“But, sire,” the Grand Vizier protested, “our discussion is not over. We have yet to reach a clear strategy for dealing with the Persians. And I must leave for Persia before dawn.”
With hardly a pause for thought the Sultan quickly turned the Grand Vizier’s point to his own advantage.
“Exactly!” He swooped down on Ibrahim Pasha like a bird of prey. “You will be much better prepared to advise me on a Persian strategy after you are on the ground in that territory and have gained close-up knowledge of Persian resources and intentions. Is that not the very reason I am sending you off on this dangerous mission at a time when I am so in need of your vast experience in settling the occupation of Baghdad?”
As always, his logic was irrefutable. He did not wait for a response but simply turned to me at the door. “Give me time to bid farewell to the Grand Vizier, my boy, then appear at my bedside with the Arrian manuscript.”
As I crept out of the room I caught a glimpse of the Grand Vizier’s face that seared my soul. Believe me, Papa, I have seen men in battle lusting after blood and riders, consumed by a passion to destroy an opponent with a gerit, but never have I seen a more palpable expression of venom on a man’s face. This man will not rest, I thought to myself, until he sees me dead.
With that happy thought, I bid you good night.
D.
From: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace
To: Sultan Suleiman, encamped in Baghdad
Date: December 15, 1534
Glorious Sultan!
So many tasks, so many details. Duty calls to me as it does to you. Small chores in my case, the conquest of the world in yours. From time to time I think back to my early days in the harem as your Second Kadin, and of my delight at receiving the early poems of the Sultan of Love. Will those days ever come again? Perhaps, as I have heard the Christians say, for everything there is a season. Perhaps this is my season of service and obedience to a great ghazi who labors in a great cause.
One source of comfort to me is that all the omens are in place for the glorious occasion that is in prospect! When I consulted with the royal astronomer he confirmed that the very time we are planning for Princess Saida’s nuptials is the most felicitous period in which a woman can marry. During any of the last ten days of January, he says, Jupiter is in good aspect to the princess’s sun. So, under the benign goodwill of the gods, the princess will be married within two weeks of your victorious return. The Festival of Double Happiness will memorialize not two but three milestones: your great victory over Persia, your long-awaited homecoming, and a family wedding to warm the hearts of your people. The whole world will watch with awe and respect the total success of the Ottoman Empire.
Signed and sealed with the Regent’s stamp by Sultana Hürrem.
At the bottom of this letter is an encrypted message. A quick pass over the page with a lighted taper reveals the words:
The noose is tightening.
49
BAGHDAD REVISITED
From: Danilo del Medigo at Baghdad
To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace
Date: February 13, 1535
Dear Papa:
So, I am finally back in the Sultan’s daily service, not only as a scribe but once again as the Assistant Chief Foreign Language Interpreter. And I am once again the first, rather than the last, to know the news of the day. The Grand Vizier is off to Ispahan. In today’s dispatch, he informs us that city is bursting with treasure and is ripe for the taking. Ispahan, he says, will welcome us with open arms.
“That is what īskender must have been told before he went into Persia on the trail of Darius,” the Sultan remarked to me. Then, pointing to the Grand Vizier’s dispatch, he added, “It was just such thinking that drove īskender deeper and deeper into the heart of Asia, farther and farther from the source of his supplies, less and less able to defend himself against the brigand tribes on the Indian border. And none of this would have happened if he had been satisfied to stop at Gaugamela.”
My thoughts, exactly.
“I know these people of the steppe,” he went on. “They are kin to my people. Their territory is never truly conquered. Against them, no battle is ever won. Like us, they learn to ride before they are able to walk. They can approach without making a sound. They can swoop down on a marching column without warning and then vanish into the steppe like smoke. They will always live to fight another day. That is the trap.”
Since I am now back on my old footing, I summoned the courage to tell the Sultan, “That is exactly what my mother taught me, sire. ‘This anabasis,’ she used to say, ‘is a trap. It was a trap for Alexander. It was a trap for Xenophon. Always has been. Always will be.’”
“Anabasis?” I could almost see him turning the word over in his mind. “I have heard you use that word before. Can you give me a precise translation?”
“Anabasis is a Greek word, sire,” I explained. “My mother translated it as a ‘going down.’ In ancient days, Xenophon went down into Persia. He had been hired by the shah, Cyrus the Younger, to fight his brother Artaxerxes. Xenophon calls his account of the venture an anabasis.”
“And this Xenophon, did he fall into the Persian trap?”
“The Persian army was defeated. Cyrus was killed and the Greek army, the Ten Thousand, had to run for their lives.”
“Did they get away?” he asked.
“Only just. Xenophon had to march his men all the way to the Black Sea to sail them home to Greece.”
The Sultan took a moment to digest this information. Then he nodded and smiled one of his rare smiles. “So my incursion into the Persian Empire would be my anabasis. Is that correct?”
I thought it best to be noncommittal on the point. “If you say so, sire.”
“Xenophon.” Pause.
“īskender.” Pause.
“Suleiman.” Long pause.
“At least I am in good company.” Long silence.
Finally, with a straightening of his spine, “But I need not fall into the anabasis trap.” He was becoming more decisive in his speech and more upright in his bearing as he spoke. “Indeed, I need not and I will not.” A definitive shake of the head. “This campaign will stop at Baghdad.”
I believe I just witnessed the most powerful ruler in the world making up his mind about an exit strategy for this campaign. But I was too taken with the implications of what I had heard to think beyond my own self.
“Does that mean, sire, that we are going home?”
“Not so fast, young man.” Lucky for me, he was in high good humor and did not take offense at my bold question. “I cannot and will not abandon this ancient city to the vultures. Baghdad will serve us well as an outpost of the empire from which we can keep our eye on Persian moves and Persian plans. I must still visit the tombs of Ali and Hussein. And a tax-collecting apparatus must be set up. No government can exist that is not sustained by taxes. Also, the scribes have yet to take a census or allocate the dirlik magistrates. So, you see, there remains much work to be done here in Baghdad — the work of peace. But no more war. This is the end of our military campaign in Mesopotamia. We have defeated Tahmasp. True, we do not have his head on a pike, but it will be many years before the Persians threaten our eastern borders again. We are once again in possession of the golden triangle — Mecca, Medina, Baghdad are ours.” He allowed himself a rare smile of self-congratulation. “We will learn from īskender. We will stop at Baghdad.”
Can I be forgiven for thinking that my efforts at scholarship had some small influence on this decision? Common sense tells me that a ruler as clever as Suleiman would have come to the same decision without the benefit of my help. But he did make mention of the excellent translations I had provided for him: “In spite of your youth, you have managed to provide me with wise counsel.” Those are his words, not mine. “And in a time of great peril, which calls for ski
ll, courage, and quick judgment, you rose to the occasion and rendered me the greatest service a man can render his master.”
Then he drew me in close and put his hand on my shoulder. (He touched me!) I can hear his voice in my ear as I write his words: “Believe me, there will always be a place for you in my court, and if you continue to serve me there are no heights you cannot attain in the Ottoman Empire.”
I am aware that such offers are purely rhetorical when made by kings. I remember Mama telling me that kings, by their very nature, have short memories. I would never know unless I put his words to the test. And this was my chance.
Carpe diem. Full of trepidation I took a deep breath and inquired in what I hoped was not too shaky a voice, “No heights, sire?”
“No heights.”
“To become a vizier? Even someday a damat?”
“Anything is possible.”
I have heard all the warnings about the fickleness of kings, but this surely is a mark of the Sultan’s high regard for me, is it not, Papa?
Love,
D.
50
THE SULTANA REPORTS
From: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace
To: Sultan Suleiman, encamped at Baghdad
Date: December 18, 1534
My Sultan, Anointed Caliph of Baghdad, Lord of All Asia:
The good news of the conquest of Mesopotamia has arrived. God knows that I have died of anguish waiting for word, and have now been granted a new life in victory. Thousands upon thousands of thanks to Allah! My Padishah, my Sultan, my Caliph: may you sit in peace and comfort on your throne and be returned soon to those who weep for you every day of your absence.
A few details. Admiral Lofti, your informal choice as damat, has already taken steps to divest himself of his present residence and his wives. He has offered to come to my assistance by helping to find a suitable palace in which to take up his new life as son-in-law to a sultan. Tomorrow, we will visit two possible choices. One in particular, fronting on the Bosphorus, seems preferable. It will require less work to be made habitable. Admiral Lofti has offered to initiate discussions with the owner since the price would certainly be higher were it known that the great Padishah himself was the purchaser. I have no doubt that our poor mournful girl will recover her old joyous ways when she begins her new life as a wife and, inshallah, a mother.
I eat the dust at your feet.
I am ever devoted, ever loyal.
Signed and stamped with the Regent’s seal by Sultana Hürrem
Below the Sultana’s seal, visible only by the heat of a lighted taper, is written:
The mournful girl is consoled by the prospect of one last night in paradise before the descent into a life of duty and obedience.
51
DANILO’S REWARD
From: Sultan Suleiman, encamped at Baghdad
To: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace
Date: February 16, 1535
Most trusted and devoted Queen:
My heart is touched by the affection you show for my daughter — our daughter — Princess Saida, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for your efforts to move her out of the doldrums of the Old Palace and place her firmly on the road to happiness. Naturally, I wish her well with all my heart. But as a woman you quite naturally see her happiness in terms of love and marriage, whereas I, being a man, am guided by my duty to a greater concern — building a lasting dynasty.
Of course I would welcome as Saida’s bridegroom a son-in-law of unquestioned loyalty and a strong right hand on my council. But since the day that Ibrahim Pasha was married to my sister Hatice, I have tended to think of him as filling the role of such a damat. God knows he has devoted himself with notable success to my interests. Certainly he did perform nobly for us in Egypt, and most importantly he gave me the greatest gift of my life — you.
Even as I write he is off on a perilous journey into the heart of Persia. And, yes, it is my duty as a father and a dynast to seek out future sons-in-law. This is a duty that I have neglected in my consuming effort to serve my ghazi calling of Defender of Islam. Upon reflection, I see that I have thoughtlessly allowed to fall on your delicate shoulders not only a grave responsibility as my Regent, but also the entire burden of acting as both mother and father to our children. And you, my Queen, have taken on that burden without a word of complaint. But you must not also be charged with the task of selecting my first minister, or a vizier in my cabinet, or the damats who will take their place as the husbands of Ottoman princesses. For me to place that onus on you has been a thoughtless act for which I beg your pardon. Forgive me, my dear one. My only defense is the age-old soldier’s excuse: I was overwhelmed by the task of saving the world. And indeed, thanks to Allah, I have succeeded in preserving the Sunni purity of Islam from the Shiites’ apostasy.
As I write, I sit upon the caliph’s golden throne and I am daily restoring the ancient glory of the Sunni caliphate. This is not a light task, but it does leave me some time for other concerns. In a word, I am once again prepared to resume my stewardship of empire and family.
So I hereby release you from the onerous task of overseeing the marriages of our daughters, the selection of our future sons-in-law, and the planning and supervision of the wedding celebrations that accompany these happy events. On the day of my return from the field, only one event will be celebrated: the victory of the Ottoman Sultan over the Persian Shah. That ceremony, in all of its grandeur and glory, I leave in your most capable and gracious hands. In the fullness of time we two will confer together, as parents do, on the selection of a possible damat for each of our daughters. As tradition dictates, I will personally meet, examine, and evaluate the candidates; set the dates for the marriages; and purchase residences for Saida and Mihrimah befitting their status as Ottoman princesses.
Certainly the admiral is a qualified candidate. Still my obligations to the Ottoman dynasty dictate that a less hurried and more thoughtful selection process be followed. While searching, I may happen upon a younger man: one equally loyal, whose courage and quickness to respond to challenges would merit consideration and whose youthful ardor might better serve the dynastic demands of the Ottoman Empire. I understand how troublesome it will be to change the plans you have made for Princess Saida’s marriage to Admiral Lofti at this late date. And I certainly do not wish to offend the admiral in any way or tarnish his fine record. Perhaps a new plan can be made to seem as a postponement rather than a cancellation.
I leave that decision to you. There is no one more practiced in the art of diplomacy.
Step by step, we are moving toward a spring departure from Iraq. Already the slowest parts of our expedition — the siege equipment and the big guns — have been dispatched homeward by the southern route along the Euphrates. Meanwhile I, myself, accompanied by the Grand Vizier, will proceed to Tabriz and from there return to Istanbul via northern Anatolia.
Believe me, my love, had I a pair of wings and only my own desires to think of, I would fly home to your arms at the speed of an eagle. I am sorely tempted. But it is many months since my subjects in Mesopotamia have caught so much as a glimpse of their new emperor — the reincarnation of their hereditary caliph, once again the Defender of Mecca, Medina, and Baghdad, and, most important, the being to whom they must render fidelity and taxes. So you see why I feel it necessary to take advantage of this opportunity to make myself highly visible and not simply pass them by. But you have my pledge to be in your arms by the end of this triumphant year.
Be patient, my darling. Think not of the lonely months ahead but of the glorious future to follow.
I am, ever, your Sultan of Love.
Beneath the signature, an invisible encryption:
Aided by perseverance, fidelity, and patience, the goodwill of the gods can overcome what has been fated and transform what seemed to be the impossible into the possible.
From: Danilo del Medigo at Baghdad
To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace
Date: February 17, 1535
Dear Papa:
If you recall, the Sultan left me a few nights ago with the impression that he was more than pleased with my service. Then, tonight, he announced that he had a further reward for me. What is it? I wondered. Another gold-embroidered caftan? A permanent appointment to the Fourth Oda?
No, it was none of these. As a reward for my excellent service, he is sending me home by the short route across the Syrian wilderness, along with the heavy cannons and unused siege equipment. Also, he has given me an advance in rank to captain in the new Heavy Armament Brigade and a huge raise in pay. He and his Janissaries, his divan, and his treasure — and his Grand Vizier — will return via Tabriz and from there march home victorious across the top of Anatolia to Istanbul.
To hear the Sultan tell it, the idea of assigning me to the Heavy Armament Brigade is his own. But I hear the voice of Ibrahim Pasha in his words. And I do not doubt that it was the Grand Vizier who implanted this notion in the Padishah’s mind. As the Sultan tells it, he made a solemn commitment to you, when he invited me to join him as an interpreter, that I would not be gone for more than a year. Now that year is coming to an end. He has been made aware that I am deeply homesick and worried about my ill father. (And who do you suppose has made him aware?) And he has found a way to gratify my wishes by giving me this position in the Heavy Equipment Brigade, which will bring me home sooner than if I had continued as a member of his personal retinue. It will also put a stop to the growing warmth between us.
If that was his intention, the Grand Vizier may have outsmarted himself. By now, I am as pleased to see the end of this court as Ibrahim Pasha is to see the last of me. I no longer wish to study war. I no longer find any nobility in it, if ever there was. I thought that our enemy was Tahmasp and his Persians, who have danced on ahead of us burning everything behind them. But I have learned that our true enemies have been cold and hunger and geography, and weather and deceit and history.
The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi Page 36