foaming torrent that was coming at us. We
\nwere not able to negate what was written.
\nI see the Emperor touch the throne, his hand shaking. A touch of
\ngold that shudders. His fingers remain motionless for a few moments.
\nPerhaps they are in other zones, touching the hosannas of the
\ntriumphs. I feel the desire to touch his golden throne, to take it as a
\npoint of reference, to carry it on my body into the memory of the
\nworld.<\/p>\n

I shake all over. Thoughts of despair, I tell myself.
\nThe palace staff head back to their rooms with heart-rending
\nmoans, but he, the martyr-Basileus, is strangely calm now. I look at his
\nface and do not dare to believe it. That unrelenting anguish, the terror,
\nthe endless tears, gave way to calm. His face is peaceful, kindly, as if he
\nwas receiving his death as a gift. Yes, I say to myself, now. He has made
\npeace with God and with men. He has carried out his duty as Basileus,
\nand fulfilled his duty as a Christian. He is no longer afraid. He is ready,
\nand calm. He is climbing the Mount of Olives, humble and proud, and
\nI admired him.<\/p>\n

As we were leaving with Demetrios, I turned around to look
\nat him one more time. He was standing next to his throne,
\nalone, and looking at the palace. He was saying farewell to
\nit. He looked at the mosaics and at the coat of arms of the Palaeologi
\nand the rooms, where the lament still echoed, and at the purple that
\nwas dying… He looked at all those things insatiably. As if he knew that
\nit was the last time. Or as if he wanted to take them with him like an
\nimprint of soul, to preserve them in the other dimensions of the
\nimmutable \u2013 on the journey to legend.<\/p>\n

As we came out with Demetrios and were about to mount
\nour horses, we heard some protesting voices. \u201cNo, you
\nGreeks should have brought them this afternoon… All day
\nlong we have been struggling to repair them… and now it is dark, we
\ncannot see well enough to set them up…\u201d
\n\u201cYou would do better to ask who will look after our families… We
\nhave families here, that are hungry…\u201d<\/p>\n

I approached and saw about thirty Venetian warriors who had
\ncarried seven wooden turrets for the battle on the walls. The Greeks,
\nthey said, had refused to transport them without compensation, if that
\nis true. \u201cYou must not quarrel among yourselves at this hour, by the
\nfaith…\u201d I had a difficult time calming them, and I reflected bitterly that
\neven in the final moments, petty quarrels were not lacking.
\nWe rode with Demetrios into the night, beside the dark mass of our
\nwalls, which were lit by the fires from the enemy camp. When we
\nreached the St. Romanus Gate, a strange calm made our hearts
\nuneasy. We climbed up to the rampart to look. All of our warriors were
\nalready out on the great peribolos of the Mesoteichion.
\nSoon, the wall-gates would be locked.<\/p>\n

The wall-gates of the inner wall<\/strong><\/em>
\nare locked<\/strong><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

There is no longer a way out. The bolts and the rusty latches lock the
\nbrave men outside the inner wall, where the ruined Mesoteichion
\nleaves them almost without cover and exposed, behind the makeshift
\nwooden barrier. The night is dark, the moon is in its third quarter,
\nnineteen days old, a waning arc suspended in the indifferent sky. Only
\nthe flames, those huge flames, blind us every so often, making our
\nweakened walls appear like bare souls that fear death.
\nI am standing on the rampart of the tower. I want to look on this
\nscene. On the one side are fires and shouts and sundry noises, hasty
\nwhispers and harsh orders, the feverish preparation of the infidels; on
\nthe other side is The City that is dying, the Capital City that is
\nsleepless, filled with reverent chanting and tiny flickering flames of oil
\nlamps in half-dark churches, and with savage fear.<\/p>\n

This is the scene I want to take with me when I die, I reflect, this
\nearthly vision, infamy and the prayer of pain. O Lord, save thy people…
\nsave, Lord, save… I cannot pray any more, it is as if my words are
\nstriking an impenetrable wall and bouncing back. I am alone. God has
\nleft, or I have left; I must find my mystical powers and become a god. I
\nlook at all my fellow soldiers, whom I will soon lock outside the wall, to
\ngain the victory or to die, and I am totally beside myself with horror.
\nReality is so unbearable that it slips through my mind and takes on
\nother dimensions, and my fellow soldiers become mythical figures…
\nmythical gods… All of us who will soon throw ourselves into a certain
\ndeath for the honor of Christendom and for the salvation of our City
\nare gods, yes, I repeat, and the thought horrifies me, You have deified
\nus with Your abandonment, my God. You, You sought to annihilate us
\nwhile raising us up.<\/p>\n

I hear his footstep. I recognize it now. It is Ioannis. He is coming
\ntoward the rampart where I am standing. He sees me in the reflection
\nof the light. My heart is bursting. We will go to Lemnos, even dead…
\nthat is where our souls will wander…, I say to him in my mind. He is
\nuneasy. The continuous struggle against impossible odds has broken
\nhim. His unbridled efforts, his responsibility as field commander,
\nseeing to every need, addressing the shortage of weapons, the repairs…
\nah, the anguish, the anguish for all these daily details, the harsh
\nstruggle has broken him, yes, has buried him, made him a wild animal
\nin a burning forest. Yet, his body stands tall and proud. He is a
\nhandsome god, a mythical giant. I see him standing before me, and say
\nto myself that we will gain the victory this time, too… we cannot but…
\n\u201cI will find you on Lemnos…,\u201d I hear his deep voice, \u201cin my duchy…
\nI want this victory alone… this victory, by the faith… after it, the infidel
\nwill go away, will disappear…\u201d<\/p>\n

How much did he believe that? How afraid was he? I will never
\nknow. That fearless man needed, in that moment, to believe in victory.
\nBecause the matter out of which a god is made is miracle, I think now.
\nAnd all of us, on that fated night, were made out of the matter that
\ncreated You, my God, and that is why You came to hate us. We were
\nYour lowly creatures, whom you magnified by forsaking, whom You
\nnourished in your bosom for centuries, whom You deified and feared
\nand laid low… Forgive me the sinner, the pain is driving me to
\nmadness.<\/p>\n

Perhaps my mark was glowing in that hour; it had bled since dawn,
\nperhaps it glowed and bled at the same time. The courageous man
\nstretched out his hand and touched it, as he did each time. That was
\nour oath, now I know that, Ioannis…
\n\u201cYou will lock the wall-gates, down to the Charisian Gate. You will
\nalso lock the ancient postern gates, including the one I opened, all of
\nthem, and you will hand the keys to the Emperor,\u201d he said slowly, as if
\nhis words were unbearably heavy. He continued, \u201cyou will enter
\nthrough the Fifth Military Gate, the one that locks from the outside, or
\nthrough the secret gate of the tower… Demetrios and Manuelo will be
\nwith you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even now, seventeen years later, I feel the same chill, the same
\nhorror flowing through my bones. I remember that I looked
\nat him for a few moments, and then grasped the hilt of my
\nsword, \u201cBy the faith, the infidels will have to fight with lions,\u201d I said. As
\nI made to leave, angry, I saw in the light of the flame a smile that
\ncrossed his steely expression.
\nThey will fight with lions, yes, with monsters that have seven lives, I
\nsaid to myself the entire way, as I leaped over the ramparts, to look for
\nthe others.<\/p>\n

They were waiting for me at the central gate.
\nAh, that prodigal night. The burnt odor on the one side, the odor of
\nflame and of buffalo meat roasting for their mindless feasting. The
\nfragrance of a church on the other side, of frankincense, and of
\nwailing. The odor of a soul burning in sacrifice.
\nI look around and see my fellow warriors. Greeks and Venetians
\nand Genoese, all brothers. Some are lying on the wall, others on the
\nground, in battle-dress, armed, ready. As the fires are extinguished
\nnow and the drums grow silent, each one of them sinks into his own
\nthoughts… or tries to escape from the anguish and to steal a few hours
\nof sleep. Some sing softly or finish their spare dinner; others, with eyes
\nwide open, are with their loved ones. Soon they will hear the sound of
\nthe bolt and the heavy latch, the sound of the key, they will hear it even
\nasleep, because that sound pierces all zones of sleep to enter the flesh.<\/p>\n

Soon they will hear the trumpet and leap to their feet… They know that
\nvictory is impossible, considering the numbers of the enemy… Soon…
\nSoon… We have only miracle on our side… But miracle has no mass to
\ncontend in the mind with the mass of the enemy hordes… and only
\nfear, a relentless wild fear dominated us, a fear that simultaneously
\nemboldened us, made us fearless, and also chilled us.<\/p>\n

Now I think that even if only this night were to survive of our
\nstruggles during the siege, if only this hour were to remain, with the
\nsound of the key commanding the fate of our death, that would suffice.
\nThat metallic sound alone, the metallic message that traced the
\ninterdependence of events would suffice, I think, to bear eternal
\nwitness to the grandeur and the steely resolve of all those brave men
\nwho had stretched out on the walls, awaiting the trumpet call.
\n\u201cLet\u2019s go… our mission is difficult…,\u201d I heard Demetrios beside me.
\nThe bolts and rusty latches were secured from the inside. The
\nhuge hammer-driven keys locked from the outside. The
\nsounds of other times; metallic sounds of a negated glory
\nthat time had rusted horribly. \u201cWe will meet the Emperor at the tower
\nof his headquarters; we will wait for him there…,\u201d I hear the voice of
\nDemetrios, as we head toward the Charisian Gate, the last gate in our
\ndefense. I do not reply. I can say nothing, and I know that he spoke
\nonly to break the silence, that unbroken deadly silence that has
\nweighed on us for some time now, since the first creaking wall-gate was
\nclosed and bolted. No one, not one of us speaks, we only watch.<\/p>\n

At that hour the cymbals and the shouting had died out in the
\nOttoman camp. The fires that had surrounded the wasted triangle of
\nour City for three nights now were extinguished. The huge
\nencampment was silent, and the well-fed troops went to sleep,
\ndreaming of riches and blood.<\/p>\n

The silence that descended, the black darkness, was more
\nnightmarish than the frenzied shouting and the fires. Now, only a few
\nsoft orders were audible, a few shadows were discernible, as they
\ncompleted, like ghosts, the filling of the foss, a few movements of bulky
\nweights whose backs shone. In the silence, while spring breezes
\ncompeted with the smells of burning and the monotonous barking of
\ndogs, the last bolts were drawn and the metallic sound of the key was
\nheard one more time, the sound that still pierces my sleep at night and
\nlocks me outside, in a gray, barren space, running about speechless in
\nnightmares, looking for the dead Emperor.<\/p>\n

The metallic noise. The sound that traced our path toward death in
\napocalyptic tones. It was not that thousands of human creatures had
\nnot traversed that same path without return; but that moment was
\nours. In that hour we were the world\u2019s courageous men, those beside
\nwhom death waited, sleepless, walking lightly in the flowering gardens.
\n\u201cYou take the keys… you hand them over…,\u201d the voice of Demetrios
\nagain brings me out of my reveries, as we return hastily to our positions
\nat the St. Romanus Gate. I take them in my hands. I, yes, until my last
\nbreath I will live through that difficult day. \u201cYes, I will hand them
\nover…,\u201d I answered quickly and sank again into my thoughts.
\nAnd I think that this moment alone of metallic noise, of locking the
\nheavy wall gates and of armed bodies that lay down to rest, awaiting
\nthe call of the trumpet, this huge, compacted moment alone would
\nsuffice to maintain the wakefulness of time, to maintain the
\nwakefulness of the night that will cover us.<\/p>\n

We separated at the small gate of the tower. We embraced silently
\nand each of us went to find a place to lie down. I stood at the entrance,
\nconfused. I did not want to sleep that night, not yet. Suddenly, a
\nfamiliar footstep approached, and a lamp lighted the darkness of the
\nwalkway. I turned and saw Kyr Andronikos.<\/p>\n

He was the one I wanted to see, he alone. \u201cAll the wall gates are
\nlocked and bolted… here are the keys,\u201d I say to him and show him the
\nring of keys. \u201cOnly the secret postern gate remains, which leads to the
\ntower of the headquarters…,\u201d I say to him and reflect that the Emperor
\nwill be the last one to enter… he will pass by here. \u201cI must wait for
\nhim…\u201d<\/p>\n

His hand is on my shoulder. The night breeze is blowing. I take a
\ndeep breath of the fragrant breeze, moist from the night\u2019s frost. \u201cHe
\nwill come in and lock the postern gate himself, he says, go and rest…\u201d
\nI look at him, shaken. \u201cNot before I turn over the keys.\u201d \u201cI will
\nwait… you go and sleep a bit.\u201d
\nI embrace him on both sides and lean on his shoulder. I am his slain
\nson at this hour \u2013 twice over. But no, I, I will hand him the keys… I will
\nsee him one more time… Will his expression still maintain its calm, I
\nwonder, that calm that contains suffering, that contains the ultimate
\nanguish and the acceptance of the inevitable? \u201cWhere is he? Where
\ncan he be now?\u201d I ask.
\nHe sighed. \u201cWith Georgios… he was making his last mounted
\ninspection of the walls… By now he must be at Caligaria…\u201d
\nNothing could hold me back. I looked at the desolate dark mass of
\nthe walls, which crept like a wounded reptile into the night. I looked at
\nthe flickering baneful lights that glowed in the windows of the churches
\nwhere the people were keeping a vigil. I heard the hasty commands of
\nthe Ottomans and the hair-raising sounds of preparation.<\/p>\n

The breeze was still blowing, whispering the final secrets of the
\nravaged spring. \u201cI want to go and find him… to give him the keys
\nmyself… to tell him that all is ready… Don\u2019t deny me that… I want to be
\nthe last one who will be locked outside the walls tonight.\u201d
\nKyr Andronikos was shaken. \u201cNo, by the saints… no, it\u2019s late… Go
\nand rest a while… Only a few hours remain…\u201d
\n\u201cYou stay here… at this gate, here… and wait for me, I won\u2019t be
\nlong… I want to ride one more time… You see this may be the… I just
\nwant to ride one more time…\u201d<\/p>\n

He did not have time to reply. In two leaps I was already on my
\nhorse riding next to the darkened walls. I do not even know what drew
\nme; passing by the small church of St. Romanus, which was near our
\nMilitary Gate of the same name, I stopped. I heard the chanting and it
\nwas as if something strange kept me there… I dismounted and looked
\nin the dark window. What was the nagging desire, the attraction that
\nmade me search… Ah, inexplicable powers, tiny moments which have
\nbeen called chance, but which hide the inexplicable in your depths.
\nI look in and a premonition tells me that somewhere there, among
\nthe kneeling crowd, I will see my Eleni. And I am not wrong. She is
\nthere, praying, there, mourning, there, chanting with the others, Our
\nLady, aid us…<\/p>\n

For a moment, I want to run to her side, to hold her in my arms
\none more time. But, no. I say, no, by the saints… And I do not
\neven know why. Nor do I have the time to think. Soon she will
\nleave, I tell myself. It is late now, they will all leave… She will go to little
\nConstantine, to Zoe, she will lock the house and stay there, waiting. All
\nmy thoughts lead to fear, and I shudder. I turn to look at the church as
\nI ride away; it is dark.
\nI ride as fast as I can, gallop into the night… and as soon as I reach
\nCaligaria, I see the Emperor and Georgios, who are dismounting at
\nthat moment, two tragic figures in the dark.
\nI hand the keys to Georgios and as I turn to return quickly to my
\nstation, I pause for a second.
\nI want to see him one more time, one last time.<\/p>\n

The final night ride<\/strong><\/em>
\nof the Emperor<\/strong><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

It is the first cock-crow. I am standing at the Caligarian Gate and see
\nthe Emperor with Georgios ascending the tower at the end of the wall,
\nthe one from which one can look to the left at the Mesoteichion down
\nto the Lykos Valley, and to the right at the Golden Horn. I approach,
\nand in the dull light I see him alone now, a tragic figure in the night,
\nwho at that moment and at that cosmic point, commanded the mystical
\nsequence in the unfolding drama of history.<\/p>\n

I pause for one second longer. I want to hear the same sounds he is
\nhearing, to see the same scene he is seeing. Later, I will try to imagine
\nhis tears, the last tears of the valiant man, to imagine his thoughts, his
\nhuman agony.
\nThe night breeze blows on him, cools him perhaps, he raises his
\nhand to his face.
\nI gallop in the night, back to the St. Romanus Gate, and I am alone
\nin the silence. Now I know what he is seeing. I know the sounds that he
\nis hearing. I close my eyes and see him standing there still, raising his
\nhand every so often, looking. I am still alive, I say. And I am; I am
\nbeyond blood. I look at The City, which is about to die. A dark mass,
\nwet with unending tears, the tall crosses of its churches shining
\nstrangely, shimmering, as if they suspect that in barely a few hours,
\nthey will fall with a frightening noise, thrown down. Some windows and
\na few churches are still lighted. No one is sleeping tonight, I tell myself,
\nthey are awake, my Eleni is awake, she is on her knees praying, beside
\nthe sleeping little Constantine.<\/p>\n

I cannot look to the other side, the wall blocks my view, but I know.
\nThe dark, huge, camp becomes more nightmarish when you imagine
\nit… when you say: it sleeps here beside me like a creeping bloodthirsty
\nbeast, which will soon rise up hungry and attack with shouts and
\ndrums, to tear us apart.<\/p>\n

I run, dazed, toward the small gate of the tower. Kyr Andronikos is
\nwaiting for me. We do not speak. Each of us finds a corner and lies
\ndown. But I do not want to sleep. I think. I will wait for my Basileus, to
\nhear the sound of the last key… I will wait, yes, with eyes open, I will
\nimagine him on his last night ride.<\/p>\n

It was when he said farewell to his staff at the palace of
\nVlachernae. When he bid farewell to the throne room… It was
\nwhen he had made peace with God and with men, and his face
\nwas calm. For a while… Soon after, the anguish left its marks again,
\nalong with the struggle against the impossible. Time was passing; the
\nnight was relentless, and he had to hurry. He quickly mounted his
\nhorse, the lovely Arabian mare with the white feet, and accompanied
\nby his faithful secretary Georgios, made his last night-time inspection
\nof the walls, to insure that all the wall gates were locked tightly, bolted,
\nto say an encouraging word to the night guards, to the key-keepers, to
\nthe commanders of every defensive position.<\/p>\n

He left the St. Romanus Gate until last, he would take the keys
\nhimself when he came, but I had already handed them over to Georgios.
\nAll was ready now. The valiant man would come, would lock this last
\nsmall gate of the tower and then he would go to his room, to rest.
\nI say to myself, what a sad ride… what melancholy thoughts, what
\nbitter thoughts must have crossed his fearless mind, as he rode in the
\nspring night with the sea breezes and the fragrances of the
\nhedgerows… with the cries of the wild animals that smelled blood…
\nI want to hear the sound of the last key, I say to myself again, and I
\nknow that it is madness, as if I am seeking to feel even more pain, to
\nstretch my soul beyond its endurance, or as if I wanted to inscribe upon
\nit even the slightest sound, to cross to the other side of despair, where
\nmadness waits.<\/p>\n

My eyelids are closing from weariness, but I keep them open to look
\na while longer. He is alone at the tower of Caligaria and he is looking.
\nHe sees the Golden Horn on his right. Small fires sparkle. Fustae and
\nbiremes slip silently by in the dark waters of the inner bay, to draw near
\nto our shore. Small lights flicker as they creep like fading candles over
\nthe smooth surface of the water. He listens to the hurried commands
\nand the irregular sound of oars and the creaking of chains. Other
\nnoises come from the pontoon bridge, as materiel is unloaded, huge
\nladders and mounds of arrows and harquebuses and arbalests.<\/p>\n

He now casts a weary glance toward the Mesoteichion, in the Lykos
\nValley. The same rapid preparations there, too. The bronze masses
\nwith their curved backs are shining, accursed cannons that are being
\ndragged in the night, to position them closer to our walls. Some of the
\nenemy are filling the rest of the foss like demons. Others are moving
\ntheir materiel, sounds of haste, hair-raising sounds, repeated sounds,
\nrough orders, human shadows that slip like ghosts into the frenzied
\ndarkness.<\/p>\n

Everything is ready, whispering. And he turns his head to look at his
\nCity now, to bid it farewell. If he is killed, tomorrow night… and he
\nshudders, certainly… shudders in horror.
\nThis is his City, the Queen City, the pitiful relic of the great, worldruling
\nEmpire. And these are his people who lie awake tonight. His
\ntormented people with the invincible soul, the people who have
\nstruggled with him for fifty-seven days now, who have climbed to
\nGolgotha with him. Soon, they will be slaughtered in the sacrifice.
\nInnocent people. In all times, the innocent pay the price of history.
\nHis body is surely trembling, alone… If I could see, if I could see in
\nthe dark, I would know that he kneeled there, on the stones moist with
\nthe night\u2019s frost, kneeled and prayed. I am as a man that hath no
\nstrength\u2026 Hear me speedily, O Lord… Stretch out Your invincible hand
\nand crush my enemies.<\/p>\n

My eyelids are heavy from the great struggle, transporting
\nme into a deep sleep. Waves break over my exhausted
\nbody, and as I sink deeper, as I lose myself in those waves
\nof oblivion, I hear the sound of the key. A slight horizontal sound,
\ntraced by a metallic arc in my mind, defining the path of fate.
\nHe came… he came, I reflected, and try to sit up, to hear more
\nclearly. I hear his footsteps on the stone inner stairway. He is going up
\nto his room to rest. He is the martyred Emperor, I say to myself. He
\nstill is. What is he thinking, as he lies down, sorrowful, as he lays his
\nweary, tortured body down, what must he be thinking? Perhaps of his
\nson. The son who was never born, whom he buried twice: once with
\nTheodora at Mystra and once with Catherine on Lemnos…<\/p>\n

Constantine XII Palaeologos, the Conqueror, was never born. He only
\ndied. Later, he took in the fragrance of my son in the Hagia Sophia, the
\nson of Eleni who was his blood-relative, and he named the child
\nConstantine. Ah, with what longing he held the child in his arms… how
\nhe hugged the infant to his barren chest, poor, unfortunate man. Now I
\nsay to myself, perhaps he ordained it at the hour of the sacrament, I
\nmean, perhaps secretly and mystically, he assigned to the child the
\nplace of his own son, to walk the path of his own fate, which was the
\nfate of the Empire.<\/p>\n

My mind aches. But I do not want these huge waves of sleep to
\noverwhelm me, these waves that flow back and forth over my body, I
\ndo not want to lose myself in oblivion, no, I want to stay awake, to live
\nevery moment of the dawnless night.<\/p>\n

I say to myself perhaps he is kneeling now alone in the stone room,
\nwanting to pray one more time. Or perhaps he wants to forgive all
\nthose who abandoned him in his hour of need, to make peace even
\nwith those. But would he be able to, I wonder, would he forgive the
\nChristian leaders of the West or his brothers, the despots of the
\nPeloponnesus, who abandoned him with such mindless callousness in
\nthis critical hour? Would he forgive all those in The City itself, who
\nabandoned him, alone and without help: the clergy and the wealthy
\nmonasteries which, when he was struggling to find funds, locked away
\ntheir treasures more securely, under double locks in moist dark
\ncellars… or the other men of wealth, the nobles of the Imperial City
\nwho, with the same passion, alas, hid their treasures, which the starved
\nbirds of prey found the next day… I think, yes. He would have been
\nable to forgive. He could. Because his magnanimous heart had no
\nplace for hatred, and because he knew that these errors would be paid
\nfor in the same currency. If the Imperial City, this breakwater of
\nChristianity, was lost, the furious ocean of Islam would pour forth with
\nthe same savagery. Yet, he felt great sadness. He felt great sadness
\nbecause all of them were blinded and unable to see.<\/p>\n

My eyelids are heavier and heavier, but I saw him. As my
\neyes closed \u2013 I was unable to keep them open any longer \u2013I
\nsaw him. He looked at the half-light of dawn with a smile
\nand rushed out to battle. His sword was a lightning bolt that mowed
\ndown the infidels, annihilated them, trampled them… and I was beside
\nhim, we will prevail this time, too, we will annihilate them… And the
\nTheotokos was on the walls, ah, Lady, aid us… Protector of our City,
\nyou came… And I fall asleep.<\/p>\n

I sink into a deep and dark sleep, and I cannot say whether that
\nstrange intermittent noise I heard, which terrified me, was in my sleep
\nor outside it. Was it a dream or a hallucination… even today, I wonder.
\nI leaned over the tower and was horror-stricken. Our emblem, the
\nbanner with the two-headed eagle, which until now was fluttering in
\nthe night breeze, kept falling, repeatedly, and rolling in a mud of
\nblood; then it would rise up again, breathing heavily, and fall once
\nmore. I was trying to run to pick it up, to raise it proudly once more,
\nbut I could not move, my legs were paralyzed and my anguish was
\ngreat. And I remained there, stuck on the tower like a chained
\nPrometheus, watching. Until this strange thing happened. The eagle
\ncame to life, its wings were freed from the blood and they stirred,
\nfreeing themselves from the gold embroidery. That purple eagle with
\nthe two heads came to life, straightened his powerful body, moved his
\nwings strongly and flew away before my stunned eyes, disappearing
\nhigh up, becoming one with the infinite.<\/p>\n

t was at that moment that I heard the savage cries from the
\nenemy camp, and then the trumpet signal of our guards.
\n\u201cThe Turks… the assault…\u201d
\nAnd I leaped up.<\/p>\n

In the traces of the ancient signs<\/strong><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Clip-clop. I hear the galloping of his horse. He is coming. My
\nConstantine. He is coming, astride his white horse, I see him. I see the
\nswift line of the glow left by his body and hear the trembling of the
\nearth where he passes.
\nMy Constantine is coming and I must hurry to finish these pages of
\nmemoirs, so that he can take them with him. I have written them for
\nhim, so that he can read them in the moonlight, when he will be
\nseeking the mystic passages, so that he will know.<\/p>\n

I go to the door of my house and breathe deeply. It is still night,
\ndeep night, and the frost has moistened the rock. A moist smell of
\nspring, smell of the innermost earth and of a root that awakens in its
\ndepths, it makes me dizzy and I collapse on the porch. Never, never did
\nI believe that my body would again experience the stirring of spring,
\nthis exquisite shudder of rebirth, which pierces all Your creatures, my
\nGod, even if I hated it once, because that earth, that death-scorched
\nroyal earth that You allowed them to pollute, will never be resurrected
\nby another spring, until the trumpet-call of Your Angel. Never, never
\ndid I believe that I would again find on my body the paths that lead to
\nYou, my God, paths that emerge out of Your mysteries, out of the
\nhidden codes of Your wisdom.<\/p>\n

From the day I went to Kotzinos and saw Manuelo, my nights
\nhave become crystalline, it appears. I do not sleep. I look
\nbehind the crystals at my son, who is on his way, coming, I
\nlisten to the words he exchanges with the bird, with the solitary tree,
\nand with the water of the spring that cools him and quenches his thirst.
\nAs for my Eleni, she is healing her wounds inside the happiness of the
\npearl cross, that cross with the carved circle on it, which my
\nConstantine found again and sent to me. The cross that saved the child
\nfrom the slave bazaar. Ah, Tsakalis… I must come and fall at your feet
\nto worship you, whoever you are… and I must hurry.<\/p>\n

My ill-starred Eleni is healing with this pearl cross. She holds it in
\nher weak hands, kisses it and searches on it for the lost paths, to walk
\nover them with bare, raw feet, to find the traces of soul. She speaks
\ntenderly to it, as if she is talking to her Constantine, speaking all the
\nwords she did not say to him when he was six and seven and ten years
\nold. Now she stays awake to speak them all in time, she weeps and
\nsings sweetly to him, weeps and rocks him to sleep.<\/p>\n

I do not speak to her; I only listen. Tears are healed by tears. Only
\nthey can open paths for the soul to tread. She is treading them now. By
\nherself, she is finding the paths in the mist. One by one, she is touching
\nthe signs that the soul has left behind.<\/p>\n

My body is trembling from the frosty cold. It is still March
\nand the snows have just melted and slightly softened the
\nheavy winter. My body is trembling, and that is what I
\nwant, to feel alive again, to liberate my body, to bring it out of its
\ndeaths. I hear the birds. The frenzied chirping and warbling has begun
\nand my soul is stirred.
\nSometimes I say to myself that the circle is the symbol of my life. It
\ncontains me. A circle that repeats itself and grows larger and larger,
\nand I am afraid that the cord will break and leave me defenseless, with
\nnothing…<\/p>\n

At other times I think that the line from my mark is dissolved now,
\nthat the cord of the circle has broken and become a straight line of
\nlighted tapers, like the souls that night on the walls… and I am walking
\nin that direction, totally naked.
\nIt has been some time now that the circle has been playing with the
\nstraight line of lighted tapers and the mark on my forehead appears to
\nbe drying up, growing dull, as if it is a hidden wound that time is
\nhealing. I tell myself that grace is a wound… that all these arcs intersect
\nsomewhere at their edge.<\/p>\n

My birthmark is drying up, yes, and that makes me think. I am
\nending… perhaps I am ending my human adventure; I want only to
\ncomplete my memoirs and to hand them over to my Constantine.
\nI knew from the beginning how vulnerable to corruption by time was
\na chronological recounting of events. That was why I chose the circle,
\nso that it would preclude the flight of memory. And I told myself, that
\nmy life consisted of repeating circles that grow larger. Only now,
\nanytime now, this circle, this final circle will be dissolved, as soon as I
\nreach the point of contact with the events from which I started. Then
\nthe circle will dissolve into a straight line, just like the endless solitude
\nof time in the dark night of the Hagia Sophia.<\/p>\n

The outer door opens in the dusk, and I see Demetrios wrapped in
\nhis old military cloak. He is standing tall before me; he could not sleep,
\nhe says, since the day he heard Manuelo talk about Constantine, his
\nsoul was roused. He is ready, he says, to take up arms and to go and
\nfight again… I look at him and marvel. His eyes are shining.
\n\u201cI am ready, I tell you, ready to…\u201d
\nI shudder to the depths of my being. I want to say the same thing…
\nbut my bent body prevents me.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot we,\u201d I say to him calmly, \u201cnot any more… we have finished.\u201d
\nHe looks at me, anguished, as if he is continuing the imaginings of
\nthe night, and cannot yet see the warped reality.
\n\u201cTo die there,\u201d he goes on, \u201call I ask, by the faith, is to die there
\nfighting…\u201d
\nI bring him inside. He is cold. I light a fire in the hearth and prepare
\na fragrant brew of thyme.
\n\u201cIs that what you were thinking about all night?\u201d
\n\u201cEvery night… from the day that Manuelo told us that your
\nConstantine was gathering an army to take back The City… Only your
\nson could do that… the son of tourmarches Porphyrios Sgouromallis…
\nAh, I remember still how you threw yourself into battle… with what
\npassion, by the saints, a lion, a lightning bolt… only your son, yes…\u201d
\nI roast some sweet quinces that Nikias had brought me from my
\nfather\u2019s orchards… and sprinkle them with must-syrup; a sweet smell
\nperfumes the room.
\n\u201cI tell you, we have finished, Demetrios… We died at the walls…
\nThat death is what we are carrying with us, do you understand? Drop
\nby drop it falls off us wherever we step…\u201d
\nHe does not speak. He only shakes his head. Then he gets up and
\nfills two cups with wine. He is thinking.
\n\u201cPerhaps you are right,\u201d he says. \u201cSurely, you are right… we are
\ncarrying around our death…\u201d
\nHe empties the cup. The last drop trembles on his lips. He sinks into
\nthought.
\n\u201cNow… whenever I drink wine, I think of him… that giant of our
\nstruggle…our god, Ioannis!\u201d
\nI observe that he is looking at me strangely, as if he is searching for
\nwhat it was that made the hero single me out.
\n\u201cThe mark… surely, your mark, that was what bound him to you…
\nthat was what made you stand out…\u201d
\nMy body trembles as I remember the touch of his hand on the circle,
\neach time that it bled.
\n\u201cHe would touch me here, on the forehead…\u201d I say, as if I am
\ntalking to myself, \u201cand that touch had such power… as if it was an
\noath… do you understand? A mystical, exquisite oath, to meet again on
\nLemnos… in his duchy… And now I think, he is here… wandering about
\nhere, but I have not found him yet… he is not giving me a sign… only
\nthat one night in the silver mirror… that bloody passing… nothing
\nelse.\u201d
\nHe is silent for some time. Then he raises his shaking hand and
\nplaces it there, at the same spot.
\n\u201cYou are blessed,\u201d he says, \u201cnow I know it… And I bless the hour
\nwhen I found you again.\u201d<\/p>\n

From the Foorteen Chapter of the novel<\/strong><\/em><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The last liturgy in the Hagia Sophia Extracts from the novel Night falls over the Imperial City Night is falling over the long-suffering Imperial City that is about to die. Night is falling on the God-protected City of Constantine. Night is falling on the anguish of those about to die. Behind the unending flow of […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","spay_email":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/6671"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6671"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/6671\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6673,"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/6671\/revisions\/6673"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/marialampadaridoupothou.gr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6671"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}