Ottoman

by Christopher Nicole

  Suleiman himself had come to Rhodes in the autumn. His essentially sensitive nature was appalled at the apparently useless slaughter, and he had instructed Hawk Pasha, old and grizzled, and angry at the loss of men, though determined to push the siege to a victorious conclusion, to offer generous terms.

  Negotiations were rapidly concluded. The Knights and their followers were allowed to march out unharmed and sail away, carrying all their possessions and their weapons; there were only a hundred and eighty Knights left, and fifteen hundred auxiliaries. No doubt suffering from his conscience for having done nothing to defend them, the Emperor Charles V had presented the Knights with first the seaport of Tripoli and then the island of Malta, in perpetuity.

  The Turks had gained an enormous triumph, but the cost had been frightful; the official casualty figure was fifty thousand men. In private Hawk Pasha confided to Harry that it was in reality much nearer a hundred thousand. Since then it had not appeared as if Hawk Pasha would ever campaign again. Suleiman, horrified by the casualties, had decreed an end to expansion.

  So Harry Hawkwood had once more to put an end to his dreams of an Ottoman navy carrying the crescent flag throughout the length of the Mediterranean, and instead content himself with sailing his little yacht.

  But now at last they were being forced to action; the Hungarians had flung down the gauntlet, as they had done so often in the past.

  And Suleiman had given Hawk Pasha the order to march.

  *

  “You will go to war,” Giovanna said sadly. “I had supposed such things were at an end.”

  “Did not the great Selim tell us that war is a man’s natural state, Mother?” Harry protested.

  “The great Selim is dead,” she pointed out. “I would like you to be alive when I die. Harry.”

  “Oh, I shall,” he laughed. “If a storm sent by Allah could not kill me, how may a mere mortal? But, come, I have something to show you. Some one,” he added archly.

  He led her into his women’s quarters, where Sasha and Tressilia stood regarding the new arrival with some uncertainty.

  Sasha, his senior wife, was now thirty years old. The seductive curves she had brought to his bed as a fifteen-year-old were threatening to dissolve into fat, but she remained a loving and attentive wife, and a gentle mistress of the harem.

  Tressilia, two years her junior, was more abrasive; she was from Constantinople, while Sasha had been born in Brusa. Where Sasha was pure Turk, Tressilia had Greek blood. But that had given her the long, straight nose and the high forehead that lent distinction to her face.

  Each had presented her husband with a son, and if Sasha’s Tughluk would be the next Hawk — and the first ever to bear a Turkish name, so thoroughly had the family now been assimilated — both he and Tressilia’s Tutush were so young, six and four respectively, that they and their mothers could remain the best of friends.

  But, as it was a dozen years since young Hawk had added to his harem, neither woman was very happy with the idea of having this wild creature from the steppes introduced into their lives.

  Yana, on her part, glared at them as if daring them to lay a finger on her; the eunuchs stood hesitantly by, since they had been given no orders as to her disposition.

  Giovanna frowned. “Where did you get her?”

  “I bought her from Khair-ed-din.”

  “That thug? How much did you pay?”

  “Fifty dinars.”

  Giovanna raised her eyes to heaven. “I suppose there is no point in possessing wealth if you do not squander it from time to time.” She went closer to the girl. “Where did Khair-ed-din find her?”

  “Russia. But not Circassia. She speaks neither Latin nor Greek.”

  “Perhaps Golkha may be able to understand her.”

  “She’ll learn our languages in due course.” He grinned. “I may teach her English.”

  “That would be as senseless as any other.” Giovanna looked the girl up and down. “She is well endowed: she must be quite old.”

  “Khair-ed-din swears she is but fifteen years old, and a virgin. And the daughter of a chieftain. She has a sister who is to go to Ibrahim.”

  Giovanna continued to stare into Yana’s eyes. “I do not like the look of her, Harry. She will bring you great misfortune.”

  “Oh, Mother, I am not a boy to be influenced by a pair of lips.”

  Giovanna made a moue. “I suppose you are anxious to mount her.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.” Oddly, he suddenly realised he had never so wanted to mount any woman before.

  “Then I will leave you to your enjoyment. But, remember…there is something evil about her.” She left the room.

  The head eunuch bowed. “Is the lady to be prepared, my lord?”

  Harry gazed into the amber eyes. She knew what was going to happen to her, and she knew he was going to be the man. She also knew her own helplessness. Her tongue stole out and circled her lips quickly.

  He looked her up and down. Perhaps his sudden ardour was because she had come to him unprepared; his Turkish brides had been shaven from puberty. What was the point in sampling something new and undoubtedly strange if she was not to be entirely new and strange?

  “Yes, Sayyid,” he said. “I wish the lady bathed — but not shaven.”

  A twitch of the eyebrows was Sayyid’s only comment on his master’s whim. Sayyid was a devout Muslim; as his master remained a gaiour, if he chose to break with custom that was his business.

  He seized Yana’s wrist. “Come,” he said.

  Yana gave him a quick, outraged glance, and looked back at Harry.

  Harry nodded, and the girl allowed herself to be led from the room.

  “Your mother is right,” Sasha said. “She is an evil thing.”

  Harry grinned, and ruffled her hair. “And you are jealous, my pet. I think this Russian girl will restore my vigour — so you can only benefit from that.”

  He attended the bathing chamber himself. This was again unusual, but he was still salty from his immersion in the Black Sea. Besides, suddenly he did not wish to allow Yana out of his sight.

  His presence seemed to give her courage; she seemed to have accepted that she was his, no one else’s. No doubt they had neither eunuchs nor bathing chambers in the Russian steppes, for she shrank away from the black men as they marched her down the steps and on to the wooden slats. But when he came too she recovered her confidence, and when he removed the kaftan she gazed at his body with a boldness that surprised him.

  They faced each other as the warm water was poured over them, and as the slaves got to work with their loofahs. Again she seemed to shrink as they sought the most intimate crevices of her body, but regained her composure as she saw them do the same with him. He could not but wonder how her sister Roxelana might react to such treatment.

  She shuddered when the cold water was poured over her, but so did he.

  “The lady’s hair, master?” inquired Sayyid.

  Now it was damp, it had lost some of its curl, but he did not wish it elaborately dressed. He wanted the wildness of her without the anger of her sister.

  “Leave it,” he ordered.

  It was a most unusual feeling: to wish to woo a woman rather than merely lie on his divan and know she would come to him because she must.

  They were next wrapped in huge towels and patted dry. Sayyid now brought the customary clothes for Yana to wear.

  She gazed in amazement at the silk pantaloons, so sheer they left nothing to the imagination, at the bolero jacket which did no more than brush the sides of her very full breasts, at the soft felt slippers in which her feet were encased, and at the jewelled fez which was set on her head. The entire ensemble was in pale green; Sayyid had a perfect sense of colour.

  “Bring her a glass,” Harry commanded.

  One of the eunuchs hurried forward with a mirror, which he held before the startled girl.

  “You are a beauty,” Harry told her.

  She gave him a
n anxious glance, saw his smile, and smiled in return.

  “Beauty,” she said, hesitantly.

  It was the first time he had heard her speak; it was only Roxelana who had spoken earlier. Her voice was just as low, and even more husky. It possessed an almost masculine quality.

  Now wrapped in one of his own kaftans, Harry held out his hand. After the briefest hesitation she took it, and he led her towards the door, which was hastily opened for them.

  Sasha and Tressilia stood there, looking behind him for the Russian girl.

  “Off with you,” Harry told them, “or I will have you caned.”

  They giggled, and scurried away.

  He led her up the stairs and into his sleeping chamber. She gazed at the huge divan, at the carpets on the floor, the window drapes fluttering in the evening breeze.

  Then she went over to the window and looked out, at the Golden Horn, and beyond, at the walls and towers and domes and minarets of Constantinople gleaming in the setting sun.

  “Beauty,” she said.

  He stood behind her, put his arms round her waist and pulled her back against him. She half-turned her head, looking almost surprised. Perhaps she had expected no gentleness from a Turk.

  He slipped his hands inside her bolero and caressed her breasts. She gave a little shiver, whether of pleasure or distaste he could not tell.

  He turned her round and kissed her mouth. For a few seconds it remained closed, then it opened beneath the quest of his tongue, and he found hers. When he released her he was also gasping for breath.

  Moving away from her, he took off his kaftan and lay down naked amidst the cushions. Still by the window, she continued to gaze at him for a minute, then appeared to come to a resolution.

  She reached up and took the cap from her head, stepped out of the slippers. She shrugged the bolero from her shoulders, released the string tying the pantaloons, and let them slip down her hips.

  Although he had already seen her naked, it was a most provocative strip-tease.

  Slowly she moved towards the bed. As her knees touched it, she hesitated. When Harry held out his hand, she took it in her warm, dry fingers, allowing herself to the pulled forward, to kneel beside him.

  Then he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her mouth, feeling her body warm on his. He rolled over on top of her, and was in her even before he intended.

  Once there, he could not withdraw. Even as her eyes glazed with pain, her legs, long and strong and powerful, were wrapped about him and he was sucked into her, deeper and deeper. Images whirled through his mind, his mother’s warning, the raging sea and, oddly, a vision of Roxelana.

  But, as he surged to a climax, he could not doubt that he had made the right choice.

  *

  The Porte was crowded with imams and muftis and pashas, and with mere hangers-on anxious for the latest news. The empire was going to war for the first time in three years.

  Ibrahim sidled through the throng and grasped Harry Hawkwood’s arm. “That pirate Khair-ed-din tells me we have twin sides of a purchase.”

  Harry grinned at him. Unlike many others in Constantinople, he was genuinely fond of Ibrahim. Tall, if not so tall as a Hawkwood, bold-featured and black-haired, the Greek Vizier was only a few years his elder. He exuded energy and purpose; no man could doubt his intelligence or his loyalty both to the Sultan and to the Ottomans. In the five years he had held charge of the empire’s finances, taxes had been reduced for the first time in history.

  Men complained that he was an infidel, which he was; they complained that he was a renegade, which he was. In these things he was much the same as the Hawkwoods.

  They also said that he was too intimate with the Sultan, but the same might also be said of the Hawkwoods, considering William Hawkwood’s relationship with Selim.

  They also said that a good half of the money he was saving through his efficiency at trimming government waste was going into his own pocket. That was a more serious charge, but not one which could be levelled against any Hawkwood.

  Yet Hawkwood wondered if it mattered. The efficiency was there, government was less wasteful, the empire thrived as never before. Did not the man who could perform such apparent miracles deserve an adequate reward?

  No man could accuse the young Greek of being cold towards those who gave him friendship. Already his arm was around Harry’s shoulder.

  “Are you pleased with her?” Harry asked.

  Ibrahim snorted. “I shall be pleased, no doubt, if I live to enjoy her. I have already had to tie her to my bed and cane her. And how of you?”

  “No bonds and no canes.” Harry smiled. “She seemed eager to please.”

  “And you had the pick! Well, mine is a tigress. But what glory to behold!”

  “I prefer a quiet life at home,” Harry said. “Time enough for excitement on campaign.”

  “Ah, yes.” Ibrahim was suddenly serious. “And this will be an important campaign for us. It is said that King Louis commands an immense army.”

  “My uncle will match him.”

  “I have no doubt; but it will still be a clash of Titans. I intend to accompany you.”

  “You, Ibrahim?” Harry was amazed.

  “I know you soldiers; you think of me as a clerk. But it is the Vizier’s responsibility to command the Sultan’s armies in battle, is it not?”

  “Indeed — when the Sultan himself is not present.”

  “Small chance of that. No, no, I intend to take my rightful place against the Hungarians.”

  Harry frowned. “Does my uncle know of this?”

  “Of course. Do not be alarmed, young Hawk. It is not my intention to interfere with your uncle’s dispositions. Heaven forbid! I simply wish to witness a campaign” — his smile returned — “in comfort. I will take Roxelana with me.”

  It was Harry’s turn to grin. “We had now best attend my father.”

  William Hawkwood was about to address the pashas.

  “My messengers have already been despatched,” he announced. “I am summoning levies from every available part of the empire. We shall muster ten thousand Janissaries, five thousand sipahis, ten thousand timariots, twenty-five thousand Anatolian foot, and fifty thousand bashi-bazouks: altogether one hundred thousand men. We shall be accompanied by one hundred cannon. It is time to settle this Hungarian business once and for all.” He paused and looked over their faces. “I have also to tell you that the army will be accompanied by his eminence Ibrahim Pasha.”

  There was a rustle amongst the soldiers.

  Ibrahim moved forward to stand beside William Hawkwood. “It is my duty to accompany the army of the Padishah into the field,” he said. “And I shall not shirk my duty.”

  The muttering continued for a moment, and then abruptly stopped — in its place the silence of amazement. Then every man in the room made the obeisance.

  From behind the screen on the far side of the room had stepped a man. He was slim, and not very tall, his features were aquiline, his moustache and beard thin. He wore a white silk kaftan with a cloth-of-gold belt, and a white turban in which cloth of gold thread had been worked.

  What the people in the room were staring at, however, was the sword girded round his waist. It was the holy sword of Othman, founder of the greatness of the Ottoman house — and it was only worn when a sultan himself was going to war.

  “With respect, Ibrahim Pasha,” Suleiman announced in a quiet voice, “I will lead my armies against Hungary in person.”

  13

  Barbarossa

  The Porte fell silent for some seconds after the Sultan’s announcement. Then Hawk Pasha bowed deeply.

  “Now we know that victory must attend our arms, O Padishah,” he said.

  *

  “Will he seek to interfere in the conduct of the campaign, do you suppose?” Harry asked when they had regained the privacy of the Hawk Palace.

  “He never has before,” William said, “save to command me to make peace with the Knights of St John.
We must hope that he is less soft-hearted with the Hungarians; they are the hereditary enemies of the Turks. I think that he is aware of this, and feels his presence on so important a campaign is essential. At any rate, I hope that is the reason.”

  Harry knew his uncle was worried. To have the Grand Vizier accompanying his military expedition was bad enough; to have both Vizier and Sultan looking over his shoulder could not but be intensely inhibiting.

  Yet William Hawkwood was recognised as the master soldier of the empire — even Suleiman knew that.

  But also, no doubt, Suleiman realised that William Hawkwood’s days on earth must now be numbered. Perhaps that was the true reason for his decision to campaign: the wish to discover a possible successor to Hawk Pasha.

  It was a heady thought for Harry that the choice might one day fall upon himself. As yet he was still too young, he supposed. Besides, he would rather command a fleet than an army.

  *

  All through winter, and from all over the empire, soldiers marched towards Constantinople. The area outside the city became a huge encampment, and riding out to watch the sipahis and timariots practising their manoeuvres or the Janissaries firing their arquebuses became a popular pastime for the people.

  The officers worked harder than anyone, drilling their new recruits, attempting to beat some order into the bashis, meting out punishment when men, becoming bored as the months went by, invaded the city and caused disturbances or raped local women. But Ottoman discipline was strict in Ottoman lands; a few impalements soon kept the men in hand.