The Wanderer

by Mika Waltari

  By the time we had drunk a few stoups of this really excellent strong ale, the three of us were friends and it was cheering to meet with a good Christian again after all these Moslems. I begged Master Eimer to tell me his adventures, but he was unwilling to say anything of his sufferings as a galley slave aboard the Venetian warship. Yet, after some further drinking, he displayed to us his fat back with its network of scars-a perpetual reminder of the overseer’s whip. He held himself askew when walking and believed he would never lose this habit, which resulted from two years spent chained to the same oar. Master Eimer was over fifty and he thought he must have perished but for the powerful brewer’s heart he inherited from his father and grandfather, further strengthened by good ale of his own drinking.

  In the course of a battle with the Imperial fleet, the Venetian war galley had been so badly damaged that in the confusion Master Eimer was able to hammer out the bolt to which he was fettered and swim ashore. Soon afterward he was taken prisoner by Moslems and sold in the Cairo slave market. A compassionate Jew who had embraced the faith of Islam bought him his freedom; then took him to Istanbul and financed a brewery for him. The tavern had paid well, for ale was rare enough among Mussulmans for the price to be kept high. (This last was to our address, for he had noted how smoothly the good drink was slipping down our throats.) With a jingle of my purse I asked coldly what we owed him, and he named a figure that made my hair stand on end. After that I could not wonder that he had laid the foundations of a substantial fortune is so short a time.

  I asked him to advise me how an insignificant person like myself could obtain audience of the Grand Vizier, as I had matters of great weight to impart. To my boundless amazement Master Eimer answered, “Nothing easier! All you need do is go up the hill here and have a word with Master Aloisio Gritti. You can be sure he’ll further your business if it’s of real importance. Try him. At the worst, his servants can only throw you out.”

  I asked who Master Aloisio Gritti might be. Eimer replied, “In all the Pera quarter there’s no one with a worse reputation. But he’s rich-a natural son of the Doge of Venice and a Greek slave woman.

  They say he’s a close friend of the Grand Vizier and directs the secret negotiations between the Christian states and the High Porte.”

  I doubted very much whether I should be doing Khaireddin a service by dragging the Venetians into his affairs. But these misgivings came too late, for just then a man in the dress of a Christian clerk rose and approached me to ask if I sought Master Aloisio Gritti. He declared himself willing to guide me to his house as he was bound thither himself. I was averse from keeping company with strangers in a seaport town such as this, but Master Eimer rebuked me for my suspicions, saying, “The Sultan’s city is the safest and most peaceable of all cities in the world, especially at night, for the Sultan allows no brawling or thieving. During the hours of darkness his janissaries patrol the streets, maintaining good order everywhere. You may accompany this man with an easy mind, Michael Pelzfuss, for I know his face and believe him to be one of Master Gritti’s servants.”

  We took cordial leave of Master Eimer and went out with the clerk. As soon as we were in the street he said, “You’re two of the pirate king’s party and arrived today from Algeria. But I didn’t want to disturb you until you had emptied your tankards.”

  I asked him how in Allah’s name he could know who we were, and he replied smoothly, “When Master Gritti learned that janissaries were guarding your vessel he sent a boatman to fetch you. He’s already waiting to learn whether you have anything of importance to tell him.”

  I was struck dumb with amazement, but Andy said, “We are indeed sheep, led hither and thither at the bidding of the shepherd. But perhaps this too is the will of Allah, and if so there’s nothing to be done.”

  Stumbling over heaps of garbage in the narrow, twisting street we made our way toward the top of the hill; then as we walked up some broad, easy steps, I saw the mighty Galata tower outlined like a dark shadow against the starry sky. The young moon gave little light, but the crescent is the symbol of Ottoman power, and as I now beheld it I was filled with a strange conviction that a turning point in my fate had come.

  At last we reached a wall in which was a small door. Our companion unlocked this and we passed through. The house beyond lay in darkness and I began to suspect that we had fallen into a trap. But as soon as we stepped into the entrance hall we saw light issuing from the inner rooms, by which we could see that the house was gor- gcously furnished in the Venetian style. I could hear also the notes of a gay air played on a violin.

  Our companion passed along a dark corridor and into a lighted room to announce our arrival. When out of curiosity I began to follow him, a black hand shot from the shadows and seized me so hard by the arm that I cried aloud in fear. Two Negroes stepped silently forward out of the darkness and barred the way with crossed scimitars. I now had no doubt but that the Venetians for some reason wanted to kidnap me. We had left our vessel without permission and no one would investigate our disappearance. But Andy said in his usual blunt fashion, “Think nothing of it, Michael. We’ll manage these two, if I can get a proper grip of one and kick the other where it hurts most.”

  He smiled engagingly at the Negroes and began to tease them by pinching their arms, so that it was all I could do to control him. Fortunately the clerk returned and bade us step into the lighted room at once, whereupon he disappeared behind a curtain.

  We stepped boldly in and bowed low, touching forehead and floor with our finger tips, for politeness could not come amiss in the presence of so important a man as Master Gritti. When I looked up I saw a table resplendent with gold and silver and lit by numberless candles in a candelabrum of Venetian glass. Two men had recently finished their meal; one, wearing the gorgeous dress of a Venetian nobleman, was lying back in his chair. Raising his goblet he bade me welcome in the Italian tongue. Only from the many fine wrinkles in his face could it be seen that he was considerably older than myself, for his figure was as slender as mine. I also observed that his eyes were red and swollen with drink. Beside him stood a man dressed in a Turkish kaftan of silk and a plumed and jeweled turban, holding a violin in his hand. He was the most magnificent-looking man I had ever seen, and gave forth a sort of radiance which made it difficult to take one’s eyes from him. His skin was smooth and milk white as a boy’s, though he was certainly more than thirty. His bright dark eyes rested on Andy and me with a mocking smile, as if he were conscious that no one could look upon him unmoved; yet his assurance had nothing in it of conceit. He was not even very splendidly dressed, and except for the jeweled buttons of his kaftan and the fine diamonds on his fingers and in his ears, his attire was of so quiet a distinction that an inexperienced eye might have found it plain. But when I looked into his eyes I trembled; I fell on my knees before him and pressed my forehead to the ground. Andy hesitated for a moment and then followed my example. Master Gritti burst into forced laughter and said as he spun the wine cup between his fingers, “Why do you show such veneration for a common fiddler, rather than for me who am master in this house?”

  I answered humbly, “Fiddler he may be, yet the whole world is his violin and the nations of the earth are the strings. His proud gaze speaks the prince, whereas your puffy eyes, Master Gritti, tell of one lost to decency through gluttony and drink. While he stands you loll in your chair, nor do you treat me with fitting respect, though as Khaireddin’s representative I consider myself in every way your equal.”

  Master Gritti, offended, demanded scornfully, “How can you, the slave of a pirate, consider yourself equal to a distinguished Venetian? If you want anything from me you must adopt a humbler tone.”

  Knowledge of his illegitimate birth gave me courage, for in that respect at least we were equals. And so I replied, “I want anything from you? You’re mistaken. You wouldn’t have sent for me in this clandestine fashion unless you hoped to gain something by it. You may represent the most illustrious Republic, b
ut I am the envoy extraordinary of Khaireddin, lord of the sea. Which of us, do you think, takes precedence before the Divan-you, an idolatrous Christian, or I who am of the Faith?”

  The violinist laid aside his instrument, sat down, and addressed me in faultless Italian, “So you are Michael el-Hakim and this is your brother Antar, the wrestler and gun founder. I’ve heard of you and you do right to defend your master’s honor. But you must not quarrel with this man, who is my personal friend and an excellent musician. Tell me rather why you showed me such marked deference. Did you know who I was? If so, Master Gritti has performed his task imperfectly.”

  I looked at him in unfeigned admiration, for he was indeed more worthy of it than any man I had seen. And I answered, “I don’t know who you are, but I suspect that the wanderer Mustafa ben-Nakir, whom I met in Algeria, has often spoken of you. If you are that man, then indeed reality surpasses his account as the sun surpasses the moon in splendor, and I can only praise the bright star that brought me to your presence. Praise be to you, most fortunate Ibrahim, pillar of the

  Ottoman Empire-you on whom the Sultan has bestowed greater power than ever subject held before!”

  He inclined his proud head and answered with easy modesty, “I am but my lord’s slave.”

  Then his animated mood prevailed again and he went on, “As you may realize, I arranged this meeting so as to gain certain necessary information from you regarding Khaireddin’s intentions. If you’re surprised that the meeting should take place in the foreigners’ quarter and in the house of a Venetian, you must understand that it’s to our advantage to let the illustrious Republic know what may be expected from your master, Venice also is at war with the Emperor. If Khaireddin receives the horsetail switch of a beylerbey he must obey the Sultan only, and cease harrying the vessels of our French and Venetian allies. Do you think he can control his pillaging officers, and one day join the allied fleets of France and Venice in a great naval attack on the Emperor?”

  I replied, “Khaireddin is an unusual man, and very shrewd. Since his brother’s death he has encountered difficulties enough to show him that in the long run he can’t hold his kingdom without the Sultan’s powerful support. His ambition is limitless, his officers trust him implicitly, and he calls them his children. The richness of the presents he has now sent best proves his sincerity, and I know he venerates you and the Sultan so highly as to feel like a humble disciple beside you. It would flatter his vanity to receive the horsetail, a kaftan of honor, and a personal letter from the Sultan. And to my mind such a mark of favor would be a modest price to pay for Khaireddin’s mighty fleet and fine seamen.”

  Beneath Ibrahim’s dark gaze I felt no wish to resort to fulsome flattery or exaggeration, and believed I could best serve Khaireddin’s cause by giving my honest opinion of him. Yet with my whole heart I longed to win the Grand Vizier’s confidence. So strong was his charm that I desired his favor for its own sake, without thought of the advantages it could bring me. He questioned me very thoroughly, and with practical knowledge, on the subject of Khaireddin’s building works and other activities, until Master Gritti interrupted him, and turning to me asked, “Can this Khaireddin sail oceans as well as seas, to crush the Portuguese spice trade and hinder Spanish traffic with the New World?”

  Ibrahim said, “The Sultan of sultans and lord of all peoples is no spice dealer. In furthering the interests of the illustrious Republic, Aloisio Gritti, you see no further than your own nose and your immediate advantage. The shortest way to the control of the spice trade is over the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf. When once we have conquered Persia, the Ottoman fleet can sail unmolested to destroy the Portuguese trading posts in India. Nothing can then prevent us from digging a canal between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, thus rendering pointless the Portuguese discovery of the passage round the southern tip of Africa. But there’s a time for everything, and first the Emperor must be defeated.”

  Master Gritti, discomfited, was silent. The Grand Vizier turned to me and went on, “No, we’re not spice dealers, and the Sultan has no real enemy but the Emperor, Charles V, for we’re now allied with Venice and the French King, and even to some extent with the Pope. The King of France is once more in difficulties, and to relieve him the Sultan must oppose the Emperor, or at least obtain from him fair terms of peace for France. It will be for Khaireddin to block the Imperial sea power when our army opens its campaign in the spring. If Allah wills we shall defeat Ferdinand, the Emperor’s brother, and take possession of his domains, for so long as the war with France continues Charles can send him no help. It’s true that the Emperor is negotiating secretly with Tahmasp, the Shah of Persia, and sooner or later the Sultan must fight the Emperor on Persian soil as well, at the same time liberating the holy tombs of Islam from the hands of the red-haired Shiites. But the cornerstone of Ottoman policy is neither more nor less than the blocking of Imperial world dominion which, were it to continue, would destroy the freedom of all peoples. Anything therefore which harms the Emperor helps the Sultan, and vice versa. Grasp this and you grasp all.”

  Master Gritti, who was evidently bored, emptied another cup of wine and said, “Master Michael Carvajal-you’ll allow me to address you thus, for I happen to know that Master Venier of Venice made out your pass in that name. Well, Master Michael, the Ottoman emblem is the bald-necked vulture that appeared to Osman in a dream. Clearly, in order to survey wider expanses than come within the range of ordinary mortals, the vulture must mount high in the heavens. I, poor earthbound man, am more interested in the spice trade and the best way to protect Venetian merchant shipping against the pirates of Islam. For these are matter-of-fact, everyday problems, and their solution will bring many benefits. Our violinist should content himself with capturing Vienna and bestowing the crown of Hungary on my friend Zapolya, who has humbly sought the aid of the High Porte. For he is the lawfully elected king of the downtrodden Hungarian people, whose arrogant lords have accepted King Ferdinand as their ruler. By law, only a native of Hungary may wear the sacred crown of St. Stephen, yet the Viennese King’s German men-at-arms are still roistering in Buda. The forces of the Crescent ought to have freed Hungary from the German yoke as long ago as last summer.”

  The Grand Vizier only smiled and drew a few pleasing notes from his violin.

  “Last summer Allah sent heavy rains and floods in our path,” he said, “but next summer Vienna shall be captured and the faithful Zapolya shall receive his well-earned reward. For as you may know, the Sultan has sworn by the Prophet and by his sword to be Zapolya’s true friend and shield him from all his enemies.”

  Aloisio Gritti made a wry face and said, “And King Zapolya swore, too, through his ambassador. He swore by the living God and Jesus our Saviour, who is God also, that he would ever remain a friend to the friends of Sultan Suleiman and an enemy to his enemies. But while you were playing your fiddle the greedy landowners and the Germans oppressed the people and left them destitute.”

  “Allah’s will be done,” returned the Grand Vizier. To me he said, “You may apply with full confidence to Master Gritti for any information regarding the Christian states. Through him we learn not only the secrets of the illustrious Republic, but also news from King Zapolya of matters great and small in Germany and the Viennese court.”

  His face darkened, and springing up he cried, “Crowns and coronations are but a mirage to delude the foolish. Not the crown but the sword confers sovereignty. Lands trodden by the Sultan’s chargers are forever united with his realms. Therefore I, too, burn with impatience to open the greatest campaign in the history of the Ottoman Empire. If afterward Zapolya reigns as king of Hungary, it will be by the Sultan’s favor, to ensure free passage through his domains at all times.”

  Although I well understood that these preparations for a campaign which indirectly threatened the whole of Christendom greatly exceeded in importance the affairs I had on hand, yet I strove like Master Gritti to keep my feet firmly on the ground; I asked what rece
ption was to be given to Khaireddin’s envoy. The Grand Vizier replied, “The Sultan still regards Khaireddin as a common pirate who, with his brother, betrayed the trust placed in him by the Sultan’s father, Selim. Khaireddin also has the second and third viziers against him, and I advise you to provide handsome presents for these men. But foremost among his opponents are the Sultan’s sea pashas who fear and envy him. He has a trustworthy supporter in the Chief Pilot, the learned navigator Piri-reis. Piri-reis has drawn a chart by whose help anyone may sail the Mediterranean with safety; when you meet him, praise this work. Since a few copies of it fell into the hands of Christians it has ceased to be a secret. Piri-reis is an elderly man who lives among papers and feels no resentment for Khaireddin. The only gifts that please him are Christian charts which he likes to compare with his own. Tomorrow I intend to take up the question of Khaireddin with the Divan; I shall mention the magnificent gifts he has sent, and stress his firm intention of turning Algiers into an impregnable naval base. If Allah wills it, the Sultan himself shall receive the deputation in person, and the other viziers must accept the position with what grace they may.”

  After giving me further instructions and addressing a kind word or two to Andy, he dismissed us. Master Gritti escorted us past the Negro guards to a side door, and before we left him he said, “If you’re indeed a man of education, Master Michael, and find time hanging heavily on your hands, come and visit me without fear of intruding; I enjoy listening to Seraglio gossip. The Seraglio is if possible a worse hotbed of gossip and intrigue than even the Vatican or the Emperor’s Court. I can offer you some unusual enjoyments, too, and acquaint you with vices with which because of your youth you’re perhaps still unfamiliar. I regret that this evening I was unable to offer you some young slave girl, for I have a number of these in my service, of different races and color and all expert in the erotic arts of their own countries. Indeed, I believe you’ll be astonished.”