“Yes, Majesty, we have. We believe that there is no better tool to insure success than an education. Jewish parents will do almost anything to ensure that their children are educated. And, of course, the professions have the greatest appeal. Most areas of business and trade are closed to us. For centuries, we have not been permitted to own land. All over Europe, there have been proscriptions against our participation in any but a few livelihoods. In our family, we would consider nothing less than entering the medical profession. To learn. To serve. To heal the sick when we can. These are gifts from God. At the moment, this palace is served by sixty-two physicians, of whom forty-one are Jews”
Suleiman nodded, but did not speak. Hamon went on. “As long ago as the reign of your great-grandfather, Mehmet, the court employed the greatest physician of his day, Jacob of Gaeta. He was a Jew, though I think he converted to Islam in the later days of his life. He even became a Vizier before he died.”
“Turkey is a good place for your people. The Christians, however, have not adjusted to change so easily. They still look to the time when they will overthrow the Muslims, and force their ways upon everyone.”
“My people were slaughtered in Spain, and then again in Portugal,” Hamon said. “The Inquisition has spread all over Europe, and the Christians have made it clear that Jews will not survive in their lands.”
“My ancestors have looked at your people with different eyes, Doctor. We think of you as our rayas, our flocks. My ancestors were nomads, shepherds. The Ottomans know the value of culling a flock, but not destroying it. The European Christians think that they should rule a country where everyone is of one religion. The king of the country thinks he should determine the religion of all his subjects. The rest are killed if they do not comply. We see your expulsion from Spain as the killing of a fertile ewe. You have come here with a fecundity of skills and knowledge. Why would we want to destroy such a gift?”
Hamon did not answer. He looked down at the carpet, and tried to detect whether the Sultan was leading him into a discussion that might become dangerous. Suleiman went on. “Tell me, Doctor Hamon, what do you see in our city that you think should be changed? Though I try to get out among the people as often as I can, it’s not possible for me to experience the real world. I am protected from violence by my guards. But, they also protect me from the truth. What do you see out there?” he said gesturing to the window overlooking the gardens and the Bosporus.
Hamon considered for a moment and said, “Majesty, I too have some trouble finding a way into the real world. My position as Court Physician places me within the Palace most of the time as well. But, there are things I have seen and heard that might be fit for your consideration.”
“Please, Doctor, feel at ease, speak truthfully with me. You are not in danger. My family has depended upon your family for our lives, have we not? I would have us continue in such a mutually rewarding friendship. Come. Tell me what advice you have for me, that I may rule with wisdom; that I might help your people as well.”
Hamon thought for a moment. Then, he looked directly into the Sultan’s eyes and spoke. “Majesty, what you say is true. My people have found a home within your empire that we had never dreamed of. We came here with only our skills and knowledge, and were accepted into your world. It has not been easy, but we have not asked for an easy road. Only one that we might travel with hard work and diligence. The taxes we pay for the right to practice our religion is a value beyond measure. In Spain and Portugal, we prayed in cellars, in secret. The penalty for discovery while talking to God was death. A cruel and painful death, at that. Now we follow our own religion in the midst of Islam, and we are by-and-large left in peace. Our taxes exempt us from military service as well, and that too is a blessing for us, so that we might follow our own choice of profession. We have never been a warlike people.”
“We have no need for conscripts from your people, Doctor. My armies are more than filled with the tribute children of the Devshirmé.”
“If I had to ask for anything from you, it would be to consider one source of terror that still pervades the lives of my people.”
“And that is…?”
“The Blood Libels, Majesty. From time to time, my people have been accused of the crime of ritual murder; usually accused by Christians, I might add. There is no truth to these accusations, for murder has no place in Judaism. This problem was addressed by your great-grandfather, Mehmet Fatih, when he issued a firman requiring that these cases be tried not by governors or judges, but by the Imperial Divan, itself. This would free the court from local politics, and I might add, superstition and bigotry against the Jews. But, increasingly, our people have been tried in local courts, by justices easily influenced by the people they serve. Majesty, would you consider reissuing the firman of your great-grandfather, thus giving royal teeth to the law that is now being honored in the breach?”
“This seems reasonable, Doctor. My position as leader of the Empire must rest upon a system of justice that reaches all my subjects. If the Christians are propagating Blood Libels against any of your people, whether here in the City or in the provinces, they will be stopped. Your people will have the protection of my court. Remember that when cases are heard in the Imperial Divan, whether I am in the room or not, my will rules. It will be done as you have asked.”
Hamon bowed his head, and said, “Thank you, Majesty. That will be a great gift, indeed.”
Kanuni, the Lawgiver, nodded his assent, and Moses Hamon backed out of the room.
Before convening the Divan, Suleiman went to morning prayers at Aya Sophia. In the great mosque, he sat on a small balcony above the throngs of people. The Janissaries tried to remain discreetly hidden, but their presence was felt. Armed men among the Faithful were evident. After the prayers were finished, the reader stood near Suleiman, turning his body and his voice toward the Sultan. In his right hand he held a sword, and in the left the Qur’an. Upon seeing the raised sword, the closest of the Janissaries moved nearer the Sultan. Though he made no overt motions, he placed himself between the reader and the body of Suleiman. Then, the sword ceased to be a threat. With both the sword and the Qur’an held aloft, the reader began to intone a prayer. “The mercy of Allah, all pitying, all compassionate, be upon the Sultan of Sultans, the Ruler of Rulers, the Shadow of God on Earth, and dispenser of crowns upon Earth, Lord of the Two Worlds, Lord of the White Sea, and the Black Sea; Sultan Suleiman Khan, son of Sultan Selim Khan.” The huge congregation knelt on their prayer mats, foreheads pressed to the floor, and prayed together.
When the prayers were finished, Suleiman rose to leave. The guards kept the crowd in place as the Sultan left the mosque. He walked to his horse and mounted it as his personal guard held the horse’s reins. Piri Pasha rode silently on the Sultan’s left.
The crowd was always huge and overjoyed to see the Sultan so close up. Suleiman rode with a quiet dignity, his horse well in hand.
Ibrahim rode a few meters behind the Sultan. He smiled to himself at the sight of the ruler of the Ottoman Empire astride this wonderful horse, with its neck arched, muscles rippling beneath his shiny coat, nostrils flared. He wondered if even Suleiman knew why he was able to maintain such easy control over his usually energetic Arabian stallion? Did the Sultan know that the horse had been starved for nearly two days? That the stallion was suspended off the ground all night long, from leather webbing under his abdomen, hauled aloft by ropes and pulleys to keep the animal hanging in the air unable to sleep at all? That the magnificent animal was all but exhausted and could barely make the walk from the palace to the mosque and back? No wonder he was such a docile beast.
Just as he was asking himself these things, Ibrahim saw the Sultan turn and nod his head, smiling to his closest friend and confidant. And Ibrahim flushed, ashamed at keeping even something so trivial from his master.
On the short ride back to the palace, as was his custom, Suleiman distributed thirty-two pieces of gold to people in the crowds that lined the way. E
very morning, his servant would place the same number of gold coins into the pocket of his caftan so that the Sultan might make gifts to the people wherever he went.
His rides to and from the mosques, as well as his other ventures into Istanbul, were the only time Suleiman had any contact with his people. His routine behind the palace walls was so insulated from the daily lives of his subjects that he felt a detachment that troubled him. He longed to know how the ordinary Turk lived out his days. On these little journeys into the city, he often ignored Ibrahim so that he could notice what was happening around him. Ibrahim understood just what the Sultan was doing.
On this occasion, as they passed a small market, Suleiman noticed a disturbance taking place to his right. The mounted troops drew nearer to the Sultan, but Suleiman waved them off. Only Piri stayed close to protect his master’s back. A local policeman was in the process of arresting a citizen for drinking a new prohibited drink that had recently arrived in Istanbul from the Arabian Peninsula. The man saw the Sultan’s procession and shouted to Suleiman.
“Help me, my Sultan. You are Kanuni, the Lawgiver. Help me, Majesty, for I have committed no crime.”
Suleiman turned his horse and walked slowly toward the man and the policeman. His guard followed close behind, and the crowd gathered to hear their Sultan’s judgment. Whenever the Sultan would stop, large crowds would press closer, making the Janissaries and Sipahis nervous and alert. They hated these unofficial changes in plans, for the situation was always unpredictable. The guards rested their hands lightly on their swords as they moved closer to their master. Suleiman had to motion them out of the way so that he could talk to the two men.
“My Lord, I have done nothing,” the man repeated
Suleiman looked to the policeman. The officer looked very nervous and his face flushed. He let go of the arm of the man he was arresting and bowed low to the Sultan.
“My Sultan, this man has been drinking coffee. It is a corrupt drink. It is called ‘the black enemy of sleep and copulation.’”
“My Lord,” the man interrupted, “there is no law against this drink. I have been told that this drink comes from Mokha, in the land of the Prophet. Indeed, a holy man discovered it. Did Mohammed, the Prophet of Allah, forbid us this drink? Does the Qur’an forbid it?”
Suleiman laughed and said, “A thousand years ago, at the time of the Prophet, there was no coffee. How, then, could the Prophet forbid its use?”
The man shrugged and looked down at the ground.
Suleiman went on, “Do you think that the Prophet of God would sit in the streets and drink coffee?”
Without looking up, the man answered in a barely audible voice, “No, my Sultan. I do not.”
“No, indeed. And should we all not try to follow the path of the Prophet in our daily behavior?”
“Yes, Majesty, we should.”
Suleiman nodded his head again slowly. He paused to think a moment, and then turned to the policeman, who was now looking proud and vindicated.
“Free him!” Suleiman shouted at the startled policeman. Then he turned his horse and rode on toward the palace. Ibrahim spurred his horse and moved up on the right, next to the Sultan. He did not speak. Finally, Suleiman asked, “Well, Ibrahim, have we done justice today? Has Kanuni acted with mercy and wisdom?”
“Oh yes, my Lord. That man did not deserve to be imprisoned for drinking coffee. Actually, I, too, have had a taste of it.”
“Have you? And what was it like?”
“I liked it. It did keep me up late at night. But, as to copulation…I can’t see that it hurt anything.”
Suleiman laughed. “Then I see that we shall have to make a very clear ruling on this, lest all my outings turn into a court of appeals.”
When Suleiman entered the Kubbealti, the Assembly Room of the Ottoman Council of State, all the members were already waiting. The divans that lined the wall were empty, as no one would be seated before the Sultan entered and took his place. The undercurrent of hushed conversation stopped with the Sultan’s first step into the room. The center aisle cleared and the crowd became a tableau frozen in the moment; all the heads were bowed low, all eyes cast to the ground. The Sultan was joined by Piri Pasha at one elbow, and by his Second Vizier, Mustapha Pasha, at the other. The Viziers accompanied the Sultan to the throne, and then took seats at a level just below him. This was a special meeting, since in addition to the counselors of state, the room was almost completely filled with the Sultan’s military commanders.
Ibrahim sat at his Sultan’s right hand. He sat alone on a divan that could have seated three. This was a tacit statement by the military and the council that, though Ibrahim had the ear and the confidence of the Sultan, he was still an outsider.
Suleiman remained quiet for a moment, surveying the room carefully. He had made his own decision regarding Rhodes, and had dispensed wholly with the opinions of the Council of State. Now he wanted only the advice of his generals and Ibrahim on how best to conduct the coming campaign. The faces before him represented all the military might and experience that his empire could muster. These were the men upon whose judgment and strategy he would rely. Suleiman had learned much from his experience at Belgrade. But victory on Rhodes could be his only through the advice of these men.
Piri Pasha sat directly to Suleiman’s left. He was, to his own dismay, still the Grand Vizier. He would rather have been the “recently retired Grand Vizier.” It would now be a long time before he would relax in his tulip garden by the Bosporus, he thought. This Sultan will have me back to war for certain. Suleiman looked into the eyes of Piri Pasha. If he sensed his Vizier’s discontent, he made no sign. “I am glad to see you looking well, Piri Pasha. And it pleases me that you will serve as the leader of my government as you did for my father. May Allah grant us continued victories under your banners.”
Piri smiled and nodded to his Sultan. “Inch’ Allah.”
Still talking to Piri, Suleiman continued, “May your ancestors ride with us into battle, my friend!” Suleiman was referring to the fact that Piri Pasha was a direct descendent of one of the most revered and important people in the history of Islam, Abu Bakr. Piri was a blood relative to the close companion, father-in-law, advisor, and successor to the Prophet, Mohammed.
“My Lord, I hope that I may always ride into battle with you. For few Grand Viziers are privileged to die at the side of their Sultan. Fewer still are blessed to die in the service of Allah, peace be upon His name.”
Suleiman nodded solemnly.
Piri smiled and went on, “I am sure you have heard the story of the Grand Vizier who asked a dervish Sheikh, ‘Who is the greatest fool in the world?’ The dervish replied, ‘Why you, oh mighty Vizier. You have done everything in your power to attain your office, even though you rode past the bleeding head of your predecessor, which lay upon the same spike as the bleeding head of his predecessors!’”
Suleiman laughed, though the room remained silent. A few heads turned to look at Achmed Pasha, who was thought to have designs upon Piri’s job. Achmed kept his eyes on the Sultan.
Piri spoke again. “Our Sultan’s victory at Belgrade should have made two things clear. First, the ferenghi, the Europeans, are afraid of us. They cower now, even as we speak, and wait to see where we will turn our mighty armies next. Each of their kings prays to their Jesus that it will be the other whom we attack.” Suleiman smiled at his Vizier.
“Secondly, the Belgrade campaign made it clear that they will not come to the aid of each other. I strongly suspect that they will not come to the aid of the Knights at Rhodes. They may send a few more soldiers, and some food and weapons. But, they will not come to reinforce the island in strength. Their Pope, Adrian, has, our spies tell us, refused money or men in their defense. And the Venetians will not use their fleet to obstruct us. Though they have no love for us, they know that they are vulnerable should they incur the Sultan’s anger.”
Suleiman said nothing, but waited for Piri to continue.
&
nbsp; “Against that, my Lord, is the fact that this Rhodes is the bestbuilt and the best-defended fortress in the world. These knights have shown incredible bravery against many onslaughts. Even your great-grandfather’s troops—may Allah’s blessings shine upon him—were not able to breach their walls. Though they are a nest of vipers and should rot in Hell, we should not underestimate their bravery and determination in battle. In the past, they have either died bravely, taking many good Muslim soldiers to their deaths, or they have been victorious, slaughtering the innocents of battle, the women and children. Even their women fight in the end. It is told that two hundred years ago they slaughtered six thousand Turkish captives, and that one crazed English woman beheaded one thousand of them with her own hands! In victory or in defeat, there will be much Turkish blood on the sands of Rhodes.”
The Sultan bowed to Piri and turned his attention to Mustapha Pasha, who was sitting next to Piri Pasha on Suleiman’s left. He was a huge man with full mustache and a great black beard, which hung down over his chest. Suleiman had appointed Mustapha Commander-in-Chief of all his armed forces. Mustapha was also Suleiman’s brother-in-law, married to the Sultan’s eldest sister, Ayse. The men had had a long and close relationship years before Suleiman ascended the Ottoman throne. Mustapha was now Second Vizier, and nobody doubted his ability to function both as a military leader and as Suleiman’s confidant. He was brave to the point of recklessness and absolutely fearless in situations where other men faltered. He was known for his furious temper, and his soldiers made very sure that his orders were carried out to the letter. More than once he had waded into battle, driving his soldiers forward, shouting and cursing and beating them with the flat side of his scimitar.
“Well, Mustapha, my Seraskier? What say you to our plans for these knights?”
“Majesty, those Sons of Sheitan have disrupted our lives long enough. Your great-grandfather was correct to try to weed them from their Island of Roses. And your father, may Allah smile upon his tomb, would have attacked them had he not been prematurely cut down by the cancer. These knights have captured eight other Dodecanese islands surrounding Rhodes. They use the islands as lookout posts and ports for reinforcing their fleet. I fear that they will expand their sphere of power further. Even now their lookouts and galleys on the island of Kos betray our movements and harass our ships. I am for our immediate departure. Sultan Selim had started the building of the necessary fleet, and we need only to complete that job. Our cannon foundry at Tophane has turned out the most formidable weapons ever made. With them, we should reduce the knights’ fortress to rubble within days. I am ready when your Majesty tells me he is ready.”
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