Ottoman

by Christopher Nicole

  Djem glanced at William. “What is your opinion?”

  “I agree with Omar Pasha, O Padishah.”

  “Ha! You would. You are afraid of facing your father in the field,” he sneered. “But remember your brother. Remember your wife and children.”

  “I do remember them,” William said quietly. “I will fight for you. I have said this. But it makes sense to fight where we have the greatest chance of success. Once you force my father to retreat, you will be able to claim a great victory. Men will flock to your standard from all Anatolia. Next year we may be able to meet your brother’s army in the field on equal terms.”

  Djem stared at him, then down at the advancing horde again. His fingers twitched, and despite the chill wind he sweated. Like his brother, he was too unsure of himself to wish to prolong this trial of strength a moment longer than was necessary. He would, as William realised, stake everything on a gambler’s throw.

  “I say we fight now,” he declared. “Do you suppose that rabble down there will stay with me a moment longer if I order a retreat? If I withdrew to Brusa, my brother will label me a coward.”

  And would he not be right? William wondered.

  Djem pointed to where the road debouched from a defile through the hills, about two miles east of the village. “We will advance and deploy beyond there. It is a strong position. Hawk Pasha will only be able to come at us in small detachments. See to it.”

  He touched his horse with his heel and galloped off, followed by his officers.

  *

  “What do you think?” William asked Omar.

  They stood their horses on the roadway about four hundred yards west of the pass. It actually was a well-chosen position, for the road dipped behind them into a shallow valley before rising again to Yeni-Shehr; and in addition it was well wooded, so their army as deployed was invisible from the pass itself.

  Omar had divided his bashi-bazouks into two contingents, and placed one on each side of the road in the valley, sheltering behind the pines. Immediately at the lip of the valley the cannon were emplaced, but had been concealed as best possible by gathered brush. Behind them, in the dip, were the Janissaries. And behind the Janissaries were the sipahis, the coup de grâce to the opposing army should it begin to break.

  There too was Prince Djem. He had pitched his black and gold tent where the ground rose again, but it was concealed from the pass itself by the wood, and, as he had brought with him from Brusa several of his concubines, he could be expected to remain there.

  “We can do no better,” the general said. “And it is possible that we may succeed. Our success depends upon your cannon and the swiftness of our manoeuvres, young Hawk. Remember, do not fire until at least a third of your father’s army is through the pass. Then commence firing and maintain your rate as fast as you can. With fortune, the suddenness of our attack will scatter our opponents. At which time I will loose the bashis at them. Then, again with fortune, the enemy will flee in terror back to the pass. There they will encumber the rest of the army attempting to advance. There will be much confusion. If I can then attack with my Janissaries and sipahis, the day may well be ours.’

  “With fortune,” William said grimly.

  Omar’s smile was equally grim. “Without fortune, young Hawk, every one of our men is doomed.”

  He rode off to join the Janissaries, and William walked his horse back to the artillery battery and there dismounted. His men welcomed him warmly. He had selected and trained every one of them, and they would fight for him against their own fathers.

  William knew the power of artillery, and this strategy of massing the guns instead of having them widely spread — as was the usual custom — had been invented by his own father. Anthony Hawkwood would also be intending to mass his guns, once he was through the pass. Therefore he must not be allowed through the pass.

  But what a terrible prospect, to be planning the defeat of his own father! He had always held him in the highest respect, even if Anthony’s grim figure had never encouraged love. And to do so for a man he loathed and despised!

  If only it were possible to speak with Hawk Pasha for a moment, to explain his situation…but would not Hawk Pasha realise the situation, since his other son had not returned? He could hardly suppose they had both turned traitor. But Hawk Pasha believed only in duty to his acknowledged lord. He would slay his own sons without compunction, were he to suspect them for a moment of treason.

  William sighed as he walked up and down, settling his helmet more comfortably on his head, feeling the sun’s rays heating the chain-mail breastplate beneath his cloak. The rainclouds had gathered around the mountains behind him. Every few seconds he gazed up at the hills, where a party of sipahis oversaw the approach of the Sultan’s army. How slowly time seemed to pass. But as he and his men ate their midday meal, the quiet of the morning slowly dissipated into a distant rumbling, like the sound of a river in full spate. The Sultan’s army was approaching.

  Hooves drummed and Prince Djem galloped up to the artillery.

  “Do you hear them?” he panted.

  “I hear them,” Anthony said.

  “Are your guns loaded?”

  “My guns are loaded, Padishah.”

  Djem shaded his eyes to stare up at the hills. “Why do not those rascals signal?”

  “They will do so when the moment is right.”

  And, indeed, only a few minutes later there came a flash of light from the hillside.

  “The enemy is entering the defile,” Djem muttered.

  “Will you withdraw, Padishah?” William inquired.

  “No, I will stay here with you.” He gazed at William, and actually flushed.

  He still distrusts me, William thought. Does he not realise that by staying here he may place himself in my power?

  If only he knew what orders Djem had left at Brusa regarding the disposal of the other Hawkwoods.

  “There!” Djem pointed.

  The first squadron of sipahis was emerging from the pass. They rode slowly, looking from left to right, blinking in the light of the sun, which was now settling into their eyes. They had no knowledge of where the rebel army was, but they knew they were in Djem’s territory; and they had surely seen the flashes of light from the hillside. Thus they must expect to encounter their enemies at any moment.

  “Kill them!” Djem shouted, in his excitement riding his horse up the slope on to the road, in full view of the sipahis. “Open fire.”

  William rode behind him. “With respect, that is but the advance guard. We do not want to reveal our position until more of the army is through.”

  The enemy sipahis had checked their advance at the sight of the two men, but they would hardly retire on that account.

  “We must get out of sight, Padishah,” William said urgently.

  The sipahis gave a shout and began to canter forward, anxious to take them prisoner and obtain information about the rebel dispositions. Seizing Djem’s bridle, William led the horse down the incline, but Djem wrenched himself free.

  “Traitor!” he screamed. “I knew you would not fire upon your father’s people.” His face contorted. “Seize him!” he shrieked. “Seize him!”

  The gunners stared at him in dismay as Djem called out to his escort.

  “Seize him!” he bellowed.

  William hesitated, uncertain what to do. To ride for the approaching sipahis was to die; their arrows would bring him down long before he could identify himself.

  It would also mean the death of his wife and brother, and his young sons. But were they not now doomed in any event?

  Roughly his arms were seized and he was dragged from the saddle.

  “Pinion him,” Djem commanded. “I will execute him and his father together, when we have gained the day. You…” he gestured to the horrified gunners. “Open fire! Open fire, I say!”

  The enemy sipahis had drawn rein again as the group of horsemen disappeared down the slope, suspecting that they were about to ride into a
n ambush. Behind them more of the cavalry were emerging from the pass, but there was no sign of the bashi-bazouks as yet. Now the cannon roared. The stone balls careered through the air, and several of the advance guard were struck down. The rest promptly wheeled and galloped back to the pass.

  “Load!” Djem screamed. “Load, and fire again.”

  Still being dragged to the rear by four of Djem’s guards, William looked back to see Omar spurring his horse towards the battery to discover why his instructions had been so catastrophically disobeyed. He had no idea what was then discussed between prince and general, but Djem was apparently not to be gainsaid, for the cannon fired another futile round as soon as they were reloaded about half an hour later. This time the shots bounced off empty rock. The sipahis had withdrawn.

  *

  “He is delighted,” Omar said gloomily. “He thinks we have gained a victory.”

  “What is the Sultan’s army doing?” William asked.

  His arms had been unbound to enable him to eat supper, and Omar had come to share it with him. It was dark now as they sat together, surrounded by the Janissaries, some quarter a mile behind the cannon and half a mile from the pass itself.

  The darkness had not brought silence, however. All around them was the din of men and horses, shutting out the shrilling of cicadas and the cries of owls, the distant howling of a wolf. And over all played the night wind, cold as it soughed through the pines.

  “They are encamped beyond the pass,” Omar told him. “Our chance of gaining a quick victory is gone. Now we can only hope that your father will attempt to force the pass tomorrow.”

  “Will he?”

  “Hawk Pasha is not so stupid,” Omar said.

  “What is his alternative?”

  “To flank-march us to the north; he will hardly try to march south round the Ulu Dag. But to flank us will take several days, even weeks. Perhaps it will all work out for the best. If your father attempts to flank us, we will have to fall back on Brusa in any event, which is our best chance. But you, young Hawk, I fear for you.”

  “The prince lost his head.”

  “And will do so again. I have spoken with him, told him you were but obeying my command in not opening fire so soon. He seemed to understand, but he has given no order for your release.”

  “Then I must be patient.” William rested his hand on the general’s arm. “I thank you for your friendship, Omar Pasha.”

  Omar grinned. “I must speak with the prince again. Should we have to fight a battle tomorrow, I wish you in command of the guns. Not him.”

  William slept fitfully and awoke with a start at the blast of a trumpet and a great commotion.

  Father is attacking through the pass, he thought, throwing off the blanket and reaching for his sword — before remembering that he was still under arrest.

  But his guards were also on their feet, and staring towards the hills. It was just dawn, and the valley was shrouded in mist. And there was no alarm from the pass, where Omar had stationed a squadron of sipahis to give him early warning of any move by the loyal army. Instead men were pointing at the hills, which were now emerging from the mist, and from which the sipahis were signalling with desperate haste.

  William frowned and looked from left to right. There was no sign of the enemy, no way they could have debouched on to the plain…yet something catastrophic had clearly happened.

  The whole rebel army was astir now, and someone was pointing to the north and shouting in a loud voice.

  William looked to the hills which guarded the north side of the valley, at the same moment as the sun rose out of the hills before him. As he stared, narrowing his eyes in a frown, he discerned men toiling up a narrow mountain track, many men, straining and tugging at ropes — and behind them was a cannon.

  His stomach heaved, even as his heart swelled with pride. They had thought Hawk Pasha possessed only two alternatives: either attempt to force the pass, or flank the rebel position. But Anthony Hawkwood was not called the greatest soldier in the empire for nothing. He had devised a third way of dislodging the rebels.

  William did not care to think how many men his father must have employed, how many must have fallen to their deaths in the darkness, or slipped and savagely injured themselves. He had made his men labour all night, and now the gun was almost ready to be emplaced, on a vantage point where it could command the entire rebel position.

  Djem came galloping down from his tent, screaming orders. Omar had already despatched a regiment of the Anatolians to climb the steep slope and seize the gun. But, anticipating that, Hawk Pasha had not merely sent his gunners into the hills. As the Anatolians began to scramble up the slope towards the cannon, the ledge above them was suddenly lined with blue-coated Janissaries armed with handguns. These rippled smoke into the morning air to mingle with the mist, and the rebel infantry fell back, leaving several of their number scattered on the slopes.

  The rest hurried back to the main force, and would not return, no matter how much Omar rode amongst them, ordering and then imploring. The rebel army rippled with apprehension and could only watch as the sun rose further and the gun was slowly emplaced.

  William saw Djem come galloping back from the cannon. Without even halting, he made off down the road towards Yeni-Shehr and then, no doubt, Brusa. His attendants hastily packed up their tents and made to follow. The women screamed in dismay as they were roughly bundled on to their horses in a kaleidoscope of haiks and yashmaks.

  The guards looked in puzzlement at William, and he looked back. They had been given no orders as to his disposal. But now the whole rebel army was disintegrating: the bashi-bazouks were moving towards the road, as were the Anatolians. Only the artillery and the Janissaries held their positions.

  And then the cannon exploded. The shot screamed out of the hillside, and with deadly accuracy struck the ground immediately behind the rebel guns. Earth and stone and human bodies flew into the air. There was no chance of responding; the rebel artillery could not be sufficiently elevated to return fire.

  A great moan rose from the rebel ranks, and the bashi-bazouks took to their heels.

  Omar galloped up. “Release that man!” he commanded, and William’s bonds were struck from his arms.

  “The day is lost,” Omar said. “As our noble master has fled the field, we must retreat as best we can, and hope that we will yet muster sufficient men to defend Brusa.”

  “I must save the guns, if I can,” William said.

  “You must save yourself and your family,” Omar told him. “I will bring the guns. You must ride for Brusa. Take my own escort; they are men you can trust.” He grinned. “If you can overtake our master, so much the better. Then we will have to make what terms we can with your father.”

  William leapt into the saddle, and Omar’s guard of sipahis fell in behind him.

  He led them at a gallop along the road to Brusa. Behind him he heard the sounds of the cannon on the hill exploding again, and looking over his shoulder saw the loyalist army debouching through the now undefended pass. He knew that he was playing no heroic part this day, but there were too many differing hopes and fears tugging at his heartstrings. Though he could do nothing to help his comrades; he could at least hope to save his brother and his family…and present the wretched Djem bound to his father.

  They galloped into Yeni-Shehr, now a huge throng of confused and frightened people, the fleeing soldiers mingling with excited villagers. Here the harem was also bogged down, and the women cried out to William to save them. But he had no time for that. He and the sipahis had to fight their way through the mob, shouting and cursing, but at last they found themselves on the road beyond. This was also full of fleeing bashi-bazouks, but now the horsemen could urge their mounts into a gallop.

  It wanted some twenty miles to Brusa, and the horses were blown long before the city was reached. It was necessary to slow down to a walk, and even dismount for a while and lead the animals on foot. William understood he might need their stre
ngth at his destination, for Djem had a long start.

  Now the mountain loomed above them, and at last they saw the domes of the mausoleums where the Ottoman chieftains were laid to rest, rising above the white walls of the houses.

  A handful of Janissaries, members of Djem’s personal guard, barred the road.

  “Has the Padishah been this way?” William asked.

  “He has commanded that no one is to follow, young Hawk,” the captain said.

  “Stand aside,” William said, “or we will charge you.”

  Gazing at the sipahis, the Janissaries were outnumbered and confused; and like everyone else they were aware that their prince had fled the battlefield.

  “We yield to your superior force,” their captain said at last.

  William raised his arm, and led his men through. They urged their still weary mounts up the steeply sloping streets, past gaping women and children and old men.

  “What has happened?” they cried.

  “We have been defeated,” the sipahis told them. “Stay inside your homes.”

  The prince’s palace was in a state of utter confusion. Guards and clerks milled about in the courtyard, chattering excitedly at each other; eunuchs hurried here and there; from the harem came shouts and shrieks.

  William dismounted and ran into the midst of the excited people. “Where is Prince Djem?” he demanded.

  “He was here but an hour ago, young Hawk,” they told him. “He paused but a moment to gather some money and then left again. But he will soon be back.”

  “What makes you think that?” William asked.

  “He has taken none of his women, nor any attendants, save only two. How may a prince go far without women and attendants?”

  He could be making for the south coast and a ship, William knew, hoping to escape the vengeance of his brother. He did not suppose the prince would ultimately succeed; the Ottoman tentacles could reach into almost every city of the world.