* * *
Pasha sat on the enormous cushion in the middle of his receiving chamber. He ordered his slaves away and waited patiently for the visitor who had the potential to change his life forever. Eventually, one of his personal attendants entered and bowed low before speaking.
‘Lord, a man bearing the name Bora wishes audience.’
‘Let him in,’ said Pasha.
The slave bowed again and retreated back out of the room before showing in a young and handsome man dressed in the attire of a minor official.
‘Welcome, Bora,’ said Pasha. ‘Please sit.’ He indicated a smaller cushion at the far end of the room.
Bora did as he was told and fidgeted nervously. It wasn’t often that minor officials such as he were summoned to the chief financier’s chambers. Usually it only meant bad news and many lost their positions or even their heads, depending on the severity of the accusation.
Pasha waited while the servant poured two glasses of lemon flavoured water. Finally the slave left and Pasha turned to Bora.
‘Bora, welcome to my rooms. First of all, do you know who I am?’
‘Yes, lord. You are Pasha Bin Yusef, financier to the caliph and administrator to the court of Suleiman, may the Gods bless his heart.’
‘Chief financier,’ corrected Pasha.
‘Of course, lord, Please forgive my ignorance.’
‘Do you know why you are here, Bora?’
‘No, lord.’
‘Bora, you are here because I have heard a lot about you and not all good.’
Bora’s face fell even further.
‘Lord, I am diligent in my work and have lost no days since the death of my mother.’
‘Oh, your work is exemplary, Bora. Your supervisor speaks very highly of you.’
‘Then I do not understand.’
‘The reports concern your personal life.’
‘Lord?’
Pasha stood up and walked slowly around the room, disappearing from Bora’s sight.
‘Bora, tell me, what do you know about a girl called Irini Bint Karem?’
Bora’s heart sank again. If this conversation was leading where he thought it was, then he was a dead man. He hesitated before answering, wondering if the man was bluffing.
‘I know nothing of this woman, lord.’
Pasha returned to his seat and stared at the minor official before answering.
‘Bora, I am a busy man, so I will not take up too much of your time. I assume you are hoping that I do not know the extent of your indiscretions, so allow me to enlighten you. You, Bora Bin Turan, are a minor scribe in the ranks of my administrators. You are paid a lowly wage yet seem an honest man. You grew up in the shadows of the palace near a girl called Irini Bint Karem, the daughter of a local cloth merchant.’
Bora nodded nervously.
‘I hear that Irini was honoured by the caliph and selected for the harem of the sultan. I also understand she is an extraordinarily beautiful young girl.’
Bora didn’t respond, still careful not to betray the extent of his knowledge. Pasha stared in silence for a while longer before sighing and rubbing his eyes as if in tiredness.
‘Bora, I will get to the point. I know you have feelings for this girl and I also know she shares your feelings. I understand that neither you nor she is happy about the honour bestowed upon her.’
Bora gave up the pretence and held his head in his hands. The game was up and he knew that at the very least, he would be dismissed.
‘Lord, it is true,’ he said. ‘I grew up with the girl. We became very close and our families agreed terms of marriage when we reached a suitable age. We fell in love and intended to set up home in Constantinople. She was to work with her father while I would continue in the service of the sultan.’
‘Until she was seen in the market by one of the caliph’s advisors,’ confirmed Pasha.
‘Yes, lord. She was summoned to the palace by the Valide Sultan who undertook an inspection to establish her purity.’
‘Yes, the mother of Suleiman himself,’ said Pasha. ‘And I assume she passed this inspection?’
‘Yes, lord,’ gasped Bora. ‘I have never touched the girl inappropriately as we were to wait until we were wed, as is the demands of our god.’
‘Of course,’ said Pasha. ‘But this wedding is now cancelled, I assume.’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Bora miserably. ‘She was summoned to the court of Suleiman three weeks ago and her father was paid a hundred akces in compensation.’
Pasha nodded. A hundred akces was a lot of money for a commoner, yet a mere month’s wages for an official such as himself.
‘Do you still have feelings for this girl?’ asked Pasha eventually.
Bora didn’t answer.
‘I will take that as a yes,’ said Pasha. ‘Tell me, Bora, do you know what fate awaits Irini?’
‘She will become concubine to the sultan himself.’
‘Really?’ said Pasha, raising his eyebrows. ‘And you are familiar with the ways of the harem, I suppose.’
‘Of course not, but I thought such was the fate of all such women selected.’
‘Not necessarily. Some indeed end up as favoured concubines, often bearing his children, but most girls do not even get to see the sultan. Often they are discarded to the lesser officials of the court or even favoured soldiers or guards. Those who transgress the strict moral code have been known to be sent to the barracks of the palace guard to satisfy the lust of the troops before disappearing forever.’
Bora was sitting up straight now, a look of horror on his face.
‘But surely, such a fate does not await Irini? She is pure of heart, mind and body and is a beauty that not even the sultan can ignore. As much as it hurts my heart, I would assume she would become a favourite very quickly.’
‘In normal circumstances, perhaps,’ said Pasha, ‘but these are not normal circumstances, are they?’
‘Lord?’
‘You have already said you still harbour feelings for this girl; this alone seals your fate. As for the girl, bearing in mind the honesty you proclaim, what do you think she would say if I asked her the same question?’
Bora hesitated before his head fell again.
‘She would tell the truth,’ he said.
‘I’m sure she would. So, there is my dilemma. One of the caliph’s choices for the royal harem will ultimately go to the sultan’s bed harbouring feelings for a commoner. How do you think the caliph would react if he, or indeed the sultan, himself found this out?’
‘Both our lives would be forfeit,’ murmured Bora.
‘Oh, your life is already over, Bora,’ said Pasha. ‘But if this news was to escape these walls, then not only would Irini be given to the soldiers for their own gratification but both of your families would be executed, their businesses given away and homes demolished. It would be forbidden to mention their names on pain of death and the graves of your ancestors dug up and thrown to the dogs. You family line would be wiped from history forever.’
Bora looked horrified.
‘But we have not done anything.’
‘Perhaps not, but whose word do you think the caliph will believe, yours or mine?’
‘I do not understand.’
‘It’s simple. As we speak there are four guards outside awaiting a command from me. If I call them, the die is cast. By the time you are thrown into the dungeons the caliph himself will hear how the two of you cavorted beneath the sheets before she came to the palace and how you both plotted for her to kill the sultan in his bed.’
‘But that is a lie,’ said Bora. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because I can,’ Pasha said. ‘But though the details are exaggerated, you have admitted here, before your god, that you both still harbour feelings. That is condemnation enough. Your fate is sealed.’
Bora was mentally exhausted and his head hung low in despair. Pasha stared at the broken man, pleased he had managed to reduce him to exactly the state he
required. Finally he spoke once again.
‘But there is an alternative,’ he said.
Bora’s head lifted to look at the financier.
‘There is?’
‘Yes. There is a task that I need undertaking. It is risky, but with careful planning it can be done.’
‘What is this task?’
‘We will discuss details later, but suffice to say, if you are successful, not only will you both be allowed to live but I will arrange the girl’s release from the harem and arrange passage to anywhere in the known world with enough money to live in luxury for the rest of your lives.’
Bora looked in astonishment.
‘You can do this?’
‘I can. A quiet word in the caliph’s ear and he can remove the girl’s recommendation. The money aspect is no problem, I am the chief financier, remember?’
‘And we can be reunited?’
‘You can,’ said Bora, ‘and live in comfort and safety forever, the choice is yours.’
Bora stared at the financier, his mind taking in all the details.
‘There is no choice,’ he said eventually. ‘Though innocent of the charges, I will not see Irini subject to the horrors you describe. I will do as you ask.’
‘Good,’ said Pasha, ‘I thought you would see the sense in this. Leave now and return to your work. I will call you at a later date to discuss the details, but before you go, know this. The palace is a strange place where only the strongest survive. I have not got this far without having many contacts both within and outside of these royal walls. My contacts are numerous, ranging from kings to paupers. As we speak, the guild of assassins has your family on their lists. If a day goes by without me speaking to them, they will assume you have betrayed me and your family will disappear forever. Do not speak to anyone about this conversation. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, lord,’ said Bora and stood to leave.
‘Follow my instructions to the letter, Bora and you will be a rich man with the woman of your dreams in your arms. Betray me, and you will not see another sunrise. Now, go.’
* * *
Elmira had gone about her business as normal, working as a washerwoman on the banks of the Bosporus. Her grandfather’s words were never far from her mind and she was impatient to hear from Pasha. Twice she had sent a note into the palace asking for audience but on both occasions had received nothing but silence in reply. She hadn’t told her father yet as he was so weak but instead she had written the strange words of Piri Reis down on a parchment.
She filled her bucket once again and returned to the stone troughs where people paid a meagre five dirham for a basket full of washing. Her hands were red from the constant pounding on the rocks but her skin had become hardened over time and she was used to the hard work. On a good day she could earn twenty dirham, the equivalent to a full akce, and that was good money in these difficult times.
She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her eyes and, placing the final garment into the basket, left the river to make her way to her client’s house. He paid her fee and she called in to the busy market to buy a fresh loaf, a smoked fish and a wrap of dates. At a different stall she picked up an armful of hay and soon she ducked through the low door of her house and into the cool interior of her family home.
‘Elmira, is that you?’ came a voice.
‘Yes, father, I have finished early today.’
‘Have you brought food?’
‘I have.’
‘You are a good girl,’ said her father.
Elmira gave her father a kiss on the forehead as she passed his bed. His head turned toward her, following the sound of her footsteps, his blind eyes now useless in their old and wrinkled sockets.
‘Are you able to sit up today?’ she asked gently, holding a beaker of water to his lips.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Help me up.’
She shifted him to a sitting position and adjusted the straw-filled pillows behind his back. The room was small and contained two beds, hers and her father’s. Her mother was long dead and had left her with no money, a dying father and a tiny room in a shared house. A table sat at the room’s centre and a stone shelf doubled up as food and clothing storage.
‘You do not usually finish early,’ said her father. ‘Are you well?’
‘I am fine,’ she said, smoothing his hair lovingly. ‘I just have things on my mind.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
Elmira hesitated, unsure whether to burden the old man with the secret.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she said eventually. ‘I will sort it out.’
Her father sought out her hand and gripped it firmly.
‘Elmira, I may be stuck in this godforsaken bed and not long for this world, but if I can give you any advice at all, then please grant me the chance to guide you.’
Elmira hesitated again.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let me finish the chores and I will share my burden.’ She carried the hay through to the backyard and half an hour later returned, placing a bowl of milk on the table. She smiled at him, forgetting for a moment he could not see her. ‘The goat is fed and milked,’ she said, ‘and the chickens have blessed us with three eggs. I shall prepare an early meal and then we can talk.’
‘Elmira,’ said the old man, reaching up to find her hand, ‘the food can wait. The worry in your voice tells me that your story will not. Sit.’
Elmira sat on the foot of the bed that had been her father’s prison for several months. She took his hand and explained what had happened in the cell of Piri Reis. By the time she had finished her father was completely silent, staring at her with unseeing eyes.
‘And you are sure this came from Muhiddin himself?’
‘Yes, though I know not if he told the truth.’
‘Your mother’s father was a man of his word. If he said these things, then they are true. However, I have concerns about this other man. What did you say his name was?’
‘Muhiddin called him Pasha. I believe he is a minor official in the court of Suleiman.’
‘Elmira, you have to be careful. If this Pasha is the person I think he is, then you cannot trust him.’
‘But Muhiddin knew him. Pasha’s father was one of his oldest friends.’
‘His father was an honourable man. Pasha, however, is a different matter altogether. He achieved his position through guile and treachery. Many men have been sent to their graves as a result of his lies. He has the ear of the caliph himself and a network of spies throughout the kingdom.’
‘Then what should I do?’
‘Ordinarily I would say run as fast as you can away from him, but this is an opportunity you cannot afford to miss. Our existence is hard enough as it is. The poor die young while the rich grow fat on the fruits of their labour. If you have a chance to make a better life for you and your descendants, then you should grasp it with both hands, but be careful, I implore you, for Pasha is a liar and a cheat. While you alone hold the key, you are safe from his cruelty, but if you relinquish this knowledge, you will not last a day.’
‘But I do not understand it,’ she said. ‘It is in a foreign language, yet he said you would understand.’
‘Do you remember the words?’ asked her father.
‘No, but I wrote them down, I have the parchment here.’
The old man thought for a moment before speaking again.
‘Elmira, do you trust me?’
‘Of course, Father, I trust you with my life.’
‘Then I would ask you this. Share the key with me and I will ensure that it is recorded in a safe place. Should the worst happen, then at least it will not be lost forever. I will not betray my own daughter and if my life ends before your task is complete, then I will take your secret to the grave.’
‘I will read it to you,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said suddenly. ‘I do not want to know what the key says. If I knew then I am afraid that Pasha’s torturers might force me to give up the knowledge. Just giv
e me a copy and I will store it in a place they will never find it. This way you will have the greatest protection.’
‘OK,’ she said and retrieved a piece of paper from beneath her pillow. ‘Where will you hide it?’
‘I have an idea,’ he said, ‘and will let you know when I finalise the arrangements. Until then, do not put yourself at risk with this man.’
‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘Now, shall I prepare our meal?’
The old man lay back clutching the piece of parchment, the simple contents of which held the clues to a fortune he could only dream of.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But after that, bring my old friend the carpenter. I have business to discuss with him.’
‘What business?’
‘Men’s business, but that can wait, I am hungry.’
Elmira smiled and started to prepare their meal as her father made his plans.
Chapter 4
Samothrace 2011
India and Brandon sat in Adriano’s car as it pulled up to an impressive set of gates. He wound down the window and swiped a card across a sensor, causing the gates to swing wide open, and drove up the curved drive to stop before a surprisingly modern house. A woman came out and greeted Adriano like an old friend. He turned to India and Brandon.
‘Halia, this is Brandon Walker and India Summers. They are the special investigators I told you about from the UK. This is Halia, the wife of Christos Gatilusi.’
India held out her hand.
‘Hello, Mrs Gatilusi,’ she said, ‘I am sorry to hear of your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope you can find something that the police have missed.’
‘We’ll try our best,’ said India.
‘Please, come in,’ said Halia. ‘My home is yours.’ They entered the stylish hallway and though the house was not overly large, the quality of the workmanship was first class. India walked on ahead, talking to Halia as Brandon followed with Adriano.
‘Wow,’ said Brandon quietly, looking at the exquisite marble tiling, ‘this is some pad.’
The Treasures of Suleiman Page 3