Shadow of God

by Anthony Goodman

  With the arrival of the last of the soldiers, as the departure became imminent, some the merchants and craftsmen disappeared back across the Bosporus, to resume their normal trade in Istanbul. A large number, however, would follow this huge army all the way to Rhodes, setting up at the battle camps just as they had in Üsküdar. Commerce and trade would go on even in the midst of furious battle.

  When the armies were finally assembled and ready, the Sultan would be notified and word sent to prepare for his procession to the war camp.

  The Sultan left the Palace with a huge retinue of more than six thousand horsemen in his Imperial Guard. They were mounted on Arabian thoroughbreds, and armed with bows hanging from their shoulders and quivers bursting with arrows. They also carried a mace and a jeweled scimitar, and wore headdresses adorned with black-dyed feathers.

  Behind the Imperial Guard came the Janissaries in their light-blue jackets and feathered headdress as well. Then came the rest of the court, the servants, spare horses, and more of the household guard.

  All marched in with unnerving silence, the only sounds being that of the stamping of horses’ hooves and the padding of the soldiers’ boots. There was none of the banter and ribaldry of western armies in the field.

  Suleiman followed behind this impressive army, dressed in full battle gear, adorned with the finest silks and brocades. He wore a high white turban with diamonds and rubies that held his treasured heron’s feathers.

  When the Sultan rode into battle, the sacred green banner of the Prophet, Mohammed, was taken from its vault in the Palace and its forty layers of protective silk cloth unwound from around it. The Muslims carried their holy banner into battle as the Children of Israel carried the Ark of the Covenant. The precious banner was displayed at the vanguard of the Sultan’s armies throughout the war until victory was achieved. As it was paraded through the streets of Istanbul, the people bowed low, crying out blessings in the name of Allah.

  Other relics, captured from Mecca by the previous Sultans, were also taken to war. Along with the Prophet’s banner was the twinpointed Sword of Omar. For a Muslim Gazi to die under this banner and sword in a jihad—a holy struggle—was a guarantee for entry into Paradise on the Day of Reckoning. These soldiers would fight the nonbelievers exactly as had the Prophet.

  The armies were assembled. Everything was in place. The war camp was complete. It was time to go to war.

  Suleiman reclined on the divan in the Imperial Tent. The usual guard had been posted both inside and outside the great silk wall. There was silence throughout the tent as the Aghas waited for the Sultan to begin.

  “Now then. All is ready,” he said finally, as if in the middle of a thought. “This morning after prayers, I called upon Abu-Seoud, the Sheik ul-Islam, our Ancient of Islam. As prescribed in the Qur’an, I have asked the Sheik to issue a fetvà, a ruling, as to whether our war was a holy one, and whether it is incumbent upon good Muslims to follow us into this war. As it is also written in the holy Qur’an, I have offered the enemy the opportunity to surrender, and have received no reply from them. The Sheik ul-Islam tells me that our jihad, our struggle, against the Infidel is just, and that Allah will watch over us in the holy battle. Those who die in this cause will find a direct path to the side of the Prophet, may Allah smile upon them.

  “It has been our custom to officially declare war by arresting the ambassador and throwing him into our jail. Unfortunately, the knights have recalled their ambassador.” The Viziers smiled at the Sultan’s small joke.

  “Piri Pasha, tradition dictates that you will receive a new and gallant stallion selected from my own stables. He is caparisoned as befits the war horse of my Grand Vizier. You will find a new saddle of the finest leather. And in your quarters this moment is a scimitar with a handle covered in rubies and emeralds…soon, I hope, to be set off with the blood of Christian knights.”

  Piri bowed his head and remained silent. He would miss his soft saddle and his older, gentler horse, so comfortable to ride in its old age.

  “Ferhad Pasha, I have a special task for you to complete before your troops join us against the knights. The Shiite dog, Shah-Suwar Oghli Ali Bey, is inciting rebellion in Siwas. Go to Persia at once, and destroy this affront to Allah, this menace to our authority. Bring me his head, and the heads of his children, and leave no one alive to trouble my thoughts or my kingdom while I am at Rhodes.”

  Ferhad Pasha bowed low and backed out of the tent.

  “The rest of you will all disembark at Rhodes out of range of the knights’ batteries. For I am sure that the Grand Master has sighted us in his guns by now. He will not miss many shots once we are in range. We will encircle the fort in the crescent of Islam from north to south; from sea to sea. We will not make the same error that my great-grandfather made, that is, to wage this war from the water. And, more importantly, I will lead the attack in person. Make no mistake. We will remain on that island until our mission for God is completed!” Still, the Aghas remained silent.

  Suleiman waited for comments, but there were none. “The battle plan is simple and effective. We shall cut them off from resupply. We will destroy the walls with cannons and mines. Our troops will enter the city through the gaps in the walls that our miners will create, and our superior forces will cut to pieces whomever remains alive when we enter the fortress. There will be no prisoners. There will be so survivors.”

  Suleiman looked about the room, and fixed his gaze upon each of his generals in turn. All met his eyes, but again none spoke.

  “Now, return to your men, and make ready to move towards Rhodes. May Allah be with you.”

  Two days later, the camp was struck. The armies of the Sultan began their march south and west across Asia Minor towards Marmarice. The fearsome procession left in separate groups to cross the Anatolian landscape and regroup at Marmarice for the short overwater crossing to Rhodes.

  Suleiman and Ibrahim rode side by side along the rolling hills of Anatolia. Behind them rode the Sultan’s three pages. One carried Suleiman’s water bottle; the second, his cloak; and the third, the Sultan’s bow and arrows. Following close at hand, both fore and aft, were the usual guard of Janissaries.

  “You have been very quiet this day, Ibrahim. What’s on your mind?”

  “There is nothing, my Lord. I was just thinking what a pity that we are traveling on such a mission. What a wonderful journey this would be if we were here to hunt and fish and rest by these beautiful lakes and streams.”

  Suleiman nodded. “There will be time for that when we retrace these steps some weeks from now. After we have driven the Infidels from their lair. Their very existence offends me, Ibrahim. These faithless devils have haunted my dreams. Their Crusades to capture our Holy Lands have gone on now for five centuries, and I cannot think how many Muslim lives have been taken by the Sons of Sheitan. They slaughter our men and our children. They rape and torture our women. Life has no meaning to them. They are animals, and we must slaughter them with as little thought to it as stepping on a scorpion. There will be no end to this until they are all gone from our lands.” Suleiman looked ahead into the far distance and said, “I think we should find a place to stop for the day. Our armies are only a short day’s ride ahead, and I do not wish to overtake them.”

  “I will send a Janissary to scout over there, and find us a suitable place to spend the night.”

  Ibrahim spurred his horse and rode off to find the officer in charge of the household guard. Suleiman kept his horse at a slow walk. He was relieved to be freed from the worries about Ibrahim’s nighttime excursions. He would never mention a word of it to Ibrahim. Now, his mind was still on the enormous task of coordinating the world’s largest fighting force.

  Ibrahim sat with his back against the tree while his master arranged himself on the pillows spread out on the carpet in the grass. They both faced the lake, staring at the changing colors of the late afternoon. They had eaten lunch in the tents of the temporary camp. The two had ridden out together with a
small guard of Janissaries and archers. The guards stationed themselves out of earshot of the Sultan and Ibrahim; but they were never out of sight of their master. Neither was there a gap in the circle of soldiers who ensured the safety of the Sultan.

  “I’ve heard you and Piri disputing the relative virtues of the Europeans, Ibrahim. How do you find so much to argue about?”

  “I have lived among many of them, my Lord. Indeed, I was born in Europe. But, Piri—who has not spent time there other than during the attack on Belgrade—loathes them. He tells me,” Ibrahim said laughing as he accurately imitated the stuffy accent of Piri Pasha, “‘they do not know how to breed proper horses, nor how to grow tulips or roses.’ And with that I cannot disagree. He also despises their cities. In Belgrade, he remarked that their houses were dark and damp. They would hover by the fires and see no daylight unless they had to. And they never bathed! The reek of them was obnoxious. He says they only cleanse their insides with wine, and with this I agree as well. Their cities are stinking and foul. The streets run with excrement.”

  “And if all of this is true, then with what do you disagree?”

  “Actually, my Lord, I agree with almost all of it. I just like to argue with Piri Pasha.”

  They both laughed at this, and then Suleiman said, “There is much to despise in the ferenghi.” He looked over at Ibrahim, placing his hand over his friend’s hand. There was a moment of silence and even, Suleiman thought, some tension. He removed his hand, and then turned away again. “Don’t worry, Ibrahim. You are not a European to me. When you came to Turkey, and converted to Islam, you became one of us. I know you bathe every day. And you drink little wine. Some things forbidden to us in the Qur’an are unforgivable sins. Others…” Suleiman did not finish the thought.

  Ibrahim was uncomfortable with his own thoughts. The physical relationship that had seemed normal when they were both young teens now impinged upon the friendship of the grown men. Ibrahim shook his head, as if to drive out the old memories of their intimacies, and changed the subject. “I think that it is the conflict between Islam and the Christians that enrages Piri Pasha most. ”

  “Of which conflict does he speak?”

  “Oh, many. Perhaps all of them. He railed last night about how the Christians can buy their way free of sin with money given to their church. As if their sacred souls might find salvation for sale.”

  “This is true? They can do this?”

  “Yes, my Lord. But, I tell Piri that there are more things in common between our faiths than there are differences. Do we not all worship one God? Do we not share the same Prophets? Believe in the same Book? The Holy Qur’an tells us how to behave. That we must not kill or steal or cheat or lie. It is a guide to take us through our lives. And are not the laws that guide the Christians—nay, even the Jews—the same. They call them Commandments of God. But, they are the same as the rules recited by the Prophet, and recorded in the Holy Qur’an.”

  “I think I will leave this debate to you and Piri Pasha. At this moment I have no heart for it. My rage against the knights on Rhodes pervades all my thinking. Yet I cannot easily rest even while I direct my energies to the coming battle.”

  “But, why so, my Lord?”

  “I have left a household in upheaval, Ibrahim. I do not know what I shall find when I return.” Ibrahim already knew every detail of the story that he was about to hear. He had many sources of his own within the Topkapi Palace, and nothing escaped him. As Ibrahim rose in the power structure of the court, he set out a network of informants to keep him apprised of the intricacies of the court. But, now he settled back in the grass, and let his master and friend talk of what troubled him.

  “My life with Gülbehar has been just what I have wanted. You know that I am not like my father, Selim. Nor am I like the Sultans before him. They used the harem to satisfy their desires, and thought little of the Kadin, the favored woman. But, I do not feel the need for so many women. I think I have made more visits to the harem to see my mother, Hafiza, than to visit Gülbehar.” Both men laughed. “Perhaps it is because I spent so many years in the provinces, away from the Palace and the harem.”

  Ibrahim nodded. The days in Manisa were the most treasured for the two young men. Those times were the freest either of them would ever be.

  “I was only eighteen when Gülbehar was captured,” Suleiman went on, “I was drawn to her immediately. She was beautiful, and so fair that I named her Gülbehar, the Flower of Spring. Her hair, her light skin, her eyes were so different from most of the women in the harem that she stood out immediately.

  “Indeed, she has pleased me much, and has borne my first son, Mustapha. I cannot think of anything that has brought me more joy than his smiling face.” Suleiman paused, and took some grapes from the bowl at his feet.

  “I have watched you together, my Lord, and there can be no doubt of your feelings.”

  Suleiman was quiet for several minutes. He stared across the lake, and continued to eat a handful of grapes. Only his eyes betrayed his troubled thoughts.

  Ibrahim knew exactly what was coming. He would not offer any information, but he would not lie to Suleiman if pressed. The Sultan went on. “Another woman has found her way into my life. She was captured in a raid into Galicia near the border of the Ukraine. She immediately captured the attention of the harem, for she was full of energy—and, I think, more than her allotment of mischief. The Keeper of the Linen called her Khürrem, the Laughing One. And the name has stayed with her.”

  Ibrahim knew all of this. In fact, he had heard of this young woman even outside of the Palace. Some of the Europeans in the international and diplomatic society of Istanbul knew of her budding relationship with the Sultan. They had taken to calling her La Russelane, the Russian. Over the years, this was corrupted into Roxelana. But, for those within the guarded walls of the Palace, she was always Khürrem, the Laughing One.

  “She was a Christian, of course. The daughter of a Greek Orthodox priest, I’m told. But, she has a fire about her that stirs me beyond my good judgment. I find myself listening to the counsel of my loins instead of the logic in my mind. If I were a Sultan who took to bed the hundreds of girls living in the harem, then she would be one among many. She would get her gold dress and a few jewels, and I would not be troubled this way. But, in truth, I have little experience in this regard, for a Sultan of the Osmanlis. I feel out of control in my own household.”

  Ibrahim listened without comment. He knew that he and his master had now entered still another era in their relationship. Suleiman’s son, Mustapha, was the next heir to the throne of the House of Osman. While the Sultan occupied himself with expansion of his empire and the succession to the throne, Ibrahim would spend his energy and his considerable intelligence toward the consolidation of his own power. Though Piri Pasha was the Grand Vizier, Suleiman still relied heavily upon Ibrahim’s advice. This was the legacy of growing up as inseparable friends. While Piri had the title and the power that went with it, Ibrahim still had the ear of the Sultan. And Piri was old.

  The Ottoman Sultans rarely married or had any official ceremony recognizing the union between the Sultan and the bearer of his children. There was only the titular position of Kadin, First Girl; or Hasseki, the Chosen Lady. Though the position of Kadin might change with the whims of the Sultan, no religious or legal rite sanctified the union. Even the children of such unions would not stand in the way of the Sultan’s whims.

  Suleiman interrupted Ibrahim’s musings. “There is a naiveté about her that beguiles me. Yet when I look into her smiling eyes, I feel somehow that she is mocking me! Me! The Emperor of the Ottomans!” Suleiman laughed at this, and Ibrahim smiled quietly.

  “My Lord, I have seen this Khürrem of whom you speak. She does stand out among the harem girls. There’s no doubt about that.”

  “She comes to my room from the harem,” Suleiman went on, ignoring Ibrahim. “And she performs all the rituals of the approach with care. The Black Eunuch has instructed her we
ll. She knows to make the prostrations at the door, and to approach the bed by touching the coverlets to her forehead. She comes bathed and perfumed, but without jewelry, and slips into my bed with the silence and grace that is required. But, once there, my friend! She does things to me that I have never known. Things that I never dreamed, nor have I heard done before. Her lips! What she can do with her lips! And her tongue! I feel I am an adolescent boy in her presence. And by the time the African comes to take her away before dawn, I am of little use until noon. I can only lie in my bed and think about her next visit.”

  “Why do you fret so now, my Lord? This is a usual thing in the household of a Sultan. Your mother, the Sultan Valideh, still rules the harem. She is a wise and strong woman. Surely she will maintain control over these girls?”

  “Yes, my friend. Hafiza rules the harem. But, there is something about this Khürrem that makes me lose my judgment. Already she has asked me to send Gülbehar and Mustapha away to the provinces so that she may stay with me more often. And, as I prepared to leave for the war camp, she told me that she thinks she is going to have a child. Though she made no scene at my going, as Gülbehar did, I have a feeling that, in my absence, these two women will clash, and that my mother may not be able to contain them. What do you think? You are always wise in matters such as these.”

  Now, Ibrahim had no choice but to voice his opinion. “My Lord, I have seen you and your son together. And I have seen you and the Flower of Spring together. There is, indeed, much to worry about should the Laughing One bear you a child. Especially a son. For then you will be faced with the Law of Fratricide that you have inherited from Mehmet. I cannot bear to think about your having to order any of your children strangled. Forgive me, my Lord, if I speak harshly. But, there is a lot to fear. You have told me that this woman takes away your reason when she takes to your bed. The House of the Osmanli cannot be ruled by passions such as these. I see in the eyes of Khürrem a thirst—no a plan—to gain control of the palace. Only you can stop this, for it is beyond the capabilities of the Sultan Valideh—strong and wise as she is—to stop it. I only want your reign to remain free from the intrigues of court that plagued so many Sultans before you.”