SERAGLIO

by Colin Falconer

  'If.'

  'Mother …'

  'You trust your father too much. Look what he did to me.' She immediately regretted saying that. It makes me sound like a bitter old woman, she thought. Perhaps that is what I am.

  'He did nothing wrong. The heir's mother is always sent with him when he takes up his first governorship.'

  'Then why did he not send Hürrem to Manisa with Bayezid?' She put down her silver cup and the coffee spilled onto the tray. 'How many more of these insults will you bear? He marries the witch, makes her queen, then exiles you to the mountains and gives her devil's spawn the shahzade's seat at Manisa. Now he turns his back while Rüstem makes you a pauper! If it is a goad, then accept it and let him deal with the consequences!'

  'That would be foolish.'

  'Would it, son?' Her eyes filled with tears. A fine boy, the finest prince the Osmanlis would ever see, and they were conspiring to ruin him. And so handsome! You deserve to be Sultan, she thought.

  'He is my father and he is my sultan. Any action against him would be a sin against Heaven.'

  'I am sure no such noble thoughts have crossed the mind of his new queen.'

  'In the matter of succession, Suleiman is the only judge.'

  'How naïve you are!'

  'I know you do not trust her. Neither do I. But I put my trust in Suleiman.'

  Do not trust her? Gülbehar thought. I hate her so much it makes my bones ache. That day in the baths, I should have torn her apart with my bare hands. How I would like that opportunity again, she would get more than a few scratches.

  'In time we will balance all injustice,' he said. 'I do not fear Bayezid and I certainly have nothing to fear from his roly-poly brother. Suleiman could exile me to Cathay and while I live the Yeniçeris will not accept either of them over me.'

  'The Yeniçeris are not as patient as you. They want you to do something about this now.'

  Mustapha shook his head. 'That would be wrong.'

  'Suleiman's father did it.'

  'And 'If I raise rebellion against him, what will happen when my own sons are of an age? We become no better than barbarians.'

  'Mustapha …'

  'No, I will not do it. One day the throne will come to me by right. I will wait. I will not offend my father and I will not offend God!'

  Sultanahmet, Stamboul

  He has to die,' Rüstem said.

  Mihrmah blanched and lowered her eyes. 'But he is the shahzade …'

  'Yes, Mihrmah and if he is ever Sultan what do you think will happen to us? I will tell you. The first thing he will do is put my head on a spike outside the Ba'ab-i-Sa'adet and then send you into exile with only hyenas for company. And what do you think will happen to your brothers?' Rüstem discussed it as if he were reciting the final moves of a chess game. She had never known anyone discuss death as dispassionately as her husband. 'Your father made me Vizier thinking I could protect you and your family. But Mustapha hates me almost as much as he hates your mother.'

  Mihrmah turned her head away. Such a pretty day to be discussing murder! It was spring and a warm breeze was blowing from the south. Dolphins were playing near the shore in the Sea of Marmara. 'But if we are found out in this …'

  'There is more risk in doing nothing.'

  'What shall I say to my father if he asks my opinion?'

  'Tell him you live in mortal fear of the shahzade. That is what he will expect you to say anyway.'

  She watched him eat, mechanically and without relish. Really, bread and water and an abacus and he would be in Paradise. 'Whose idea was this? Yours - or did it come from my mother?'

  He smiled, and the effect was chilling. She knew what they called him, of course, but it was not true. She knew his secret; his two eye teeth were larger than the rest and when he smiled they betrayed him because they gave him the appearance of a wolf. That was the reason he never did it. 'Does anything happen in Stamboul that she does not instigate?'

  'And if we fail?'

  'If we fail we have lost nothing for Mustapha is already our enemy. If we succeed we have power over the Sultan and the next!'

  Chapter 38

  The Sultan's apartments, as the rest of the palace, served two functions; to display the wealth of the Osmanlis and to preserve their secrecy.

  The wealth was quickly apparent; verses from the Qu'ran, in sülü script, circled the room, a faience of white on blue. The stained glass windows were masterpieces of emerald and crimson. Gilt Vicenzan mirrors hung on every wall and the bed was raised on a canopied platform, strewn with coverlets of gold brocade and crimson velvet. By the side of the bed was a golden ewer for washing the hands.

  Awe-inspiring, even though no one ever saw this room except his eunuch slaves and Hürrem.

  The compulsion for secrecy inspired the fountains that had been cut into the walls; golden spigots murmured perfumed water into marble urns, preventing whispered conversations being overheard; and then there were the sacnissi, little gazebos that jutted out from the walls where the Sultan could sit and observe the gardens without being seen himself.

  But soon after Hürrem became queen a further refinement was introduced; a concealed doorway was carved into the wall behind one of the gilt mirrors. It opened onto a stairway that led directly to the apartments of the Lady Hürrem herself, so she could come and go without being seen.

  It was from this doorway that Hürrem emerged one afternoon to find Suleiman pacing the room like a caged beast, even though his right knee was still swollen from another episode of gout.

  'My Lord,' she said and performed her sala'am.

  Suleiman seemed to barely notice her. He was holding a piece of paper in his right hand and he waved it in her direction. 'What do you make of this?'

  'I cannot tell from this distance. But if you were to ask me, I should say that it is a piece of parchment.'

  'I am sorry, I forget myself.' He hobbled toward her and helped her to her feet. 'I can scarcely believe the evidence of my own eyes.' He handed her the document. 'Here, read this.'

  Hürrem read it quickly through. It was addressed to the Shah Tamasp; after a long soliloquy of greeting it made an offer of marriage for one of his daughters. It then went on to outline the benefits to both parties from such an arrangement.

  It was signed under the tugra of the shahzade, Mustapha.

  'It is a forgery,' she said, though she conceded it was a very good one. Rüstem was to be commended. 'It must be.'

  'You think so?'

  'How can it be otherwise?'

  Suleiman collapsed in despair on the divan. 'Why would someone do this? Why?'

  'It could be Rüstem,' she said, and was immediately pleased with herself for pointing it out, for it was obvious by the look on his face that it was the first thing Suleiman had thought of too.

  'Why Rüstem?' he said, and she supposed he was testing her, for any fool could work that out.

  'When Mustapha is Sultan the first neck he will break will be your Vizier's. So he could have done this. But before you stick his head on a pike there are other culprits you might consider.'

  'Such as?'

  'It would please the Holy Roman Emperor immensely if you were to fight with your own son. It would not even be beyond the Shah himself to arrange such a forgery.'

  'I hope you are right!' He gasped and held his knee. Hürrem stroked his temple with her long fingers. 'What am I to do? What am I to believe?' he moaned.

  'Why would Mustapha do such a thing anyway? The Shah is the sworn enemy of the Osmanlis. It makes no sense.'

  'There is a saying, Hürrem. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." If Mustapha sees me as his enemy now, then an allegiance with Tamasp would make all the sense in the world.'

  'But he's a heretic!'

  Suleiman sighed. 'Perhaps you're right.'

  'Where did you get this, anyway?'

  'From one of Rüstem's spies at Amasya. Rüstem has spies everywhere.' Suleiman gave her a sad smile. 'You are such a comfort to me. I live a
mong snakes and vipers. Yours is the only voice of reason and moderation.' He winced again.

  'Shall I send the physician for your knee?'

  'No just stay here by my side. That is greater medicine than any potion that fool can give me.' After a while he closed his eyes and she thought he was asleep. But then he said: 'I must ride east again with the army.'

  'My Lord, you are unwell, you must not!'

  'We must finish with the Shah, there can be no peace while he is still conspiring against us in Asia. The Yeniçeris, my generals, the ulema, they are all clamouring for me to do something about him. As Defender of the Faith I have no choice.'

  'Send Rüstem in your place.'

  'The Yeniçeris would riot. They expect me to lead them.'

  'I am just so afraid. You are unwell and the mountains in Persia are cold even in summer. You yourself have told me that a week in Azerbaijan is like an entire campaign in Hungary. I am being selfish, my Lord. I am terrified of losing you.'

  'No, I must go.'

  Hürrem knew she had to say something. You could really die there, she thought. Do not ignore this one hard truth when you have believed so many of my lies! 'I know you do not fear any hardship, but by choosing another course you might serve a double purpose.'

  'Ah little russelana. I knew the way you were looking at me there must be some new plan in that pretty little head.'

  'Let Rüstem advance to Persia through Amasya. Sign orders telling Mustapha to accompany him on the campaign, with his own troops.'

  'Rüstem? Mustapha will feed him to his dogs.'

  'Not if he bears your seal. If he co-operates, especially when he hates your Vizier so much, you will know the document is a forgery and that Mustapha is loyal. If he doesn't …'

  'I might go myself and divine Mustapha's loyalties.'

  'If Mustapha plans treason do you risk discovering his true ambitions in the middle of Amasya? You will have to then rely that the Yeniçeris will support you and not him. Remember how your grandfather lost his throne.'

  Suleiman sighed and brooded on this for an eternity. Finally he said: 'Do you really think it will come to that?'

  'I only counsel caution, my Lord.' She knelt at his feet. 'Please hear me on this. I love you with my life.'

  'I tell you, if I could give up my throne and still do my duty to God, then that is what I would do. I would willingly exchange my lot with any blacksmith in this city. Aside from you the sultanate has only brought me care beyond belief.'

  She rested her head on his lap. Who would want to be a blacksmith? He was losing his mind. There was only one problem with power, and that was how to keep it.

  He let the letter slip from his fingers to the floor.

  Chapter 39

  'How is Julia?' Abbas asked. They were always his first words. How is Julia. And Ludovici would always answer; She is well, my friend. She asks for your prayers and hopes that you are well also.

  After their formalities Abbas lowered his head and concentrated on the business at hand: black market wheat.

  The trade was the worst kept secret in the Osmanli Empire. There was active complicity from every Turkish nobleman with arable land; eighteen months previously even Rüstem had sailed his own roundships to Venice by way of Alexandria and had made a staggering profit on just one shipment.

  Ever since the summer of 1548 Turkey had enjoyed five excellent wheat harvests, while Venice was starved for grain; the profits for the traders grew in proportion. Ludovici's caramusalis sailed regularly to Rodosto on the Black Sea, ostensibly to load hides or wool. On the way they made clandestine calls to the port at Volos to take on wheat. On the return trip they were ignored by the Turkish warships that were supposed to enforce the embargo, but the privilege was expensive.

  'Rüstem Pasha wants another thousand ducats a month,' Abbas said.

  'I can't afford that!'

  'I'm sorry, old friend. But there is much baksheesh to pay. If it were just the Vizier …'

  'If it were just the Vizier I suspect the price would still be a thousand. Is there no limit to his greed?'

  'Apparently not.'

  'Tell him I refuse.'

  'Don't be rash, Ludovici. Even after the extra baksheesh you will still make a twofold profit on every kilo of grain unloaded in Venice. What do you pay here? Twelve aspers per kilo. Rüstem knows you are making thirty five in Italy.'

  'I have to make a profit.'

  'Those were his words also.'

  Ludovici sighed. There was nothing to be done. If you wanted to do business in the Empire you had to pay whatever the Vizier demanded. Everyone knew that.

  They continued with their business; agreeing on routes for his ships, payments to minor officials in the provinces and the counting of the ducats that Ludovici had brought with him in a leather pouch. Finally it was done and Abbas relaxed. He helped himself to a little perfumed water - he never drank wine - and as usual began to gossip about activities inside the haremlik like an old woman at the supermarket.

  He was Ludovici's prime source of information on the moods and internal politics of the Sublime Porte. After Abbas had finished his tirade against the iniquities of the ziadi, as he referred to Hürrem, and the extent of the corruptions introduced by Rüstem pasha - of which he was now an integral part - he said, almost casually: 'It is said that the shahzade is planning a revolt.'

  'Mustapha? Where did you hear that?'

  Abbas shrugged. I heard he has arranged marriage with one of the daughters of the Shah Tamasp. He solicits his support in a rebellion against Suleiman.'

  'Suleiman knows about this?'

  'You think you and I should know of something that was hidden from the Lord of Life?'

  "This is disturbing news.'

  'You and your friends should send a delegation to treat with him. When he comes to the throne he may not be as well disposed to our business as Rüstem and you will miss our Vizier's avarice then. It may be as well to make an accommodation with the shahzade now. Have your money on both horses.'

  ''Can Mustapha succeed?'

  Abbas shrugged and the great dewlaps beneath his chin trembled. 'He has the support of the Yeniçeris.'

  'Not if he allies with the Shah.'

  'That may be just a ploy to make Suleiman move against him.'

  Mustapha's popularity with the army had never been a secret but Ludovici had heard no word of sedition until now. But then he supposed every rebellion must have a beginning.

  And if all this was true - and Abbas's information had always been accurate in the past - then he and his fellow traders in the Comunità should make their move now. When he came to the throne Mustapha might not be well disposed to the traders who had helped line his enemy Rüstem's pockets. He should indeed place a bet on both cards, the knave and the king.

  'What about you, Abbas? What will you do?'

  'I will accept the will of God.' He clapped his hands - it was the movement of his hands that was the signal, not the sound - and the two deaf-mutes who accompanied him hurried to assist him to his feet, a feat not easily achieved.

  Finally Abbas was ready to take his leave. 'Go with God,' he said.

  'Go with God,' Ludovici repeated.

  Abbas hesitated at the door. 'If anything happens to me, take care of Julia. I wish you would listen to me and get her out of this accursed city. If you really loved her, that is what you would do.'

  Topkapi Saraya

  'It is done?' Hürrem asked.

  Abbas bowed his head. 'I did as you asked me.'

  'Good.' She smiled. 'How is Julia?'

  'Julia is well,' he said, refusing to take the bait. 'She asks for my prayers.'

  'What a loyal friend you are. Thank you. You may go, Abbas.'

  Abbas left, disgusted with her, disgusted with life. Disgusted with himself.

  I am sorry, Ludovici, for using you this way. But I have done you no harm, I promise you, it is just a ploy, but it will not hurt you or Julia, or I would not have let this minx persuade
me to do it.

  ***

  Poor Çehangir, Suleiman thought.

  His deformity made it impossible for the poor boy to stand upright; he always looked like he had an invisible sack on his shoulders and was bowed under the weight of it. He could not ride a horse above a canter, could not aim a bow and arrow, could not even lift a sword.

  A fine son for a ghazi. Yet of all of them, this was the one he loved best.

  'You have seen Mustapha?'

  Çehangir did not lift his eyes. He never does, Suleiman thought. He cowers in front of me like a stall keeper. 'He is well, my Lord. He sends his greetings.'

  'His mother is well also?'

  'Indeed, my Lord.'

  Suleiman felt dispirited. The boy looks as if I am about to send him to the executioner. 'You look tired,' he said.

  'It was a rigorous journey.'

  'The hunting was good?'

  'Yes, we hunted every day.'

  'Mustapha shows you great friendship.' Why? He wondered. Because he loves you or does he want you to spy on me? What companionship could a man like Mustapha find in a cripple?

  'I think he feels sorry for me,' Çehangir said, as if he could read Suleiman's mind. He was startled by this candid admission. He was more acute than he credited.

  'I am sure that is not the case,' he said, but he brooded on this possibility for a moment and then said: 'Did he speak of me?'

  'He asked after your health.'

  Because he loves me or because he hopes me dead? How the Divan has poisoned my thinking! 'Nothing else?'

  Çehangir seemed to hesitate, then he shook his head.

  'I am happy to see you safely returned.'

  Çehangir was eager to leave. He is as terrified of me as I was of my own father, Suleiman thought. This was the real legacy of the Osmanlis. We destroy our own children.

  Chapter 40

  Stamboul

  Steam rose from the damp cobbles and the twitching flanks of the donkeys that trudged single file through the narrow twisting streets around the fruit markets. It was melon season and the hawkers had piled their fruits in pyramids on their stalls and on the ground, flecked and striped, green and golden. The smells assaulted the senses; ripe fruit, sewage, wood smoke.