by Mika Waltari
Suleiman and Ibrahim submitted to the will of Allah and no one was punished for the delay caused by the rain. As the army marched slowly onward, many perished in the swollen rivers despite all precautions. Numberless pack camels, having had enough of the miry roads, closed their eyes and nostrils and sank down beneath their load, never to rise again.
The summer was already far advanced, bright poppies flowered on the plains of Hungary, and I had had more than my fill of the willow thickets and bogs of our route, when at last at the head of the army we reached the banks of the still flooded Drava, by the town of Esseki. The Turkish garrison had long since given up hope of crossing it and had paid for their feeble efforts at bridge building with scores of drowned men, for the current tore away the mightiest timbers as if they were straws.
In the town of Esseki we met at last our great chief, Khosref-pasha. He stroked his beard and surveyed the swirling Drava thoughtfully. At length he said in submissive tones, “Allah is great. Allah is the one God and Mohammed is his Prophet, peace be with him. The Sultan can scarcely demand the impossible of me, since I married his cousin and am thus related to him by blood. But Ibrahim, Grand Vizier and Seraskier, is a ruthless man. I must therefore bid farewell to my gray beard. You, my dear children and sturdy builders, would be wise to make your peace with Allah.”
His men had formerly accompanied Selim the implacable on his many campaigns; they had built bridges over numberless rivers from Hungary to Egypt and by means of skillful sapping had reduced many fortified cities, including Belgrade and Rhodes. But even these veterans began weeping and tearing their beards as they cursed the Drava, the treacherous land of Hungary, King Ferdinand, and especially his brother, the Emperor of the unbelievers. But Sinan, having silently waited until the eldest among them had said their say, stepped forward and began, “Why, think you, did I cause thousands of camels and oxen to drag huge balks of timber from the hillsides of five countries to the banks of the Drava? Why have I sent the best smiths and carpenters to this miserable hole Esseki, on forced marches along unspeakable roads? As long ago as last winter detailed information was sent me at the Seraglio about the breadth of the Drava, the nature of its banks, and the strength of its current. Night and day I’ve wrestled with figures, that I might build a mighty bridge across this river. Shall all this have been in vain? No! I will not throw away my rule, compasses, and tables without at least attempting the great task.”
The master builders, who had a lifetime’s experience behind them, looked pityingly at the younger man and said, “Who is this Sinan, who gained his knowledge sitting on silken cushions in the Seraglio? The profoundest wisdom consists in submission to the will of Allah, and surely in this matter Allah has made his meaning plain.”
Sinan glanced at the broad river, at the timbers stacked on the bank, and at the rafts already built. Then falling on his knees he kissed the ground before Khosref-pasha and said, “I’m young, but I’ve listened to the wisdom of the foremost bridge builders of our time. I have read the works of the Greek strategists and studied the description of the bridge that Iskender the Great threw across the river Indus. Give me your hammer, noble Khosref-pasha, and in the sight of all raise me to the rank of your son. Then, despite all obstacles, I will bridge the Drava. Ride meanwhile to the Sultan and beg him for three days’ grace. He will need those three days himself to rest his troops. But I must ask for the help of all the thirty thousand janissaries.”
Khosref-pasha shook his head and for a long time he demurred. Yet there was something so persuasive in Sinan the Builder’s assurance that at length he gave in.
“Well, I will be a father to you,” he assented, “and share your disgrace if you fail. But I mean to share the honor also, if by the help of Allah and his angels you achieve the impossible. Take my hammer-and let all of you, my sons, obey young Sinan!”
He handed his jeweled and gold-hafted hammer to Sinan, laid a hand upon his shoulder and declared in the presence of many witnesses, “You are flesh of my flesh, my son Sinan the Builder.”
He then rapidly recited the first sura in confirmation, sent for his horse, and set forth with his suite to meet the Sultan.
I hardly know how to account for Sinan’s bold behavior unless it was that having been born in this region he knew the ways of Serbian rivers, or perhaps had reason to believe that the rainy spell was now at an end. Be that as it may, by next day the level of the water had fallen and Sinan sent thousands of men into the river to sink caissons and fill them with rocks, and to drive massive piles into the river bed at points carefully calculated and marked in his plans.
Each end of the bridge was strengthened by sturdy abutments to withstand any further floods, and work did not cease even at nightfall. Swarms of naked men waded through the dark waters by the light of torches and flares. Above the rushing of the torrent, the din of hammering and sawing could be heard in Esseki itself. Sinan the Builder took further advantage of his new authority by promising unheard-of sums to every man who hastened the work, and ordered the Marabouts to proclaim that all who drowned or were crushed by falling timbers or in any other way lost their lives should win direct to Paradise exactly as if they had fallen in battle against idolatrous unbelievers. Even the janissaries caught something of his dauntless energy, for unlike the experienced engineers they could form no clear idea of the magnitude of the task.
Sinan could not indeed complete the bridge by the third day, when the Sultan and Grand Vizier arrived with the main army, but he explained ingeniously that the three days he asked for were to be reckoned from the time the Sultan reached the banks of the Drava. And when the Sultan saw that despite seemingly insuperable difficulties the work was really going forward, he did not question this new interpretation. He and the Grand Vizier, plainly dressed and with pointed helmets on their heads, made their way to the scene of operations attended by a few green-clad tsaushes. In this way they could judge for themselves which men worked hardest and behaved most creditably in moments of danger. And although Khosref-pasha, who now began to suspect that Sinan might succeed, hastened to sit in the younger man’s tent, study his plans, and issue orders right and left as if he were the true leader of the enterprise, the Sultan was not deceived. It was Sinan alone whom he watched, with an expressionless face, though never once during the work did he speak to him.
At the last moment the camels came up and also a number of trained elephants, which so far as I could see were of great service. Between their great ears sat the Indian mahouts looking like little monkeys, and the clever, ponderous beasts obeyed their every sign, walking in single file into the river, groping for foothold, and catching one another by the tail to form a living breakwater for the laborers. On their gilded tusks they lifted timbers that not ten men could move, and carried them easily to the place where they were needed. But Sinan the Builder said, “Those animals are more trouble than they’re worth; they splash about and get in everybody’s way. However, they amuse the Sultan and the janissaries and keep my workmen in a good humor. But your brawny brother Andy is worth ten elephants to me.”
I noticed that Andy had risen high in rank among the builders and was wearing the turban of a bimbash. But unable to sustain his new dignity he toiled away ax in hand, ever ready to raise and bear on his shoulders a log that the efforts of many men had not availed to shift. His feats inspired awe and fear, yet he seemed to me to lack the qualities needful for a bimbash, or captain of a thousand. He found it difficult to direct the work of others and preferred to tackle all awkward tasks himself, to demonstrate how he thought they should be done. Having watched his foolish behavior for some time I could no longer keep silence, and for the sake of our long-standing friendship I went up to him and said, “It’s unseemly for a bimbash to behave like a peasant in front of his subordinates, and you shame others of your rank by appearing with a sooty face and tarry hands. You’ve broken your line plume, and no bimbash ought to roll up his sleeves until he draws his sword in battle.”
But Andy answered, “This work is only temporary, and it really hurt me to watch how these fumbling Moslems handle an ax. And then Sinan begged me on his knees to help, and he’s a good fellow, whose only fault is to let you loiter about and make silly remarks.”
On the sixth day the bridge was finished, and for four days and nights the army crossed it in an unbroken stream, while the cautious Sinan watched to see that no excessive strain was placed upon it. Sultan Suleiman called Khosref-pasha and Sinan to his tent on the first evening of that march, together with their immediate assistants. Andy had therefore to wash his hands and don a red kaftan that Khosref- pasha had given him. But at this moment of triumph Sinan lost all his self-assurance, and was disconcerted when the janissaries ran at his heels loudly singing his praises and clashing their ladles against their cooking pots. When we reached the gorgeous awning that shaded the entrance to the Sultan’s tent, Sinan turned in his agony to Khosref- pasha and asked him point blank, “Dear father! An adoptive son has the same right of inheritance as other sons, has he not? And you acknowledged me as your son before all the builders, confirming it with the first sura?”
Khosref-pasha, beside himself with delight, tenderly embraced Sinan and assured him that a foster son inherited from the foster father and vice versa. We then entered the tent and Khosref-pasha kept his arm fondly about Sinan’s shoulders, to show that he was ready to share the honors of the undertaking with his dear son. At Suleiman’s right hand, in garments sparkling with precious stones, stood the Grand Vizier. He praised our achievement with eloquence, and the Sultan himself addressed a few words to Khosref-pasha and Sinan the Builder, assuring them of his special favor. But outside the tent the janissaries beat ever more enthusiastically upon their cooking pots, and at last Sinan could contain himself no longer. Drawing a paper from his bosom he unfolded it with trembling hands and began to read aloud the rewards that he had promised the janissaries and builders. When he had finished he looked the Sultan straight in the eye and said, “Lord, as you hear, the bridge will cost two million, two hundred thousand aspers in gifts alone, but in this I do not include the cost of materials, transport, and manufacture, nor that of forging, stone cutting, and other minor expenses. But my dear father Khosref has pledged his fortune that my word may be kept, and for my part I gladly sacrifice the inheritance he has promised me, for lack of other property. If I may judge from the noise outside I fancy the janissaries are impatiently awaiting their reward, and I beseech you to pay them at once the two million, two hundred thousand aspers. My father and I will then make out a joint receipt for the sum. I shall do my utmost to redeem my share of this, provided you will entrust me with profitable building works in the future.”
Khosref-pasha, crimson in the face, thrust Sinan the Builder violently from him and shrieked, “It is true that I recited the first sura when I adopted him as my son, but he wormed himself into my confidence with false pretenses and I cannot answer with my whole fortune for a madman’s promise. On the contrary I shall have him beheaded immediately.”
He raised his hand to smite his son Sinan, in the very presence of the Sultan, but fortunately he could not accomplish this disgraceful act, for at that moment a blood vessel burst in his brain and he sank powerless to the ground.
This lamentable incident was certainly our salvation, for it gave the Sultan time to recover from his amazement; the smoke-colored face regained its customary composure. Ibrahim had been anxiously watching his expression, but Suleiman lived up to his reputation for nobility and said only, “My small change seems likely to be exhausted before we reach even Buda. But we must give thanks to Allah that Sinan did not promise the janissaries the moon from heaven.”
Grand Vizier Ibrahim laughed quickly, and we all joined in as heartily as we might until even the Sultan smiled. Only Sinan the Builder was grave. The Sultan then ordered the Defterdar to distribute the rewards according to Sinan’s memorandum. He bestowed upon Sinan a splendid purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, while lesser sums were given to his assistants. I contrived to stand in so prominent a position as to receive ten gold pieces for my services as bridge builder, while Andy was given a new plume set in a jeweled clasp to replace his broken one, also a hundred gold pieces.
The highest reward went however to Khosref-pasha, for his discrimination-as the Sultan rightly said-in choosing the best man for the work. And Sinan was content that it should be so. But for a long time afterward, Khosref spoke thickly and gave orders by nods and signs, which Sinan interpreted as best suited him.
Once over the bridge the army divided and marched away by different routes toward the great plains of Mohacs, where Janos Zapolya, the ruler-elect of the Hungarian people, was to bring his forces to swell the Sultan’s army. Sinan and I traveled in our horse litter along the Danube, above whose rapids nearly eight hundred vessels had been assembled to carry guns, ammunition, forage, and provisions up the river; we moved level with these transports.
After many days’ journeying through thicket and swamp we came at last to that melancholy battlefield where three years ago the fate of Hungary had been sealed. But in fact it had been determined long before, when the King of France begged the Sultan’s help against the Emperor. The Most Christian King’s alliance with the Moslem ruler was a more decisive factor than any battle. Poppies were already waving above the burial mounds: a reminder-to me, at least-of the vain sacrifices resulting from Christian disunity.
As Sinan and I were borne over these ghosdy plains we were overwhelmed by a sense of the pettiness of human life and the vanity of statecraft. Beneath our feet lay bones washed bare by torrential rains. Nothing distinguished Hungarian skulls from Turkish. Both gazed with blank eye sockets at a blank universe. The warriors lay among cannon balls and battered shields, their broken swords still in their skeleton hands, their only visible memorial the alien, Oriental flowers that blossomed about them. The seeds of these had fallen from Turkish wagons or mingled with the blood-soaked soil in the droppings of horses and camels, and at the sight of the thorny, broad-leaved plants with their blue flowers I was overcome with melancholy and cried, “Hail, field of Mohacs! Europe’s grave, memorial to Western statesmanship! Your bleached skulls bear witness of a continent that tore itself to tatters, as a maniac rends his own body. Bitterly do they tell of the princes of the West, who wrought one another’s destruction by treachery while night fell over Europe, and the crescent of Islam shone in menace from the East. Mohacs! Dark token of the decline of the West; bright promise also of a future when men shall not be required to give their lives for other men’s blind lust for power, and when East and West shall be ruled by the same just ruler, in the name of the Compassionate! His law will bind rich and poor alike and none shall persecute, strangle, burn, or torture another for his faith. People will live in concord within the pale of wise government and be free to practice their religion without making war. This is what we must achieve, and quickly, or there is no meaning in the world and no reason for living.”
In this highflown manner did I apostrophize the whitened bones of Mohacs. But then an unspeakable anguish seized me as I remembered the glorious cathedrals and smiling cities of Christendom, from whose steeples the hoarse voice of the muezzins might soon be calling the faithful to prayer. My blood, the faith in which I had been bred, and the memory of my forefathers bound me to the nations of the West which by their divisions had dug their own grave. Yet I was severed from the fallen Mohacs by my desire to live, even in changed conditions; I felt no urge to die for a faith that had doomed itself.
At that moment we heard the thunder of many hoofs, and the wind bore to us the clashing music of the janissaries’ drums and cymbals; life itself seemed on the march toward this field of death. Sultan Suleiman was proceeding to the scene of his greatest victory, and though in general his troops marched as silently as shadows, on this day the Sultan allowed the bands to play and the banners to fly before he called a halt for the night. With this martial music ringing in our ears we perc
eived the futility of our reflections, and hurried to our tent on the banks of the river.
Like magic the mighty camp sprang up on the desolate plain. Each man knew what he had to do, and soon the janissaries were seated in their groups of ten about the cooking pots and crackling fires. The Sultan’s pavilion with its awning stood on the highest knoll whose slopes were covered, as with a living carpet, by the bodyguard. The duty of these men was to sleep on the bare ground about Suleiman’s tent, with their bows beside them. While herdsmen watered the camels and oxen at the river and mowers cut hay for the spahis’ horses, Grand Vizier Ibrahim, attended by a brilliant retinue, rode forward to meet King Zapolya.
Next morning when we had washed ourselves and said the morning prayer, I met Master Gritti, who was evidently suffering from the effects of a carouse. He hastened to embrace me and said, “For the love of God, Master Carvajal, tell me where in this accursed camp a keg of refreshing wine may be had! Later today I have to accompany King Janos to the Sultan, lest he forget the Hungarian bishopric he promised me.”
I was far from pleased to see this licentious and scheming man, but common humanity required me to help him. Just then Andy, who had spent the night inspecting his cannon aboard the newly arrived rafts, came up to us and I asked his advice. After some deliberation he went to borrow a couple of horses for Master Gritti and myself to ride, and walked beside us to the camp of the Christian akindshas half a mile away. Unlike the Moslems they were filthy in their habits, and had befouled a lovely grove of beeches with their garbage and ordure. Janissary patrols, far from inspecting this camp, kept as far away as possible. In return for Master Gritti’s gold the ruffianly akindshas dug up a cask of excellent Tokay that they had buried and eagerly invited him to quench his thirst.
