Ottoman

by Christopher Nicole

  They gazed at each other.

  “That would place me in an invidious position, Mahomet,” Hawkwood said. “I have neither the rank nor the military experience to command the whole army. What would I do if one of the pashas insisted on an interview with the Padishah?”

  Sokullu stroked his beard. “And, besides, you do not trust me?” he remarked.

  “I must trust you,” Anthony said, “as we are now yoked together. I but seek the best for us both.”

  Sokullu gave a grin. “And I trust you, Hawk Pasha, so you will ride ahead and break the news to Selim. Remember that both of our lives, and fortunes, ride with you.”

  *

  And not merely our lives and fortunes, Anthony thought as, with Kalil and a small escort, he rode ahead of the army: there was too much of value waiting for him at the Hawk Palace.

  They crossed the Danube at Belgrade, where this famous admiral and known protégé of the old Sultan was warmly greeted by the beylerbey, anxious for news of the campaign.

  “The Padishah seeks winter quarters for the army,” Hawkwood told the governor. “Thus my haste.”

  “He is welcome to quarter the army in Belgrade,” the beylerbey replied somewhat uneasily; he had to make the offer, but he knew that six months of feeding a hundred thousand hungry men would ruin his province.

  “Be sure that your invitation will be conveyed to the Padishah,” Hawkwood said. “But there are other matters I must attend to.”

  He hurried on, from Belgrade to Sofia, and from Sofia to Adrianople, always with the same story. Only a week after leaving Adrianople he was in Istanbul, and bowing before Prince Selim.

  “I bring a message from the Sultan, for your ears alone, my lord Prince.”

  Selim glanced at Nasi who, as usual, stood beside his divan.

  “For your ears alone, my lord Prince,” Anthony repeated.

  This was a dangerous part of his mission. As Suleiman was already dead, he was technically committing treason in addressing Selim as “Prince” instead of “Padishah”. But he had no choice in front of others — for Selim had to be the first to know that his father was dead. A sensible man would understand these things, but he did not know how sensible Selim was. And sensible or not, he would always later have an excuse to execute the man who had so addressed him.

  Selim waved his hand. “Withdraw,” he said to those around him. “Remain within the chamber at a distance.”

  The guards and pashas surrounding the divan retreated against the walls. Nasi hesitated, then bowed and retired.

  “One would almost suppose you feared me to be an assassin, O Padishah,” Anthony said, in hardly more than a whisper.

  Selim frowned. “What did you say, Hawk Pasha?”

  Anthony bowed his head. “Suleiman the Lawgiver is dead, O Padishah.”

  Selim licked his lips, slowly and thoughtfully. But also fearfully, Hawkwood thought.

  “Mahomet Sokullu determined that the news should be kept from the world until you were informed, O Padishah,” Anthony said. “The Sultan has been embalmed, and rides at the head of his troops. They have been told he is suffering from a fever.”

  Another quick circle of the tongue. “How many know of this?”

  Anthony drew a long breath. “Only the Vizier and myself, and the eunuchs who attend the corpse.”

  Selim considered. “How long will it be before the body of my father reaches Istanbul?”

  “Another six weeks, at the least, O Padishah.”

  “Six weeks,” Selim mused. “And will you keep this secret for six weeks, Hawk Pasha?”

  “It must be my duty, O Padishah.”

  “Yes,” Selim agreed. “The Vizier has done well in taking this decision. I am well pleased. Now go home to your wife…and keep our secret.”

  *

  Selim, in fact, seemed more dazed than elated by the news that he was now the supreme ruler of the Ottoman world; he was by nature a cautious man. Anthony suspected that he soon confided what had happened to Nasi, but the Jew also knew how to keep a secret; and nothing in Istanbul changed until the return of the army with the body of Suleiman.

  His mother and Barbara were overjoyed to have Anthony back safe and sound — the boys were hardly old enough yet to appreciate his presence. But the women were naturally curious as to the reason for his unexpectedly early return, and were somewhat put out by his refusal to confide in them. Indeed Barbara became quite annoyed that he did not seem ready to trust her.

  Thanks to Sokullu’s prompt action, the transfer of authority from Suleiman to Selim was the most tranquil in Ottoman history. There was no trace of revolt or dissatisfaction in any part of the Empire, however the pashas might grieve the death of their great master. Even the Janissaries appeared to be happy to be commanded by the younger man.

  “But they will still need to be commanded, O Padishah,” Sokullu told his new master. “They mutter that the fall of Szigetvar opened all of Hungary to their arms. They wish to return and march before the walls of Vienna. The whole army and the navy wish to avenge the repulse from Malta.”

  “They will have to be patient,” Selim replied. “But it is my intention to avenge our defeats as soon as possible. And you too, Hawk Pasha, will have ever greater opportunities for glory. For are you both not my most trusted pashas?”

  Anthony wished he could be certain there was no trace of sarcasm in the Sultan’s voice.

  So the affairs of the Empire now ran smoothly, aided by the marriage of Mahomet Sokullu to one of Selim’s daughters. As son-in-law to the Sultan, Sokullu clearly felt his position as Grand Vizier to be even more secure.

  When they met again after the ceremony Sokullu was smiling his sly smile. “It was your decision that we give ourselves utterly to the Padishah,” he reminded Hawkwood. “This I have done.” He squeezed Anthony’s arm. “But I shall not forget my friend. As I rise, so shall you.”

  Anthony could only marvel at the Vizier’s prompt gathering of all power possible. He himself was employed at his favourite occupation, that of preparing his squadron for a naval campaign, even if he had no idea where he would be directed. The only thing to spoil this peaceful, contented period was news of the death of Dragut — of old age.

  “A sad end for a famous warrior,” Ali Monizindade commented. “But it means I am now the senior admiral of the Padishah’s fleet.”

  He regarded Anthony speculatively as he spoke, for both he and Uluch Ali had been worried by the intimacy which had grown up between Suleiman and Hawk Pasha during the last years of the old Sultan’s life, and which seemed to have been continued into the new reign.

  The old proximity between the three admirals was gone.

  “We could wish for no one better,” Anthony said tactfully. But in fact he could think of no one more fitted to command the entire Ottoman fleet; Ali Monizindade had learned his seamanship under Khair-ed-din and Harry Hawkwood.

  Hawkwood looked forward to fighting again when Selim at last decided to campaign; and was utterly taken aback when — four years after the Sultan’s accession — he learned their chosen objective.

  But then, so was everyone else.

  *

  All the commanders both on sea and land were assembled before the divan to hear the words of the Sultan. Grand Vizier Sokullu was also present, although confessing he had no idea what the Padishah had in mind. Most assumed that the assault on Europe and Malta would be resumed.

  Not only Ali and Uluch and Pertau were present, but also Dragut’s successor, Piale Pasha, called to Istanbul from the western Mediterranean. All the generals were present too, including Mustafa Pasha, who had failed at Malta. Disconcertingly, however, Joseph Nasi stood behind the Sultan’s divan, as always — and this day he looked singularly confident as he gazed at the grizzled faces before him.

  “The Ottomans have been at peace too long,” Selim declared. “We are not men of peace. We are men of war.”

  The pashas pulled their beards and nodded their approval. It was at le
ast a promising preamble.

  “I have called you here today to give you my directives,” Selim continued. “As to leading my people to war — and to victory,” he added.

  The pashas waited.

  “But warfare must be undertaken with a worthwhile objective. You will know that I have long had in mind the foundation of a homeland for the Jews within the embrace of my empire. They are a hardworking and frugal race, who will greatly contribute to the prosperity of my realm. Alas, deciding upon the site of such a homeland has proved more difficult than expected.”

  “With respect, O Padishah,” Sokullu ventured, “should they not be returned to Palestine, whence they originated?”

  “Palestine is an arid country,” Nasi objected. “I have investigated it thoroughly, my lord Vizier, and I have been unable to recommend it to the Padishah as a home for my people.”

  ‘But you have recommended somewhere else?” Sokullu remarked.

  “Indeed, and I have discovered the ideal place: the island of Cyprus.”

  There was total silence for several minutes.

  Then Selim himself spoke, “What objections would you have to granting Cyprus to the Jewish people, Vizier? It is a large and prosperous island, where they will thrive.”

  “Padishah, the island of Cyprus is not yours to give. It belongs to Venice.”

  “Venice,” Nasi sneered.

  “Our oldest ally,” Sokullu said. “Our only ally, O Padishah.”

  “An ally of little account,” Selim said. “Venice has no army worthy of the name.”

  “But she has a formidable fleet, O Padishah,” Hawkwood intervened, coming to the aid of his friend. “It is the knowledge of her alliance with Turkey which has so far restrained the Spaniards and Genoese from venturing east of the Adriatic.”

  “Is this fleet of theirs more powerful than mine, Hawk Pasha?”

  “Indeed it is not, O Padishah, but —”

  “Then it is of no account. Besides, the Venetians are getting ready to become our enemies. I have sent secret envoys to the Doge, asking for the cession of pretus in return for a substantial indemnity. And the Doge has refused to consider my proposal. Can I permit an upstart magistrate so to insult me? I have therefore determined on war with the Republic.”

  It did not seem to have occurred to Selim that he himself had insulted the Doge by making this proposal in the first place. Once again the pashas tugged at their beards.

  “May I respectfully argue against this plan, O Padishah,” Sokullu said. ‘We have enemies enough: all Christendom save Venice herself, also Persia, and our Arab subjects grumble restlessly. Only Venice is our true and steadfast friend. To destroy that alliance in pursuit of…” he glanced at Nasi, “a vague and uncertain principle, would surely be a mistake.”

  “Will you pretend Turkey and Venice have never fought?” Nasi demanded.

  “Indeed they have, Don Jose. But not for more than a generation now.”

  “Enough,” Selim said. “I have made my decision. We will make war upon Venice.” He glared at Sokullu.

  “The Padishah’s word is law,” the Vizier acknowledged with a bow.

  “But you have no stomach for the task?” Selim said. “Then it shall not be your task, Vizier. The army will be commanded by Mustafa Pasha.”

  Heads turned. There were many amongst the generals who felt that Mustafa had been fortunate to retain his head after his failure at Malta. Mustafa himself looked dumbfounded.

  “The fleet will be commanded by…” Selim’s eyes searched the admirals. He could read only disapproval in their countenances. “By Hawk Pasha.”

  Anthony’s head came up in surprise and dismay. He counted as only the fourth amongst the Ottoman admirals. Besides, Cyprus was Venetian territory. “With respect, O Padishah,” he said, “I am unfitted for such a task.” Anthony drew a deep breath. “I am unfitted, O Padishah, because I am married to a Venetian.”

  Selim frowned at him. “Are you afraid of your wife? You will put her away, if need be. I will give you another wife.”

  “O Padishah, I honour my wife. I cannot fight against her people.”

  “Even at the risk of my displeasure?”

  Anthony would not lower his eyes. The Hawkwoods had always dealt with fairly with the sultans, and been dealt fairly in return. But was this man a true Ottoman? Yet he had no alternative, now; he had given Barbara his word. “Even at that risk, O Padishah.”

  Selim stared at him for several seconds. “You are at least an honest man, Hawk Pasha. You are dismissed your commands, and will retire into private life. Piale Pasha, you will command the fleet, under the overall command of Ali Monizindade.”

  Piale Pasha bowed.

  The Sultan continued, “Ali Pasha will establish the main fleet off the western coast of the Peloponnesus, there to block any attempt by the Western powers to attack us until after Cyprus has been reduced.”

  Ali Monizindade bowed his head. His eyes gleamed: this was the opportunity for which he had been waiting all his life.

  “Those are my orders,” Selim said.

  The pashas bowed, and backed away from the presence. Nasi alone remained with the sovereign.

  Out in the courtyard, the generals and admirals gathered in angry debate.

  “To attack Cyprus will be to drive Venice into the arms of the Papacy and of Spain,” Sokullu declared.

  “The Papacy hates the Venetians more than us,” Ali Monizindade objected.

  “Hate is a relative term. Should Spain and the Papacy and Venice unite, with the fleet of Genoa in support, we will be faced with a most formidable coalition. Between them, the Christians could man the greatest fleet in the world.”

  Ali smiled. “Hardly greater than mine. And I shall defeat them. It will be the greatest feat of my career.” He looked around his admirals. “Of all our careers.” He gazed at Anthony. “You are a fool, Hawk Pasha,” he said, “so to incur the Padishah’s displeasure. How may a man put his domestic affairs before his duty to his master?”

  “Perhaps we have a different concept of duty,” Anthony replied.

  The two men gazed at each other in silence for several seconds while the pashas waited.

  Then Ali smiled again. “Perhaps. I am sorry to lose you, Hawk, just as it seems the battle for which we have waited so long may now be fought.”

  “No battle will be fought,” Piale Pasha declared. “Cyprus is held by less than ten thousand men. It has only two fortresses, Nicosia and Famagusta. The island will be mine in a fortnight, and the Venetians will be happy to sue for peace.”

  *

  Hawkwood could only pray that he was right. However he knew that Ali had been certainly right. The Ottoman ethic — to which he had been brought up so strictly by Dragut — was that service to the Sultan came before any other consideration. He had now broken that tradition which had been so important in his family. And all for the sake of a woman. That was something the pashas would never be able to understand.

  It was also for the sake of his word.

  *

  It was not something his mother Felicity understood. Even if she had always dreamed of having her son abandon the Turks and return to the West, she had never been able to conceive of anything more than a stealthy departure in the middle of the night, with the Sultan’s wrath close behind. For him to stand before the most powerful man on earth and refuse to do his bidding had not entered her thinking at all.

  Ayesha was even more thunderstruck. “What will become of us?” she wailed.

  “Why, nothing,” Anthony told them, with more confidence than he actually felt. “The Padishah is displeased at the moment, but he will soon get over his anger. He knows that I am perhaps his best naval commander, and also a most loyal subject. We must just be patient.” At least there were no financial problems; Anthony’s earlier successes with Dragut had made him a rich man.

  Barbara was overwhelmed when she learned the reason for his defiance of the Sultan.

  “My lord,” she said
, “how can I thank you?”

  “By not attempting to. My action will not save Cyprus.”

  *

  It was galling to have to stand idly on the Galata shore and watch the fleet being prepared for sea. Equally it was distressing to learn that, following official declaration of war in January 1570, the elder Cornaros had been imprisoned.

  Anthony had to be concerned over the safety of Barbara herself. Sokullu assured him that his parents-in-law were in no danger and were being well treated. Barbara nonetheless remained very upset, the more so when she was refused permission to visit her mother and father.

  However, it really did appear as if it would be a short war, albeit bloody. The Turkish fleet sailed at the beginning of July, and while a squadron masked the fortress seaport of Famagusta on the south-east side of the island, the main armament made for Morphou Bay on the north side. Here the army was put ashore, and Mustafa marched on Nicosia, the chief city in the island, situated on rising ground some distance from the sea.

  There were some delays and the assault did not get under way until the beginning of September, but when it was begun it was irresistible. There were no Knights of St John, no Jean de la Valette, no Zrinyi to stiffen the backbones of the Venetian defenders and their Cypriot levies. Nicosia fell on 9 September, the entire garrison being put to the sword.

  There was great rejoicing in Istanbul. Barbara put on the black clothes of mourning.

  “It is a great relief to me, I can tell you,” Sokullu confessed to Anthony. “The fleet has been immediately moved round to blockade Famagusta, while the army marches overland to assault that city. The sooner this whole business is out of the way, the better.”

  “Is there much reaction from the West?” Hawkwood inquired.

  “Indeed there is — entirely as we expected. Venice has appealed to the Pope for aid, and he has agreed to an alliance. More, he has appealed to Philip of Spain, and has received a favourable response. Have you heard of Don Juan of Austria?”