The Wanderer

by Mika Waltari

  “In him,” the letter ran, “we have at last found a true seaman worthy of the highest honors, whom you may appoint without misgivings as pasha, member of the Divan, and admiral of the fleet.”

  The Grand Vizier sent me a copy of this letter and added, “Khaireddin is at heart even more childish than I thought, however bold and cunning he may be at sea. Honors go to his head like incense, for he cannot forget his low birth. He is won by flattery-the grosser the better-and this makes him an easy prey to the intrigues of the Seraglio. Therefore I have thought it best to load him with as many honors as possible, that there may be nothing left for others to tempt him with. I believe also that because of his childish nature he is relatively honest; nevertheless keep a sharp eye on him and let me know at once if he should show the least sign of treachery to me or to the Sultan. Africa is Khaireddin’s weak spot; we must support his enterprises in Tunisia lest the Emperor tempt him with it. Tunis can also serve as a good base for our conquest of Sicily.”

  Regardless of my warnings, Khaireddin puffed himself up like a frog and prepared a long speech to the Sultan, to be delivered before the Divan. On receiving Ibrahim’s letter the Sultan hesitated no longer; indeed, I believe he was overjoyed that for once his beloved Khurrem and Ibrahim were agreed, and he lost no time in calling the Divan. At this assembly he presented Khaireddin with a sword whose hilt and scabbard sparkled with countless diamonds, and he conferred upon him the Vizier’s standard of three horsehair switches and the title of Kapudan-pasha of the navy, with unlimited powers at sea. This represented something very different from the authority vested in senior Venetian officers, for example. The eyes of the Signoria were ever upon these men and their powers were limited by the sealed orders issued to them beforehand to cover different situations. But the Sultan nominated Khaireddin independent governor of all his ports and islands, with supreme command of all vessels and their captains. In naval matters he was subordinate to none but the Sultan, and at meetings of the Divan he took his place beside the Sultan’s viziers. Thus the erstwhile potter was elevated at a stroke to rank with the four or five most eminent men in the Ottoman Empire.

  In acknowledgment of these unprecedented honors, Khaireddin delivered a voluble and bombastic address in a voice with which he was used to make himself heard above the roar of the elements, until some of the eunuchs cast anxious glances upward, fearing the collapse of the starry roof. He brought the speech to an end with the following words: “In short, I mean to inflict as much damage as I may upon the unbelievers and carry the Crescent to honor and victory upon the seas. First I shall overwhelm, destroy, annihilate, and sink the idolater Doria, who is my personal enemy. Let me conquer Tunis as I have so often besought you, and thereby gain an important base for the fleet. For centuries the caravan routes from the Negro lands beyond the desert have converged upon this city, and I shall be able to send you and your harem an abundance of gold dust and ostrich feathers. But dominion of the seas is naturally my chief aim. And believe me, O Commander of the Faithful, he who rules the sea soon comes to rule the lands about that sea!”

  I have quoted this much of his address to show how irresponsible, childish, and rash was Khaireddin’s conduct in the Seraglio. Little did he know of the ways of the Divan when he thus trumpeted abroad his private schemes. A whisper in the Divan quickly arrived at every court in Europe, and no earthly power could prevent it even when, according to ancient Ottoman tradition, the Divan was held on horseback to discuss questions of peace and war. Yet strange as it may seem, once at sea Khaireddin outdid all his rivals in cunning, and because of his notorious guile the Imperial envoys would not believe that his main objective was indeed Tunis. They laughed at him up their sleeves for fancying he could delude them. The Knights of St. John were convinced that he intended the capture of Malta, while others believed that Rome itself or Cartagena was in his mind.

  Yet however ludicrous Khaireddin’s behavior in the Divan, it must be stressed that in seafaring matters he had no equal. No sooner had the horsetail switches been bestowed than he rolled up the sleeves of his kaftan of honor and started a great turnout of the arsenal. Many useless heads ended under the archway of the Gate of Peace, and to replace various Seraglio-trained striplings in silken kaftans Khaireddin appointed seasoned renegades. He laid down the keels of new war galleys and reorganized the distribution of sea pashas among the islands and along the coasts, so as to bring back capable men to arsenal and ships.

  The spring cleaning of the arsenal stirred up the same conflicts that had cost Andy his plume, though this time the roles were reversed. Having now encountered the terrifying carrack of the Knights of St. John, the old sea pashas at last showed an inclination to move with the times and demanded larger craft to carry heavier armaments. But although Khaireddin fully appreciated the firing powers of these great Christian vessels, yet he considered them too slow in maneuvering and, as an experienced pirate, attached far more importance to speed and mobility than to size.

  It was now Khaireddin’s business, through my mediation, to be reconciled with Chief Pilot Piri-reis, whom he had so deeply wounded by his contemptuous behavior, for notwithstanding his sneers he had the greatest respect for the famous book of charts and valued the old man’s advice more than he would admit. They debated long together as to the respective merits of large and small vessels, but whereas Piri- reis spoke in favor of the former, Khaireddin remained unconvinced and preferred to act upon his own experience.

  After the spring rains the Grand Vizier began the march from Aleppo to Persia at the head of his magnificent army, and at once the Sultan was seized with a great restlessness. Fresh winds were blowing, and the stuffy air of the Seraglio so irked him that despite all tenderly whispered dissuasion he was minded to set out in time to lead the forthcoming campaign.

  Meanwhile Khaireddin hoisted sail and the greatest and best-appointed fleet ever seen off Istanbul stood out to sea. Andy sailed with him in the flagship as master gunner, Abu el-Kasim embarked also, while I remained behind to spread helpful rumors as to Khaireddin’s real intentions. I succeeded best with the story that he was bound for Genoa, to recapture that city on behalf of the French King, for everyone knew what a triumph it would be for him to swoop on Doria’s very aerie. This attempt of mine to keep Doria within the shelter of his city succeeded beyond all hope, and I was thus of far greater service to Khaireddin than if I had gone to sea with him as his adviser.

  The Sultan had much to attend to before setting forth to war, including the imprisonment of Rashid ben-Hafs, Prince of Tunis, which was so secretly effected that Khaireddin’s own officers believed the Prince had sailed with them and was merely staying below decks because of the rolling seas. But undoubtedly the most important step taken by Suleiman was the appointment of Prince Mustafa as Governor of Anatolia. The Prince was now fifteen years old and had ruled as sanjak over a district; this new appointment finally confirmed the Sultan’s choice of Mustafa as his lawful heir, though many had been led by Sultana Khurrem’s ever increasing influence to doubt this. Pious Moslems, dazzled by the incomparable splendor of their military and naval forces, were persuaded that the great age of Islam had dawned. Only Sultana Khurrem was silent.

  One day toward the end of summer, I was crossing the janissaries’ deserted courtyard, with my perfumed handkerchief to my nose because of the stench of severed heads from the vaults of the Gateway of Peace, when a limping onbash came up to me, struck me roughly on the shoulder with his cane, and having made sure of my name announced that he had orders to arrest me-to throw me in chains and confine me in the Fort of the Seven Towers.

  I shouted aloud for help and insisted that there must be some terrible mistake, since I had nothing to hide and all my actions could bear the light of day. But the onbash silenced me with a blow across the mouth, and before I was fully aware of what was happening he had taken me to the smith, who riveted shackles about my ankles and held out a sooty hand-I must reward him for neither burning me nor breaking my bones
. A sack was drawn over my head lest any in the street should recognize me. I was lifted onto a donkey and led the long way from the Seraglio to the Fort of the Seven Towers.

  The constable, a thin-lipped eunuch, received me in person, for my rank and position were well known. He made me undress, searched and removed my clothes, giving me a worn camlet kaftan, and asked me politely whether I would have a cook of my own or be content with prison fare, which would cost me only two aspers a day. This sudden stunning blow of fate had so clouded my understanding that in a faint voice I declared myself satisfied to eat the same food as other prisoners. I was resolved to mortify my flesh and pass my time in pious meditation after my life of luxury in the Sultan’s service.

  I bade the eunuch take from my purse a sum befitting his rank and dignity, and hoped that in return he would inform my unfortunate wife as to where I was and what had happened. But he shook his head and told me that this was out of the question, since all state prisoners must be kept as completely cut off from the outer world as if they dwelt in the moon.

  This eunuch showed me the greatest consideration and respect, and even exerted himself to climb with me up the steep stairs to show me the view from the marble pinnacles of the Golden Gate. At the same time I had the opportunity of observing the measures taken to defend the fort against assailants, and I believe that the walls alone that linked one tower with the next were enough to sever us from the outer world.

  In the square marble tower of the Golden Gate he showed me bricked-up, windowless vaults into which food was passed through an opening the width of a hand. These were designed for the highest princes of Osman’s line and for viziers and members of the Divan, whose rank did not permit them to be shackled. With pardonable pride he pointed to one wall and told me that not even the oldest warder knew who lived behind it, and the prisoner himself could not tell him, as his tongue had been cut out on his arrest many, many years ago. He then showed me the deep hole through which corpses were thrown into the moat and thence carried away into the Marmara. For my further entertainment he pointed out the bloodstained block where executions by the sword took place. Above a long-since bricked- up gateway a faded gold inscription in Greek letters could still be seen, surmounted by the two-headed eagle of the Byzantine emperors. Of this only the heads had been hewn away, to spare the feelings of pious Moslems.

  At length, with many apologies, he showed me my own accommodation-a roomy stone cell with windows looking out over the courtyard. I might wander freely about this court and eat if I chose beside the wooden cookhouse.

  He left me to my misery, and for three days and nights I lay on the hard wooden bench in my cell, without appetite or desire for company. Desperately I puzzled over the reason for my arrest, and indeed wondered that anyone had dared to order it, since to judge from Ibrahim’s letters I still enjoyed his favor. I passed all my actions in review, and even my secret thoughts, but without finding anything to justify my plight. Yet the more earnestly a man broods over possible guilt, the guiltier he feels. After three days and nights of self-examination I was so keenly aware that at least in my heart I had broken many laws, both of the Prophet and of man, that I was left like a guttering candle, and felt of all outcasts the most wretched.

  On the third day the duty onbash came to me with a bundle of clothes, my old copper pen case, and a letter from Giulia. She hinted obscurely that I had only myself and my ingratitude to thank for my hard fate. “Never should I have thought that you would deceive me so,” she wrote. “If you had revealed your base scheme to me I could at least have warned you. And now, but for my tears and prayers, your head would have been cut off and your body thrown into the pit. I can do no more for you; you have made your bed and must lie on it, thankless Michael. I can never forgive your conduct, for soon I shall be forced to pawn my jewels to meet household expenses.”

  Her incomprehensible letter put me altogether beside myself. I rushed to the eunuch, burst into passionate reproaches, and ended, “I can bear this uncertainty no longer-I am going out of my mind. What am I accused of, that I may at least defend myself? When the Grand Vizier returns he will inflict terrible punishment on everyone who has dared to lay a hand on me. Have my irons struck off, my good man, and release me at once from this prison, or even you may lose your head.”

  The eunuch was annoyed at being disturbed in his exacting work of casting accounts. Yet as became a man trained in the Seraglio he kept his temper and answered pleasantly, “Ah, Michael el-Hakim, in five or ten years when you are a little more composed we will discuss the question again. Very few state prisoners know what they’re accused of, for the essence of the punishment decreed by the Sultan in his wisdom lies in that very torment of uncertainty. Not one of our distinguished guests knows whether he will remain here a week, a year, or his whole life. At any hour of the day or night the deaf-mutes may come and lead you to the brink of the pit; at any hour the gates of the prison may open before you and release you once more into the world of men, to attain perhaps to even higher distinctions than before. You would be wise to devote this favorable time to mystic contemplation, until like the dervishes you come to understand that in the eyes of Allah all is illusion, whether it be imprisonment or freedom, wealth or poverty, power or serfdom. Therefore I shall be happy to lend you the Koran.”

  But it was easier to discuss these things in the sweatroom of the bathhouse than behind the iron bars of a prison. I lost all control of myself and began to stamp and shriek until he was compelled to have me seized by janissaries and caned on the soles of my feet. My fury soon dissolved into tears of pain, and the janissaries held me under the arms and half-carried me back to my cell, where they touched brow and floor with their finger tips to convey their continued good will and respect. The swelling and agony of my feet distracted my thoughts, as the wise eunuch had intended, and so in time I composed myself and began to live each day as it came. My one hope was that when the Grand Vizier returned from Persia he would miss me and, Seraglio intrigues notwithstanding, discover my whereabouts.

  The five daily prayers and ablutions helped to pass the time, and having nothing else to do I diligently studied the Koran. I also took the friendly eunuch’s advice and performed the breathing exercises of the dervishes, and fasted now and then. But I soon found my faith too weak for me to attain the state of supreme rapture extolled by Marabouts and holy dervishes.

  At last, therefore, I abandoned these exercises and was content to maintain my body in good health and to eat with appetite. All day long I strolled about the courtyard while flocks of migrating birds swept with a rush of wings overhead against the turquoise sky of autumn. In this way I came to know my fellow captives, among whom were many eminent Mussulmans and also Christians who were of value to the Sultan for the exchange of prisoners. They idled the days away lying on the grass about the cookhouse, though some of the more industrious busied themselves with carving tallies of the days of their imprisonment, and proverbs, on the smooth stones at the base of the towers. Twice I met Rashid, the Prince of Tunis, and heard him revile Khaireddin and Sultan Suleiman for their dastardly betrayal.

  Weeks passed, the acacias in the courtyard shed their leaves, the days grew chilly, and I wearied of the company of my fellows. I was consumed with yearning for my beautiful house on the shores of the Bosphorus, and could imagine nothing more desirable than to recline on a soft cushion on the terrace as dusk fell over the waters and one by one the stars came out. I longed to see again my red and gold fish, to hold my little daughter Mirmah by the hand and guide her steps as she struggled toward the faithful Alberto’s embrace. I wasted away with longing and believed myself abandoned by everyone.

  One clear autumn day as I stood on top of the marble tower I looked across the misty blue sea and beheld sails, pennants, and silver crescents, and like an echo from another world I heard the boom of cannon from Seraglio Point. The turrets of the Gateway of Peace shimmered dreamlike in the distance, while at my feet the billowing landscape, sprinkled wit
h white tombstones, glowed golden in the clear autumn air. A dusty, chalk-white road wound its way among the hills and vanished in the distance.

  The freedom, the beauty of the scene cut me to the heart, and I was sorely tempted to hurl myself down from the giddy height of the tower and find release from this world’s vanity, suffering, and hope.

  Well that I did not, for that day brought an unexpected turn in my fortunes. At dusk three deaf-mutes came to the prison. With dragging steps they crossed the courtyard to the marble tower on the side nearest the sea, where the death pit was. Here in silence they strangled Prince Rashid and cast his lecherous body into the hole, from which incident I concluded that Khaireddin had captured Tunis and so had no further use for Rashid ben-Hafs.

  Like all the other prisoners I was aghast at the arrival of these deaf- mutes. Of the three I recognized at once the ashen-faced, cruel Negro who used to visit Abu el-Kasim’s slave. As he crossed the courtyard he gave me an expressionless look, but with his fingers he made a reassuring sign to show that I was not altogether forgotten.

  This greeting was the first message I had had from the outer world since Giulia’s letter, and I was seized by so feverish an agitation that I could not sleep that night. On the third day after the deaf-mutes’ appearance I was summoned by the eunuch, who ordered my fetters to be struck off, gave me back my clothes and money, and accompanied me to the gate as a mark of his unchanging regard. Thus I was released as suddenly and mysteriously as I had been imprisoned so many months ago.

  Outside, to my amazement, I found Abu el-Kasim awaiting me in a splendid palanquin, and no one will blame me for bursting into tears at the sight of him. I wept like a fountain, leaning against his scrawny shoulder and breathing in the bitter, spicy smell of his kaftan as if he had been my father.