SERAGLIO

by Colin Falconer

  Suleiman watched the dust filtering through the shafts of yellow sunlight. The passage of dust; the passage of life, the passage of all reputations.

  Behind him, high on the wall, was the dangerous window. There was no one there this morning to witness Ibrahim's fall of grace, but Suleiman wished with all his heart that he was up there now, that he could watch someone else make the terrible decision that he knew must finally be made.

  Chapter 12

  The Eski Saraya

  Suleiman removed his turban and ran a hand over the smooth skin of his scalp to the single scalplock at the base of his skull, the legacy of his ghazi forefathers. He closed his eyes. He felt the weight of his royalty more keenly today than any time in the fifteen years since he had taken his throne.

  She entered silently through a velvet curtain and knelt at his feet. For once she had no smile to greet him. She kissed his hand and rested it against his cheek.

  'You knew?'

  'Yes, my Lord.'

  'How?'

  'Whispers in the Harem.'

  'How is it the Harem know everything that happens even before I do?'

  'When I came through the curtain and saw your face I knew the whispers must be true.'

  He stroked her hair and his face softened. 'What am I to do?'

  'May I see the letter, my Lord?'

  He still held it crumpled in his fist. She took it from his fingers and unfolded it. It was barely legible, badly creased and the sweat from his hand had smudged the ink. But she could still read the signature.

  Seraskier Sultan.

  Oh Rüstem, she thought. Abbas chose well. You have a rare genius for intrigue.

  'He sues for peace with the Shah under your name,' she said.

  'It is madness. What could have possessed him to do such a thing?'

  'Is this Defterdar Rüstem to be trusted?'

  'He is just a clerk. In his misguided way he thinks he does well by me. The treason is there written beneath my own seal. Seraskier Sultan! There is no circumstance, no provocation, under which any man might call himself Sultan other than me. To do so is rebellion. He knows it.'

  'But he is your friend.'

  'Yes, my friend, and much more than a friend. It only makes this even more unforgiveable.'

  'Do not act too rashly, my Lord.'

  He shook his head. 'You may be the only one today who speaks for him. Suddenly he has enemies I did not even dream of. They have swarmed from every crevice in the Palace walls to denounce him.'

  Yes, I will speak for him, she thought, and when his head is rotting on the palace walls, you will remember that I did. There is nothing anyone can do to save him so I may not fear overstating my case. 'You must go to him.'

  He nodded. 'The longer I delay, the more damage this shall do to me. I cannot ignore this, but I cannot bring myself to harm him, little russelana. It would be like cutting out my own heart.'

  'If he is indeed your friend, there must be some way you can excuse him.'

  He snatched the letter from her hand. 'There is no way! What excuse can there be?' He jumped to his feet and went to the candle. He held it to the flame, twisting it in the flames, watching it burn.

  'Here, it is ashes now. He will tell me of this letter with his own lips when I arrive. If he is truly my friend he will not try to hide this from me.' He crushed the ashes with his boot.

  Hürrem stood up and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled his head to her breast and felt him cry in her arms.

  'Hürrem,' he said, 'what would I do without you?'

  'Shh,' she murmured and stroked his head, despising his weakness more than she had ever done.

  Chapter 13

  The last hot days of august, the time of year when only the poor were left behind to swelter in the furnace of the city. No time to start a campaign, so hot in Europe and so dangerously close to winter in Asia. The prospect of the long, crushing ride across Anatolia depressed him deeply.

  He would cross the Bosphorus with three hundred cavalry and rode to Üsküdar and then head east across the baked plains towards Asia. There would be a full cycle of the moon before he reached his destination, a month of choking dust and aching muscles. Yet he did not wish ever to arrive.

  Sultan Seraskier!

  ***

  He followed the trail of Alexander through orchards of figs and olives, fields of cotton and wheat. They passed through Konia where he stooped to honour the tomb of Jalal-ud-din Rumi, the founder of the Dervish order. From Konia they roasted under the desert sun. The only other life they saw was the black tents of nomads and the baked walls of the caravanserais built as sanctuary for the camel trains from Samarkand and Medina.

  They passed through Edessa, the birthplace of Abraham, where old men sat in the shadow of the fortress and tossed chickpeas into a pool of sacred carp. From there they rode up into the mountains, and the air turned suddenly cool and the brown steppe gave way to bare rock and tumbling ravines. The wind savaged men and horses like a whip. Wild storms appeared from nowhere. It was a place only goats and sheep and the Kurds could survive.

  And the Shah.

  They rode twelve hours a day, stopping only when their horses were too exhausted to continue. They reached Azerbaijan.

  The scouts rode ahead to find the camp. Finally, one afternoon they reached the crest of a ridge and saw the army spread out on the plateau in front of them. Exhausted beyond all measure Suleiman wanted to throw himself on the ground and weep. Instead he drew himself taller in the saddle and rode down the slope to greet the wild cheering of his troops.

  ***

  The tents had been erected in crisp lines, according to division and regiment. Holes had been dug at regular intervals as latrines. Horses had been corralled, siege engines, supply wagons and cannon drawn up in strict order.

  The camp was silent, for no fighting, gambling or drinking was tolerated. But when the men of the askeri recognized the Sultan's standard of seven horsetails and saw the bearded figure with his green robes and snow white turban the hush erupted into wild cheering.

  Word spread quickly. Suleiman had returned to lead them! He would guide them through these mountains and to victory!

  He reined in his horse before the scarlet silk tent with the six horsetail standard. Ibrahim emerged and quickly executed a ceremonial sala'am on the ground in front of him.

  'My lord,' he said.

  Where is the boyish grin now? he wondered. Where is the young man who would rush to embrace me whenever we had been too long apart? Look at this petulant scowl.

  'Do you have the head of the Shah for me?' he said.

  Ibrahim took a long time to reply. 'Not yet, my Lord,' he said.

  'Then we will remove to Baghdad. The Sultan shall lead his army now.'

  Chapter 14

  'It is good you are here, my Lord. But the reason for your arrival distresses me. Do you no longer trust me as your Vizier?'

  They were sitting on the thick carpets in Suleiman's pavilion. The coals in the copper brazier glowed, fanned by a sudden draught. Suleiman was tired, the journey had exhausted him. He could barely think. And he was cold. He pulled his ermine lined robe tighter around his shoulders.

  'A Sultan's place is at the head of his army, as you never cease to remind me.'

  'Is that the only reason, my Lord?'

  'As protector of the Faith I am obliged to defend Baghdad, not have my army chase phantoms through the wilderness.'

  'Once we defeat the Shah, Baghdad is ours anyway.'

  Suleiman searched Ibrahim's face for the truth. Any moment, he thought, he will confess to me what he has done and why. There can be no secrets between us, he would not allow it.

  'Perhaps we should treat with him,' Suleiman said, testing him.

  'And what should we offer him?' Ibrahim said.

  'What do you think?''

  'Nothing. Except perhaps a rope for his neck.'

  Suleiman shook his head. 'He is as elusive as our Holy Roman Emperor. Perhaps we wil
l never bring either of them to battle. It is more important that we do our duty and be patient. We defend the Faith.'

  'The Faith!'

  It was clear Ibrahim regretted this blasphemy the moment it was spoken. 'It is the reason for my army, Ibrahim, there can be no other. The jihad is only for God.' The horses were growing restless outside, he could hear them stamping their hoofs, unsettled by the wind. 'Tomorrow we march on Baghdad. We will retake the city and if necessary we will winter there. The mountains are no place for an army.'

  'As you command.' Ibrahim stared at the coals in the fire, his lips compressed in a thin line. 'Why did you do this to me?'

  Suleiman almost throttled him. After your treachery, you dare question my actions? 'I am tired. I must sleep. Leave me now.'

  'But My Lord …'

  'Leave.'

  It had been their tradition to sleep in the same pavilion when they were on campaign. But this time Ibrahim did not protest his banishment. He rose to his feet, made his sala'am and left.

  ***

  During the night a blizzard swept down from the mountains. Suleiman woke to the sound of horses and camels screaming in the storm. A gust of wind shook his pavilion so violently he thought it must rip in two. He threw on his fur robe and went outside.

  Curtains of driving sleet obliterated everything and he had to shield his face with his hands to protect himself from the stinging slap of the ice. Torches flared for a moment and were instantly extinguished by the wind.

  His pages trembled with terror. Even one of his bodyguard fell on his knees. 'May God protect us!' he screamed. 'It is the Persian magicians!'

  'It's just a storm!' Suleiman roared. 'Get up, man!'

  Damn Ibrahim, he thought. Damn him for his treachery and his stupidity. Damn him!

  ***

  Dawn, and the entire valley blanketed in white. Ibrahim staggered through the drifts, stunned. Tents sagged under the weight of the snow. The frozen leg of a camel protruded from a drift.

  A terrible hush had fallen across the valley. An eerie light poked through the black anvils of cloud. Whole regiments had been buried in the drifts, tents torn away by the force of the wind. Pieces of canvas flapped on broken poles.

  Ibrahim heard what he thought was the moan of the wind but the wind had died away now. He realized it was the cries of men trapped under the snow mingled with the cries of dying horses. 'God help me in my sorrow,' he murmured. He had never tasted defeat before but he knew it now, in full measure. Instead of blood, there was snow.

  Men staggered dazed and snow blind through a landscape none could recognize from the night before. Some clawed at the snow to release a comrade or hauled on the rope of a camel half buried under a snow bank. The rest turned their eyes toward the jaws of the pass, dreading the arrival of Persian horsemen against the dawn. They were helpless if they should come now.

  'Ibrahim!'

  Suleiman stood above him on the slope, and he recognized on his face the same berserk fury he had seen once before - at Rhodes, when he had called for his chief high executioner to kill his Grand Vizier.

  But now I am the Vizier ...

  'What have you done?'

  Ibrahim spread his hands helplessly. Who knew there could be snow in summer?

  'If the Persians come now, we will all die here!' Suleiman came closer, so that the pages and solaks around them could not hear what he said next. 'I sometimes wondered if you and I were not born to the wrong families. It seems that I was wrong.'

  He turned away and plunged through the thigh-deep snow towards the wreckage of the camp. They must reorganize quickly, Ibrahim realized, and make their retreat. But that was no longer his responsibility. The Sultan was in command again now and he would issue the orders of the day.

  Chapter 15

  Galata

  Each time Abbas shifted his weight the silk of the kaftan rustled like dry leaves. His face shone in the light of the candle. 'These are dangerous days,' he said. 'You have made sure she is safe? She is out of Stamboul?'

  'Yes,' he said and met his eyes. 'She is gone.'

  Abbas grunted, satisfied.

  'Abbas … do you still love her?'

  'There is no past tense of love,' he said.

  'But you hardly knew her.'

  'That is true. And yet they say you know all you need to know of any man or woman in the first instant that you meet. I have never yet encountered a villain who did not make my stomach queasy or my skin itch at our first greeting. On every occasion that I met a friend for the first time it was like I knew them for a lifetime already. Like you, Ludovici. I picked you as a stalwart from the moment I first saw you and you have never let me down. Even now, when I am changed beyond all recognition. So I knew her from the first. You love in a moment or not at all.'

  It was true, Ludovici thought. He had felt the same about Abbas, even though he was a Moor and a Muslim and he himself was a Christian and the son of a togato. He had told himself they had become friends because they were both exiles; he because he was a bastard and Abbas because he was a foreigner. But it had been more than that. They were, he supposed, like souls.

  That had never occurred to him.

  'Do you still have eunuchs in your household, Ludovici?'

  'I have a harem of my own,' he said, as if that explained everything.

  Abbas said nothing but there was reproach in his silence.

  'They are treated well.'

  A raised eyebrow, but nothing else.

  'Do you ever think about the old days, Abbas, about Venice?'

  'Sometimes. Yet it seems like another lifetime.'

  'Do you ever wish you had done things differently?'

  'A man's fate is written on his forehead by God at the time of his birth, and this was mine. I could not have done differently, as a cloud cannot decide which way it will travel through the sky. Its direction is guided by God's wind, and so was mine.'

  'Then on the day of Judgment God will have no right to judge you for your sins. Instead He should ask your pardon.'

  'That is blasphemy, Ludovici, and I shall not listen to it.' He clapped his hands to signal to his mutes that he was ready to leave. 'One last question. Did you ever take Julia into your harem?'

  The question took him off guard. 'But she is not a concubine. She is a Christian woman of high birth.'

  'Yes, but did you do it? Did you make her your houri?'

  'No. I did not.'

  A smile. What was it? Gratitude? 'Good,' Abbas said. 'I am glad.'

  He got to his feet and prepared to leave. 'And if I had?' Ludovici asked him.

  'But you didn't,' Abbas said. 'So why ask?'

  ***

  When Ludovici returned to Pera he went to his study and stood at the window, looking over the Horn, thinking. He shouted instructions to Hyacinth to fetch Julia. The eunuch shuffled away along the corridor. Ludovici sat down at his oak desk by the window and waited.

  She entered silently, heralded by the rustling of her long skirts on the marble. 'You wanted to see me?'

  Ludovici stood up and offered her a chair. 'Please. Sit down.'

  She did so, and he pulled up a chair next to her.

  'Is something wrong, Ludovici?'

  He had to tell her. He had lied to Abbas, he couldn't lie to her as well. 'Abbas wants you to leave here. He says it is dangerous for you.'

  'Do you think someone at the Harem has found out I am alive?'

  'Perhaps. I don't see how.'

  'Did he tell you?'

  'He just said it was dangerous for you to remain.'

  'But … where should I go?'

  'I don't know. I can send you back to Italy, to a convent perhaps.'

  She shook her head. 'Why should he think I would prefer that to being a concubine. Though perhaps the evening entertainments would be different.'

  The remark shocked him. He turned away and stared at the twilight gathering over the Horn.

  'Do I have a choice?'

  'I'm not your gaoler.'r />
  'Then unless you have some other plan, I should rather stay here.'

  'At least you would have company.'

  'Nuns?'

  'You can't stay here forever.'

  'You need me to go?'

  'No, but … you have no one …'

  'I had no one when I lived my father. The only time I had … anyone … was when I was the Sultan's whore.'

  He took a deep breath. He might as well say it. Wasn't this what was on his mind from the start? 'What do you think of me, Julia?'

  'What do I … what do you mean?'

  'Come now, you have lived with me in this house for three years. You must have formed an opinion.'

  'You are a kind and decent man. I am very grateful to you. You saved my life and gave me sanctuary here.'

  Ludovici felt his heart sink. For some reason he would rather she hated him. 'I made enquiries in the Comunità and with the bailo. Your husband, Serena, is dead.'

  She took a deep breath. 'When?'

  'Three weeks ago on Cyprus. I learned the news today.'

  'So I am a widow?'

  He nodded.

  'Well. It changes nothing though, does it?'

  'Perhaps it does.' He turned away from the window. 'Marry me.'

  She stared at him, astonished. 'But you have many women,' she said. 'Why would you want to marry me? How could it possibly serve you?'

  'Isn't it enough that I do?'

  Julia got to her feet, then sat down again. It was the first time he had seen her anything except serene.

  'I have told Hyacinth to get rid of my concubines. They will all be married off to wealthy Turkish husbands. It is you that I want.'

  'Ludovici, stop. What is it that you are looking for? The girl that your friend saw in the church in Venice. She doesn't exist anymore. Perhaps she never did. If you were to marry me, what would you expect?'