sultan – and Halil the ruler until their son came of age. And Gülbehar? Sitt Hatun would enjoy devising a suitable end for the Albanian whore and her bastard child.
But no, Sitt Hatun sighed. These were just dreams. Reality was sleeping right there beside her. She would be mad to join Halil’s plotting. Mehmed was a vengeful man. Sitt Hatun had heard of Boghaz Pasha’s gruesome death. Mehmed would not hesitate to do the same to her if she did not keep her place.
Still, to see her own son seated on the throne, to take her rightful place in the harem, to no longer have to serve as Mehmed’s whore … Sitt Hatun wiped away her tears. Crying would not change her fate. Only she could do that.
Chapter 3
DECEMBER 1448: CONSTANTINOPLE
‘ I proclaim you, Demetrius Dragases, Emperor of Rome, heir to Caesar, ruler of Constantinople, Selymbria and Morea,’ Patriarch Mammas intoned. His gold-embroidered white robe was heavy with rain, and tiny drops of water ran off his nose in a continual stream as he made the sign of the cross over the kneeling Demetrius. ‘Rise, Emperor Demetrius.’
Demetrius stood to the half-hearted acclamation of the nobles who surrounded him. Notaras had promised five hundred men, but the day had dawned grey with a drenching rain that had turned the streets to mud and the forum of Theodosius into a quagmire. Less than four hundred nobles had braved the weather, and they were soaked and cold. ‘Hail Demetrius, Emperor of the Romans,’ they grumbled once or twice. It was clear that they were ready to move on to the warmth of the Blachernae Palace.
‘May God grant me the wisdom to rule with justice and the strength to guard with steel the empire of which he has made me the emperor,’ Demetrius declared, his words concluding the ceremony. All around him, men were already hurrying to their horses. Patriarch Mammas had disappeared, no doubt eager to dry off. The moment was not how Demetrius had envisioned it. He had dreamed of cheering crowds, proud speeches, himself framed majestically in the towering Triumphal Arch of Theodosius. Instead, the ceremony had been cut short, and other than the nobles, there were only a handful of citizens who had come outin the rain to watch the spectacle. Behind him, the Triumphal Arch had been transformed into a waterfall, with rainwater cascading down the front from its broad, flat top. Still, he was emperor, rain or no.
A servant handed Demetrius the reins to his horse. He mounted and led a dreary procession through the city and to the imperial palace. He arrived in a foul mood and stormed into the great hall, followed closely by the nobles. The hall was dim, the high windows shuttered. In the flickering torchlight, Demetrius was surprised to see his mother, Helena, seated on the throne with the entire court flanking her.
‘Welcome, my son. I have been expecting you. I am disappointed that you could not arrive in time for your brother’s funeral. Selymbria is so close.’
‘I came as soon as I heard the tragic news, Mother,’ Demetrius said.
‘Of course,’ Helena replied. ‘Fortunately, you have arrived well in advance of your brother, Constantine. You will not also miss the entrance of our next emperor.’
‘You are in error, Mother. It is I who am to be crowned. Surely you have heard that I was proclaimed emperor this morning.’
‘Were you indeed?’ Helena feigned surprise. ‘And who was it that proclaimed you emperor?’ Demetrius thought he saw her make a single, sharp signal with her right hand, and behind him he heard a muffled thump, as if something very heavy were being moved into place. What was it? he wondered. No matter, he had more than enough men to subdue the palace guard. His mother could do nothing to stop him.
‘The very men who stand before you, nobles all, proclaimed me emperor. Patriarch Mammas gave his blessing to my reign.’
‘Did he?’ Helena arched an eyebrow. ‘I fear your reign will be a short one.’
‘Do not
But no, Sitt Hatun sighed. These were just dreams. Reality was sleeping right there beside her. She would be mad to join Halil’s plotting. Mehmed was a vengeful man. Sitt Hatun had heard of Boghaz Pasha’s gruesome death. Mehmed would not hesitate to do the same to her if she did not keep her place.
Still, to see her own son seated on the throne, to take her rightful place in the harem, to no longer have to serve as Mehmed’s whore … Sitt Hatun wiped away her tears. Crying would not change her fate. Only she could do that.
Chapter 3
DECEMBER 1448: CONSTANTINOPLE
‘ I proclaim you, Demetrius Dragases, Emperor of Rome, heir to Caesar, ruler of Constantinople, Selymbria and Morea,’ Patriarch Mammas intoned. His gold-embroidered white robe was heavy with rain, and tiny drops of water ran off his nose in a continual stream as he made the sign of the cross over the kneeling Demetrius. ‘Rise, Emperor Demetrius.’
Demetrius stood to the half-hearted acclamation of the nobles who surrounded him. Notaras had promised five hundred men, but the day had dawned grey with a drenching rain that had turned the streets to mud and the forum of Theodosius into a quagmire. Less than four hundred nobles had braved the weather, and they were soaked and cold. ‘Hail Demetrius, Emperor of the Romans,’ they grumbled once or twice. It was clear that they were ready to move on to the warmth of the Blachernae Palace.
‘May God grant me the wisdom to rule with justice and the strength to guard with steel the empire of which he has made me the emperor,’ Demetrius declared, his words concluding the ceremony. All around him, men were already hurrying to their horses. Patriarch Mammas had disappeared, no doubt eager to dry off. The moment was not how Demetrius had envisioned it. He had dreamed of cheering crowds, proud speeches, himself framed majestically in the towering Triumphal Arch of Theodosius. Instead, the ceremony had been cut short, and other than the nobles, there were only a handful of citizens who had come outin the rain to watch the spectacle. Behind him, the Triumphal Arch had been transformed into a waterfall, with rainwater cascading down the front from its broad, flat top. Still, he was emperor, rain or no.
A servant handed Demetrius the reins to his horse. He mounted and led a dreary procession through the city and to the imperial palace. He arrived in a foul mood and stormed into the great hall, followed closely by the nobles. The hall was dim, the high windows shuttered. In the flickering torchlight, Demetrius was surprised to see his mother, Helena, seated on the throne with the entire court flanking her.
‘Welcome, my son. I have been expecting you. I am disappointed that you could not arrive in time for your brother’s funeral. Selymbria is so close.’
‘I came as soon as I heard the tragic news, Mother,’ Demetrius said.
‘Of course,’ Helena replied. ‘Fortunately, you have arrived well in advance of your brother, Constantine. You will not also miss the entrance of our next emperor.’
‘You are in error, Mother. It is I who am to be crowned. Surely you have heard that I was proclaimed emperor this morning.’
‘Were you indeed?’ Helena feigned surprise. ‘And who was it that proclaimed you emperor?’ Demetrius thought he saw her make a single, sharp signal with her right hand, and behind him he heard a muffled thump, as if something very heavy were being moved into place. What was it? he wondered. No matter, he had more than enough men to subdue the palace guard. His mother could do nothing to stop him.
‘The very men who stand before you, nobles all, proclaimed me emperor. Patriarch Mammas gave his blessing to my reign.’
‘Did he?’ Helena arched an eyebrow. ‘I fear your reign will be a short one.’
‘Do not
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