by Mika Waltari
What most surprised me, however, was their consideration for the peasants. They neither struck them nor stole their cattle nor tore down their dwellings for firewood. They never set fire to their ricks or molested their women, as was the custom among Christian soldiery. In the civilized states of Europe the right to do these things was considered the lawful perquisite of every mercenary, and bitterly though the victims complained, they accepted it as they accepted floods, earthquakes, or any other scourge of nature. But my onbash paid for all food and forage in pure silver at rates laid down by the Seraskier, and told me that any janissary who stole so much as a chicken or trampled the smallest patch of corn within the Ottoman borders would be hanged. So lovingly did the Sultan care for his subjects.
The reader must not wonder at my asking what satisfaction a poor soldier could find in an expedition where these innocent and well- deserved enjoyments were forbidden. But the onbash reassured me, explaining that all would change as soon as we set foot in the countries of the unbeliever. There a man could rob and pillage to his heart’s content and commit what deeds of violence he chose, for such was pleasing to Allah. The onbash hoped that he and his men would richly compensate themselves for the privations of the march through the Sultan’s domains.
The swollen rivers were very difficult to ford, and peasants told me that no man living remembered a rainier spring. Floods submerged their fields, prevented spring sowing, and threatened the whole land with famine. Their words depressed me, but the onbash smiled sourly and said he had never known a peasant to appear satisfied with the weather. It was too hot, too cold, it rained too much or too little, and not even Allah could gratify his every wish, though by this the onbash would not be thought to cast doubts upon Allah’s omnipotence.
When at last we drew near Philippopolis and I saw the plain by the brimming river covered with a huge encampment, I cried out in amazement and said, “I’ve beheld many wonders in this world, but never so vast a camp as this. I could wager there are at least a hundred thousand men gathered here, and as many animals.”
The onbash replied that there might well be a hundred and fifty thousand armed men on the plain. To these would be added about twenty thousand janissaries under the Sultan’s own command, besides the Tartar auxiliaries and the akindshas who would join us at the frontier. I was greatly consoled, and with real pleasure alighted from my spiteful and untrustworthy camel at the gates of Philippopolis. Once or twice the treacherous beast had flung me basket and all into the mud. Camels were meant for the scorching desert and are distressed by cold air and constant rain. Marshy ground gives them no proper foothold, and my mount stumbled so often and so badly that her gangling legs straddled in all directions and it was a marvel that she was not torn in two. I resolved at any cost to find myself a horse in Philippopolis.
This huddle of narrow streets may once have been a pleasant riverside town, but when I arrived there it was packed with troops. The damp houses and miry streets emitted a terrible stench and the place seethed with angry men. After a great deal of trouble I was shown at last to the house of a Greek merchant where I found a mob of clerks, map makers, officers, messengers, idlers, peddlers, Jews, gypsies, and even a runaway monk who had wandered barefoot through Hungary that winter to serve the Sultan’s cause.
When I reported to the Aga of the Scouts, this much-tried man cursed and declared he could not find a crib for every donkey that the Sultan was pleased to send him. Nevertheless he bade me study the maps of Hungary and make a list of the wells and grazing grounds marked upon them, so that if need arose I could gather more detailed information by interrogating prisoners. I might billet myself where I could find room, for-as he added drily-he could always reach me through the paymaster, whom I would be sure to visit.
This unfriendly reception sobered me, but after my all too rosy expectations it was wholesome, and inclined me to humility and patience. I put a good face on it, therefore, and returned to my janissaries who had pitched their tents on the riverbank. I could not even be rid of my camel, since no one was so foolish as to give me a horse in exchange.
We were now in the month of May, and one night as I lay shivering in my wet clothes the river burst its banks. The wildest confusion arose in the rainy darkness, and I had only the alertness of my janissaries to thank for being still alive at dawn when I found myself high up in a tree, lashed to a sturdy bough. Below us the yellow waters eddied and swirled, carrying with them drowned men and beasts and all manner of stores. I was still dazed with sleep, my teeth chattered, and my stomach cried out for food. At first I felt no gratitude for my rescue, but mourned the loss of my tent, my clothes and weapons, and even my unserviceable camel, which had perished. But at dawn the onbash and the six janissaries whom his presence of mind had saved praised Allah and performed their devotions as best they might in so comfortless a situation. The onbash assured us that our wetting in the floods equaled a complete ablution and that Allah, taking our plight into account, would pardon our imperfect prostrations. The prayers of these men, so singularly performed in the tree top, gave true expression to their thankfulness, yet I, weighed down by my losses, could not feel reverence at so fantastic a sight. As the light grew, however, and revealed the desolation of that flooded plain where lately so huge a camp had stood, I realized the wonder of my preservation and the good reason I had to send up a sigh of thanksgiving.
Here and there clumps of trees rose out of the waters, with survivors hanging in them like clusters of grapes. Other men, shrieking in terror, clung to drifting roofs, to troughs, and even to the carcasses of drowned animals, and besought us in Allah’s name to throw them a rope’s end. But our tree could carry no more, and we needed all the ropes to keep us from falling in ourselves. Three days and nights we stayed there and would no doubt have succumbed had we not been able to cut pieces of flesh from the carcass of a donkey that lodged among the lower boughs.
I had begun to lose all hope of rescue when a flat-bottomed river boat came in sight, punted along by several men and constantly running aground on its voyage from tree to tree to pick up survivors. As it drew near we shouted and waved until the man in command brought it alongside and ordered us to jump down. My fingers were too stiff to loosen the knots in my rope and so I cut it, and tumbled headfirst into the boat; no doubt I should have broken my neck had not the man in charge caught me in his arms. His broad face and indeed the whole of him was plastered with yellow mud, and as he looked at me he cried in astonishment, “Is it you, brother Michael? What can you be doing here? Has Piri-reis sent you to chart these new Turkish waters?”
“Dear heaven, it’s Andy!” I exclaimed. “But where are your guns?”
“Safe under these swirling waters; and as the powder has become somewhat damp they’d be of little use to me just now. From this we see how equitably fate orders our affairs. But you’re in luck, for I’ve orders to bring you straight to the Sultan who will pay you compensation for your wetting. Others wiser and more prudent than you, who ran uphill in good time out of reach of the floods, win no prizes.
I wonder what can be the object of rewarding stupidity and punishing good sense?”
When we had taken so many men aboard that our gunwale was almost level with the water, he began to punt his way back, and was by now so familiar with the channels that he was able to avoid shipwreck on the ruins of houses, and other reefs. Soon we reached the foot of a slope where helpful hands dragged us ashore, rubbed our numbed limbs, and poured warm milk down our throats. We were then led to the top of the hill where stood Sultan Suleiman and Ser- askier Ibrahim, gorgeously arrayed and surrounded by bowmen. At their command the Defterdar paid immediate compensation to every man saved. Janissaries received nine aspers each, onbashes eighteen, and I, having produced my written orders from the Aga of Janissaries, was given no less than ninety aspers. I hardly knew if I was awake or dreaming, for how had we deserved thanks by being caught in the floods? But the onbash loudly praised the Sultan and explained, “Janissaries
have a traditional right to compensation for a wetting. If while marching with the Sultan we wade through water to the knees we’re given an extra day’s pay. If it reaches the waist, double. And if we’re lucky enough to go in up to the neck in his service we get three days’ pay. Therefore the Sultan does his best to avoid pools and streams, but he could hardly be expected to allow for the flooding of the Maritsa. I hope not too many were rescued, however, or funds will give out before we reach even Buda.”
The sun shone. After the three days’ fast the milk felt warm in my stomach and the good silver coins were agreeably heavy. Neither the Sultan nor the Grand Vizier appeared discouraged at the losses sustained by the army; on the contrary they laughed aloud and gaily welcomed the groups of survivors that were still coming ashore. Yet their seeming cheerfulness was but a custom, to encourage the troops after any reverse; and a good custom it was, for no sooner had I taken my money than I too began to make little of the sufferings I had undergone. Three pillars had been set up on the hillside, on each of which a head had been placed. Some of the rescued men amused themselves by pulling the beards of these; for they were the heads of three pashas whom the Seraskier held responsible for choosing the camping place and whom he beheaded, to propitiate the Sultan and to keep his favor.
My guide brushed the mud from his kaftan and told me to fetch the new clothes that the Sultan had promised me, and then go to the road builders’ tent to await further orders from the Grand Vizier. But Andy turned his steps resolutely toward the field kitchens and I was compelled to go with him, for he had me by the arm. The cooks were easily identified by their white aprons and caps, and Andy addressed them respectfully, saying that he felt a little hungry; but they bade him join his father in the nethermost pit. Resenting this, Andy first assured himself that the broth in one of the cauldrons was not yet scalding, then seized the nearest cook by the ears and plunged his head into it. Next, lifting him out and holding him high in the air he said mildly, “Perhaps another time you’ll treat a grown man like a man and not like a naughty boy.”
The cooks raised a great outcry and brandished their carving knifes, but as Andy still stood firm and massive as a block of granite, pointing first to his mouth and then to his belly, they came like wise men to the conclusion that they would most easily be rid of him by giving him the food he asked for.
We sat down to eat, and Andy so gorged himself that afterward he could hardly move. He made a few feeble attempts and then stretched himself on his back; I, exhausted by three days and nights of exposure, laid my head on his stomach and fell into the deepest sleep of my whole life.
I fancy I must have slept the clock round, for when aroused at last by a great need to make water, I had no idea where I was and thought I had been carried on board a rolling vessel. But on raising my head I found myself comfortably reclining in a litter borne by four horses. Beside me on a down cushion sat a youngish, thoughtful-looking man who, seeing me awake, laid aside the book he was studying and greeted me kindly, saying, “Guardian angels have watched over you and shielded you from evil. Have no fear, for you’re in good hands. I am Sinan the Builder, one of those in charge of the Sultan’s road makers. You’re appointed to be my interpreter in the Christian lands, which, if Allah so wills, we are to conquer.”
I noted that I had been dressed in new clothes, but having hurriedly assured myself that I still had my purse I could think of nothing but my immediate need, and said, “Let us leave all phrase making, O Sinan the Builder, and order your men to rein in the horses, lest I wet your valuable cushions.”
Sinan the Builder, who had been brought up in the Seraglio, was not at all offended. Raising the cover of a round hole in the floor he said, “In such matters slave and monarch are equal. May it remind us that on the Last Day the Compassionate will make no distinction between high and low.”
In other circumstances I might better have appreciated this tactful speech, but now I could not spare the time to listen. Having eased myself, however, I turned to him again to find him regarding me with a frown, and I begged him to forgive my unseemly conduct. He said, “I don’t complain of your conduct, but because of your great haste I had no time to turn away my head and so observed to my horror that you’re uncircumcised. Can you be a Christian spy?”
Dismayed at the result of my negligence I greeted him hurriedly in the name of the Compassionate, professed my faith in Allah the one God and in Mohammed his Prophet, and recited the first sura to prove myself a true believer. I added, “I have submitted to the will of Allah and taken the turban, but a strange destiny has tossed me hither and thither and allowed me neither time nor opportunity to undergo that unpleasant operation. I will gladly tell you my story and so convince you of my sincerity, but must beg you not to betray the omission to others, for it may be the will of Allah that I should serve the Sultan and the Grand Vizier as I am.”
He answered smiling, “We have a long journey before us, and I enjoy instructive stories, but your words are too glib to be true. However, if the Grand Vizier knows your secret I have no reason to mistrust you.”
Slightly more composed I replied, “The Grand Vizier knows me and all about me, though he must have more important things to think of than the circumcision of a slave.”
“I’m no bigot,” he rejoined, “and won’t conceal from you that I too have a secret sin; then neither of us need feel superior to the other.”
He brought out a beautifully painted little keg and filled two mugs, handing one to me. I gladly swallowed the wine, believing that the burden of my sin would not be gravely increased thereby. I had often broken this rule before, and many interpreters of the law were of the opinion that repetition of a sin was no aggravation-that on the Last Day a hardened toper would receive no worse punishment than he who drank for the first time, knowing it to be sinful. We preserved polite silence in that swaying litter, and in the shade of its awning enjoyed the glow that coursed through our veins and to our eyes enhanced the colors of the landscape. At length I said, “I feel no concern for the morrow. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof and everything that comes to pass is in accordance with the will of Allah. It’s from mere human curiosity that I now ask you whither we’re bound?”
Sinan the Builder answered readily, “We’re to cross the rivers of Serbia, my native land, and must hasten, for tomorrow the janissaries will march and after them the spahis, and for every day’s delay on the timetable my chief, the road makers’ pasha, must lose an inch of his beard. When his beard has gone, his head must follow. Therefore he is liberal with punishments among his subordinates. Pray that the sun may shine and the wind may dry the roads, for a single shower might shorten many men by a head.”
I now had nothing to complain of. We traveled in swift comfort by night and day, and at fixed stages along our route fresh horses were in readiness, and food, and relays of akindshas to guide us. When any hitch occurred, Sinan the Builder had the culprits flogged without mercy. I pitied these poor men and chided Sinan for his sternness, but he replied, “I myself am an unassuming man, but an important task has been assigned to me and it would be foolish to tire myself needlessly or go hungry. I must conserve all my strength for work which I alone among all these men can do. Our greatest obstacle will be the river Drava, which now lies straight ahead of us. Hitherto, whenever spring floods have swept away the bridges there, not the devil himself has been able to build new ones until late in the summer. Yet I must build one now.”
We did not make straight for our goal, however, but in obedience to orders brought by express messengers made one detour after another. Sinan the Builder marked the altered routes on his maps and sent his men ahead to mark the fords and throw booms across them as a measure of safety for those who lost their footing in the current. His courage was beyond question, for he never relied entirely on the scouts’ reports, but waded out into the icy water himself, staff in hand, to test the bottom and direct the placing of stones where it was soft. Several times the current swept h
im off his feet and he had to be hauled ashore by a lifeline.
On reaching the Sava River he sent his men in their thousands to the woods to fell trees, or to the riverside to saw planks; wherever he appeared order and discipline took the place of chaos. But once again the heavens opened and floodwaters scoured away his works as if they had been spiders’ webs. Rain fell in torrents from leaden skies, and when Sinan the Builder saw the river grow to a thundering cataract he calmed himself, sent his men to shelter, and ordered the slaughter of many sheep and heifers, saying, “Eat, drink, and rest until the rain stops, for nothing happens contrary to the will of Allah and the Sultan can hardly be in a greater hurry than the Merciful and Compassionate. Though the delay should cost me my head, I rejoice, for that head aches with figures and plans, and I cannot sleep at night for thinking of the bridge I must throw across the river Drava when we reach it.”
Sinan the resolute, who had spared neither himself nor his men, now burst into tears of exhaustion. I put him to bed in the ferryman’s hut and gave him hot wine to drink, so that he slept at last. In his sleep he babbled of a great mosque that he would build, whose like the world had never seen.
For five days the rain came down in sheets, and with my friend Sinan I suffered all the agonies of delay, pacing back and forth over the floor of the little hut. At any moment the army might march up to the riverbank, when the Grand Vizier would have our heads cut off and thrown into the river. Yet my fears were groundless, for not even Khosref, the road makers’ pasha, appeared. At last a soaked and mud- bespattered messenger reached us through the downpour to report that the whole army was fast in a bog and that the Sultan had called a halt until the rain stopped. The messenger was so exhausted that he had thrown away his ax. His bell was choked with mud and he lacked strength even to sprinkle perfume from his flask, but sank to the ground proclaiming that Allah was one and indivisible and Mohammed was his Prophet. Blood then poured from his mouth, for he had run for many days and nights through drenching rain and along slippery bypaths, and his strength was at an end, although under normal conditions these runners could cover the distance between Istanbul and Adrianople in a single day.
