“Prince Bayazid has retired to Anatolia,” Suleiman told him. “There, I am informed he raises levies against me, declaring that he seeks only to protect me from the intrigues of his brother. I am told men are flocking to his standard. Next spring we will campaign against him. The Grand Vizier will command the army, and you will command a squadron of the fleet, independently. From this moment I promote you rear-admiral. Ali will be pleased at this; his reports to me on your prowess during the past months have been very favourable.
“You will carry several divisions of troops, and you will sail along the south coast of Anatolia, and put them ashore where Sokullu will determine, behind Bayazid’s army. Thus his people will be caught between two forces: the Vizier’s marching from the Bosphorus, and yours behind them in Anatolia. Is this understood?”
“Yes, O Padishah.”
“You will meet with little opposition at sea,” Suleiman added. “It is possible to raise an army, however poorly disciplined, fairly quickly. But it is not possible to create a fleet quickly.”
“That is true.”
“This will be your first independent command, Hawk Pasha. Do not fail me — or your ancestors.”
“I will not fail you, O Padishah.” Hawkwood drew a long breath. “And after the Prince has been defeated?”
“I do not wish to look upon his face,” Suleiman said sadly. “Or those of his sons, whatever their ages. I wish only to know that the brood is dead.”
*
Was it really possible that the greatest of the Ottomans could be afraid to look upon the face of the son he had just condemned to death?
Hawkwood recalled what he had been told of the death of his own father — or, indeed, of the death of Ibrahim Pasha, another old boyhood friend of the Sultan’s. That murder had at least been carried out in Suleiman’s presence; but the Sultan had looked away, and had relied upon Harry Hawkwood and Khair-ed-din Barbarossa to make sure there was no retaliation.
Yet was he the greatest of the sultans: this fact had to be accepted.
And it would be his own first independent command, Anthony brooded. Do not fail me, Suleiman had warned. I shall not fail you, Anthony thought. You are my sovereign lord.
*
But the campaign was not to begin until the spring, and until then the knowledge of it would be restricted to three men.
“I am, of course, in constant negotiation with Prince Bayazid,” Mahomet Sokullu told Anthony, as they dined subsequently, also tête-à-tête. “I implore him to do nothing rash — only return to Istanbul and bow his head before his father.”
“Will he do that?” Hawkwood asked.
“I am sure he has more sense.”
“You mean he is still condemned to death, even if he now surrenders.”
“That is so.” Sokullu glanced at him. “If you have no stomach for this command, you had best say so now.”
“I will command,” Anthony assured him. “What of Prince Selim? Will he take part in the campaign?”
Sokullu paused. “The Prince has no stomach for campaigns.” Another quick glance.
“Yet he will be our Padishah in the course of time.”
“Indeed. But that will not necessarily prove a disaster. When the Sultan is weak, there are opportunities for greatness — perhaps more than where he is very strong. You should bear that in mind, Hawk Pasha, as I am sure you do seek greatness.”
Anthony merely inclined his head.
Sokullu continued. “May I make a suggestion. There is a man named Joseph Nasi. Do you know of him?”
“He is a Spanish Jew who enjoys the favour of the Padishah?”
“Exactly. One who has been forced out of Spain, as have great numbers of his countrymen, by the fanatical Catholicism of the new King, Philip. Thus he came here, as our master’s religious tolerance is well known, and Nasi has become a friend of Prince Selim’s. I will not discuss whether he panders to the Prince’s weaknesses, but his friendship is warmly reciprocated. This Nasi is a man of much loyalty to his people; in his own way, perhaps he is as fanatical as Philip. I have heard it said that he discusses with Selim the possibility of creating a national home for the Jewish people, where they can gather from all over Europe — from all over the world, in fact, after being dispersed for fifteen hundred years.
“Such a new state could only be forged within the Ottoman empire, owing to the antagonism to Jewry of the Christian nations. This idea has been suggested to the Padishah himself, and he has granted Nasi lands in Palestine, to see what he can achieve. I may tell you in private that the Padishah is not very interested in the project, but I’m informed that Selim inclines much towards it and considers that to have a Jewish state under, the aegis of the Ottoman empire could be of incalculable value. Well, the Jews certainly have the knack of accumulating wealth, which can be lucratively taxed; and because they are scattered all over Europe, they certainly have the opportunity for collecting information which is useful, and sometimes valuable.
“I am telling you this so you may understand that our prospective master is by no means lacking in intelligence and shrewdness. I believe that you and I, together, may accomplish great things over the next few years. But throughout it all we must practise the utmost loyalty to our master, whoever he may be, because that is the only way for such as we.”
Hawkwood again inclined his head.
Heady thoughts for a man not yet twenty-five, but rather terrifying ones as well. He had sought advancement certainly, but only as a sailor. He understood the wind and the weather, the currents and the dangers which might beset a ship at sea. Such political intrigue was new to him.
How he wished he had a confidant with whom to discuss the situation. But he had never had a male confidant, save for Dragut…and he had an idea that to discuss Sokullu’s words with Dragut might be dangerous — even had the admiral been available.
Far better to turn his back upon such thoughts for the winter, and instead enjoy his rapid promotion. As Suleiman had promised, this earned him only congratulations from Ali Monizindade, and from Uluch Ali — even if Petau Pasha stroked his beard and muttered about upstart renegades being given preference over experienced Muslim sailors.
None of these men was in the Sultan’s confidence regarding his plans for Bayazid, and if Anthony’s squadron therefore had to be prepared with extra care, this seemed part of the character he was already establishing as a young commander with an ambition to make his ships the finest afloat. Ali Monizindade Pasha looked on with benevolent disinterest. Despite Ali’s gloomy prognostications, the empire was at peace. The Grand Admiral had no idea that those dark prognostications were in the process of being made true.
*
Just after the turn of the year Barbara gave birth, and to the boy they all wanted.
From Anthony’s point of view there was an added relief. As the winter had deepened, and her stomach had grown, his wife had lost her sunny good temper and become fretful and querulous at the amount of time he spent away from her side. She suspected he was with his concubines, whereas he was always busy at the harbour — since his marriage he had no desire to sleep with any woman save his wife.
As Anthony had promised, the babe was named John, and he was properly christened by the Italian priest who had married his parents.
The pace of preparation for the campaign quickened, and could now no longer be concealed. As the troops summoned by Sokullu gathered outside the city and the Janissaries sharpened their swords, people whispered in the streets. But no one as yet knew which way the Sultan intended to point his army. When Suleiman required a secret to be kept, it was kept.
Yet questions continued to be asked.
“You are going to war,” Barbara said. She sat on her divan, against piled cushions, surrounded by her Venetian maids. Her bodice was unfastened, and Baby John was sucking at her left nipple with great enjoyment.
“It is my profession,” he reminded her gently.
She was silent for several seconds, then ask
ed, “Will this be a long campaign?”
Once again he temporised. “It is always wisest to suppose a campaign will be long.”
She sighed. “And you will be fighting against Christians?”
“No,” he told her. “Not on this campaign.”
She held his hands. “Then I will pray to God to protect you, and bring you back to me safe and sound.”
He frowned. “Would you not have done so even had I been fighting Christians?”
“Indeed I would, my lord. But I do not know if He would have answered my prayers.”
*
The fleet sailed in March: seventy galleys, each galley carrying a hundred Janissaries in addition to its normal crew. As the Janissaries fought on foot, there was no necessity to make space for horses, which was a great relief to Hawkwood and his captains.
Ali and Uluch, though not yet privy to the plan, were there to wish his squadron good fortune, even if he could tell that their former indulgent pleasure in his promotion was changing to some resentment at this secret command he had been given.
Even as Istanbul burst into gossip, Sokullu’s corps was embarking to cross the Bosphorus. The Vizier’s spies had informed him that Prince Bayazid had now established his court at Konia, the old Roman city of Iconium. Here, in the very heart of Anatolia, and sheltering beneath the immense peak of Bozkir Dag, existed a civilisation which according to legend extended back three millennia — where Perseus had used the head of Medusa the Gorgon to overawe the native population and established the ancient Greek city. More recently it had become the capital of the Seljuk Empire, after being wrested from the Byzantines in 1081. And here, at the invitation of the Seljuks, the famous Sufi, or mystic, Jalal ad-Din ar-Rumi had settled and founded his nest of Mawlawiyah, better known as the Dancing Dervishes. As the holy city of the Seljuks, it had long been a centre of opposition to Ottoman rule, and here the Prince was guaranteed of support so long as he opposed the Sultan.
Yet no one doubted that he would eventually be defeated and forced to seek refuge. Hawkwood had therefore been directed to make with his fleet for the Gulf of Alexandretta, where Anatolia adjoined Syria. For that was the direction in which both the Sultan and Sokullu were certain Bayazid would flee, following the loss of his army. There Hawkwood would land his Janissaries, and march inland to the city of Adana, which dominated the exits from the mountain passes.
Everything worked according to plan: indeed better than could have been hoped. For Hawkwood, a seaman by birth and upbringing, took his ships far out into the Aegean, certain of being able to find his landfall when he chose. Yet, by doing this, he was risking the weather — the early season being notorious for sudden storms.
And the fleet was beset by one of these within a week of leaving the shelter of the Dardanelles, but Anthony had trained his seamen so well that they rode the great waves without difficulty, even though the Janissaries were meanwhile chanting their last prayers to the Koran.
Once the storm was over, Hawkwood — having kept as careful a dead-reckoning of his position as possible — steered back towards the coast.
*
The Gulf of Alexandretta was an open roadstead, the city itself being some distance from the shore. But it provided shelter from all directions, and the arrival of the Sultan’s fleet was totally unexpected. The beaches were secured, and Hawkwood had his Janissaries ashore before the local governor could make up his mind whether he was for the Prince or for the Padishah. Then he could only gape at the red-haired giant who accompanied the soldiers.
Anthony would have liked to do some exploring, for he knew that more than one of his ancestors had passed this way to wage campaigns in the mountains of the Taurus and Armenia. But this was the limit of his advance into Anatolia. His Janissaries quickly convinced the garrison that their best interest lay in maintaining loyalty to the Sultan, and although the weather remained fine, Hawkwood’s main responsibility lay in ensuring that the fleet came to no harm. While he waited for news.
*
News was not long in coming; a messenger rode in from Prince Bayazid to inform the governor that the Vizier’s army was marching upon him, and that he intended to give battle. He besought the governor to attend him with every man he could spare.
The governor, Makdil Pasha, immediately brought the letter to Hawkwood.
“You will ignore this,” Anthony told him.
Makdil bowed, and went away.
*
Several weeks passed before there came another messenger. But this one needed no response. He was the first of a regiment of fleeing sipahis bringing news of the Princes utter defeat at the hands of the Vizier. The Prince was certainly close behind, so Hawkwood gave orders that these sipahis were to be allowed through. He did not want to prompt Bayazid to turn back into the mountains of the central plateau. But how he hoped that the Prince would meanwhile be overtaken by Sokullu’s Janissaries.
Three days later a party of horsemen made their way along the road from the mountains. Anthony had instructed his commanders to keep their men concealed as best possible, and the horsemen rode right through the loyalist ranks before being surrounded and forced to surrender.
Anthony was in the city of Adana when news was brought to him that Prince Bayazid and his two sons were now his prisoners.
Makdil Pasha was with him. “What will you do?” he asked.
“What I must do,” Anthony told him.
Makdil pulled his beard. “The Sultan is an old man,” he said at last. “And from what I have heard of Prince Selim, and what I know of this Prince Bayazid, there can be no doubt who would make the better successor. Now,” he went on, “I have no doubt spoken treason, and you will have me impaled.”
Anthony smiled, albeit sadly. “You have spoken the truth, old man. I would condemn no man for that. But, then, you would not condemn any man for doing his duty. And I must do mine.”
The governor bowed his head.
*
Makdil himself brought the royal captives before Hawkwood. In view of his earlier temporising, he had clearly determined to prove his loyalty to the Sultan beyond contradiction, and had bound them tightly and obviously treated them with some contempt.
But the Prince’s spirit seemed unbroken. Bayazid was taller than his brother, and handsome. He stood before Hawk Pasha with his head held high. His two sons, boys of ten and eleven, stood behind him. They were clearly very frightened.
“I am the son of the Sultan,” Bayazid declared. “How can you dare to have me bound like a common malefactor?”
“I do what I must, my lord,” Anthony replied. “Believe me, what I have to do grieves me, but my orders come from your father himself.”
Bayazid stared at him, his brows drawing together in an imperious frown. “What orders?”
He would have made a splendid sultan, Anthony thought. And I am not cut out to be a murderer. But such is my fate.
He made a sign, and Makdil beckoned forward the two Janissaries, the bowstring ready in their hands.
Bayazid’s frown deepened, though his cheeks paled. “What is my crime?”
“Rebellion in arms against the Sultan.”
“The Sultan! You speak of the man who murdered your own father, Hawk Pasha. Will you now commit murder for him?”
“He is my Padishah,” Anthony told him. “As he was yours — but you chose to forget this. Will you submit, my lord Prince, or must I summon more men?”
“Submit,” Bayazid said. “What of my sons?”
Anthony sighed. “They, too, my lord Prince.” Bayazid’s arms strained against his bonds for a moment, then relaxed. “Yes,” he said, “I will submit. And may Allah have mercy on your soul.”
A minute later all three were dead.
*
“Hawk Pasha!” Mahomet Sokullu embraced his admiral. “Was that not the easiest of campaigns?” The Vizier and the pursuing sipahis had soon reached Adana.
“My men scarce fired a shot in anger,” Hawkwood acknowledged.
/> “And you have something for me, I understand.”
Anthony indicated a square box which waited on the porch of the beylerbey’s palace.
Sokullu raised the lid and looked inside.
“Most satisfactory,” he said. “And I have already impaled all the rebel captains. The Padishah will be pleased.” He gazed at Anthony. “But you do not look content, Hawk Pasha?”
“It is difficult to feel happy about murder,” Anthony said.
Sokullu sighed. “I see we will never make a true Turk of you, Hawk Pasha. When a man’s time comes, it comes. There is no use in attempting to postpone the event, or to bewail it.”
“You mean if I drew my scimitar now and told you I was going to cut off your head, you would not defend yourself because your time had come?”
Sokullu smiled. “Of course I would defend myself. I do not know that my time has come.”
“Well, then…”
“But if you were to succeed, Hawk Pasha, then my time would have come.”
“It is at least a comforting philosophy.”
“Is that not the objective of every philosophy — to comfort? But you are determined to remain unhappy about carrying out this execution?”
“Bayazid was a far better man than his brother,” Anthony said sadly.
“We have had this discussion before, my friend. Yet Selim will prove a far better sultan for us. Do not forget that.” He clapped Anthony on the shoulder. “Come. The women we found in Bayazid’s camp are superb. Let us go ashore and you can drown your sorrows in their arms.”
“And the Prince’s head?”
“That I will destroy.”
“Do we not have to prove his death to the Padishah?”
Sokullu shook his head. “The Padishah will prefer to know nothing, save that his son is no more. This is the second of his sons he has destroyed.”
*
He could not get the horror of it out of his mind. Even return to the Hawk Palace and the arms of Barbara could not exorcise the memory.
She gazed at him with sad eyes.
“They will make you commit worse crimes than that,” she said at last.
“Woman, if you reproach me with your told-you-so’s, I will cane you,” Anthony warned.
Ottoman Page 56