House of War

by Victor Foia

  Mehmed held up the pigeon carrying his message. “He’ll learn of my success by tonight. Then he’ll finally see more in me than he sees in Aladdin, who’s never accomplished anything worthy of notice.”

  Zaganos broke into a wide grin that had more cruelty in it than the pride of a lala for his pupil. “The entire world will soon take notice of you, My Prince.”

  Mehmed tossed the pigeon into the air and watched it circle above the deserted campsite, before heading north.

  “We must hurry to cross the border,” Zaganos said. “I trust İbrahim less than dangling from a frayed rope over the trapdoor to hell.” To stress his point, Zaganos indicated a small troop of mounted Karamanids gathered about a mile away. “He claimed he was going to have a few of Kasim’s men follow us, to ensure we left Karaman safely. But I wouldn’t put it past him to have darker designs in mind. Stay close to me at all times, Mehmed.”

  The march was slowed by the fact Zaganos insisted this time the baggage train had to cross the İğnesinin Gözü Pass ahead of the column. If the Karamanids were bent on plunder, they’d have to fight their way through two hundred tested warriors to get it.

  By the time the company neared the summit, the sun was close to setting. In the valley below, the river had lost its sparkle and now showed only as a black vein snaking along the canyon floor.

  The Karamanids who tailed them kept their distance and gave no sign of aggressiveness.

  Two hundred yards before reaching the pass, Vlad’s horse stumbled and dropped to one knee. He dismounted, alarmed.

  “She’s been favoring her front right foot for the past half an hour,” he said, embarrassed he hadn’t reacted immediately to the horse’s pain signal.

  “Don’t let Vlad fall behind, Mehmed,” Hamza said. “It’s a trick he’s using to escape.”

  “I’m under orders to report any strange behavior on Vlad’s part,” Yunus said. He rose in the saddle to look for the vizier, who’d been riding just ahead of them. “Oh, Zaganos Pasha’s out of sight already.”

  “We were supposed to stay close to him,” Hamza whined. “He’s going to be—”

  “You two go on ahead,” Mehmed snapped and slid out of the saddle. “Tell Zaganos we’ll catch up with him in a few minutes.”

  Vlad lifted Samur’s injured foot and peered at the sole of its hoof. A jagged rock had lodged there between the frog and the outer bar. He pried it free with the tip of his dagger, then massaged the horse’s fetlock and pastern.

  “Let’s hurry, Vlad,” Mehmed said. “I’m afraid of passing through the Eye of the Needle in the dark.”

  “I’ve got to walk Samur the rest of the day to give her the chance to recover.”

  Mehmed decided to walk his horse as well. Most of the riders had passed them while they were crouching on the side of the road. Only the men of the rear guard remained a few yards behind.

  “I’m here to take you through İğnesinin Gözü, My Prince,” a shout came from farther up the path. It was the same page who’d led them over the narrowest stretch of the pass on the way down.

  At that moment a distant rumble came from above, and someone shouted, “Rockslide.”

  A horse whickered, and a few seconds later a shower of boulders, some the size of a sheep’s head, tumbled upon the path with the report of a thunderclap. A horseman was hit on the side of his head by a rock and knocked out of the saddle. At the top of the incline two horses and their riders were shoved into the abyss, and instantly disappeared from sight. Near the Eye of the Needle, where the rock stream was the thickest, a cloud of dust obscured the view.

  “Quick,” Vlad shouted, “let’s clear the rocks and get to the wounded.”

  Mehmed appeared to be in shock, so Vlad dashed on alone.

  Stiff horse limbs poked from under the rock pile that obstructed the road. Vlad removed a few boulders from the heap and came upon a human foot shod in a blood-soaked red slipper. It was the page. When he tugged at the foot, it twitched a few times, then became still.

  Moments later several riders of the rear guard joined Vlad.

  “Hurry,” Vlad ordered them when muffled groans rose from the far end of the pile. “Rescue the survivors.”

  Three of the men scrambled up the unstable mound and began to frantically toss boulders into the canyon. Vlad heard a swoosh, and felt the air rush across his face. With just that little of a warning, a second rock avalanche came down upon them and swept the three soldiers over the precipice.

  “Pull back,” someone in the rear screamed. “There are people on top of the cliff causing the rockslides.”

  Vlad glanced up to the rim of the canyon but saw no movement there. He rushed back to where he’d left Mehmed and found the boy pale and trembling.

  “This is the ambush Zaganos was fearing,” Mehmed said.

  “The one that couldn’t happen on such a narrow path?” Vlad said, not bothering to conceal his sarcasm.

  “If we don’t clear the rocks and push on, we’ll be killed or captured by the scum that’s been trailing us since we left the camp.”

  “I’ll see to it with a few of the men,” Vlad said, “but you need to take shelter farther down the path. This place is deadly.” He was about to mention the wounded, when he realized the second avalanche had put an end to their moaning.

  “I don’t want to walk into the arms of the Karamanids,” Mehmed cried, hands shaking.

  “Look up there,” one of the riders called out and pointed to the top of the canyon.

  This time Vlad saw a few figures on the edge of the cliff, silhouetted against the lilac-colored sky. They were swarming around a boulder that soon left its perch and began to sail down the canyon wall: black, silent, and malevolent like a raven pouncing on its unwitting prey.

  Vlad gauged the boulder to be the size of an ox.

  After an interval that seemed interminable, the projectile slammed onto the rocky shelf that skirted the Eye of the Needle. The impact shook the ground and issued an explosive, deep-throated sound echoed by the far side of the canyon. When the dust settled, there was no trace left of the shelf.

  One by one, Mehmed’s riders crept up close to the black chasm that yawned where the shelf had stood. The bulge in the wall that informed the Eye of the Needle blocked their view to the rest of the column. When they concluded no help could come from that direction, they returned to the place Mehmed was standing.

  “The faithless Karamanids have trapped us,” he whispered in the silence that settled over the stunned company. “Now I understand why Kasim mentioned the eye of the needle and why he said, ‘No person knows in what land he will die.’” His face was drained of color, and his lips had turned buff.

  Vlad glanced around and counted silently.

  “We are eighteen and well armed,” he said. “The Karamanids are about three dozen, but look more like goatherds than warriors. We can hold them off until Zaganos comes around and attacks them from the rear.”

  “It will take Zaganos two days to circle around,” Mehmed shouted, agitated. “By then İbrahim will have me in chains.”

  “The enemy’s getting closer, My Prince,” the officer in charge of the rear guard said. “What do you command us?”

  Indeed, the Karamanids had narrowed the gap between them and the Ottomans to only three hundred yards and had bunched together, appearing to confer among themselves.

  Mehmed began to quiver. “This trap was set to capture me.”

  “They’ll have to kill us before they get you,” the officer said.

  “What consolation’s your death to me, cretin,” Mehmed hissed, “when my freedom is forfeit?”

  “Since they haven’t attacked us already,” Vlad said, “I think they have other plans.”

  “I’d expect them to dispatch someone to inform İbrahim Bey his ambush was successful,” the officer said, “then wait for orders.”

  Indeed, a man detached himself from the Karamanid troop, and trotted downhill. His companions began to pull back slowly,
and when they reached a wider stretch of the road about a mile downhill, stopped and dismounted.

  “This attack couldn’t have been planned specifically to capture you,” Vlad said. “The men on the cliff had no way of knowing where you’d be when they launched their rockslides. It’s my fault you lagged behind and didn’t pass through İğnesinin Gözü with the others.”

  Soon darkness and cold descended upon Mehmed’s company. Someone lit a torch and planted it beside the path.

  “We must use the fallen rocks to build a defense wall,” Vlad said. “If the Karamanids attack us, we can make a stand until we run out of arrows.”

  “We have no supplies and no wood to make fire,” Mehmed said, on the verge of tears. “And if İbrahim blocks the canyon Zaganos won’t be able to break through with his fewer than two hundred men. How long do you imagine we can hold out behind a stupid rock wall?”

  “We might not have to rely on the wall, if my plan works,” Vlad said.

  Mehmed looked up at Vlad, astonished. “You have a plan? You know nothing about the enemy, or the territory around here. How could you have a—?”

  “You’ve told me Muslim prisoners can’t be sold into slavery,” Vlad said, “so, they’re usually killed. I’m not planning to sit on my hands and see that happen to me.”

  He turned his back to Mehmed and beckoned the officer.

  “Build the wall as I’ve said and put your men behind it. You’ve got enough arrows to keep the Karamanids at bay for days.”

  The officer glanced at Mehmed, who confirmed Vlad’s order with a nod.

  “Then set up a shelter for the prince to keep him warm through the night.” Vlad handed the officer his kiliç and dagger. “Hold these for me. I’ll sneak up close to the Karamanids’ camp and eavesdrop on their plans.”

  “You can’t leave me here,” Mehmed cried. “Hamza was right. You’re planning to take advantage of the situation to escape.”

  “If I don’t get back, it’s because I’m dead,” Vlad said with a chuckle. “Even a harsh master like you can forgive such an ‘escape.’”

  Mehmed clutched at Vlad’s arm with desperate resolve. “Please don’t go.”

  “Should I tie him up, My Prince?” the officer said.

  “Don’t you dare touch him,” Mehmed shouted.

  “Here, take this,” Vlad said and handed Mehmed his talisman. “I’ve never parted willingly from it since I got it from my grandmother. I will come back to retrieve it.”

  The offer seemed to appease Mehmed. “Then wear my amulet when you’re away. I’ve sworn by Allah to restore this bit of brick to the wall of Hagia Sophia and I know you wouldn’t make me break my oath.”

  34

  A DEBT RECALLED

  March 1443, Lake Beyşehir, Karaman

  Vlad departed downhill, stepping lightly to avoid making any noise that might alert the Karamanids. A nervous guard was apt to shoot an arrow at anything that moved. In the dim starlight, with only the touch of the canyon wall at his right as guide, Vlad made slow progress. The light of the enemy’s campfire gave him an idea of the distance left to cover.

  He took half an hour to walk the mile that separated his camp from that of the Karamanids. Despite the chill of the night and the minimal effort expended, sweat trickled down his back. When he was about a hundred yards away he began to crawl on all fours, listening for any sound that might betray the presence of a sentry.

  To his surprise, there was no sentry on duty. These certainly aren’t seasoned soldiers. Perhaps he should return before daylight with Mehmed’s men and clear the road of this rabble. Of course, if İbrahim were in the process of amassing his forces at the foot of the mountain, killing his advance troop would sentence Mehmed’s company to a savage reprisal.

  Better stick with the original plan and live or die with the consequences.

  From a distance of about forty yards he counted eight men sitting around the fire. He could hear their unintelligible murmurs and distinguish the features of those facing him.

  Ten yards later he removed his mantle, placed it on the ground, and resumed crawling. The closer he got to the Karamanids before being noticed, the more likely for them to see he was unarmed and refrain from shooting him full of arrows.

  At twenty paces from the fire he stood, hands in the air. “As-salamu alaykum.”

  Like one, the men jumped to their feet, daggers and swords drawn. The stupefaction on their faces made Vlad think again that overpowering them in a surprise attack would’ve been easy.

  “No need for weapons, my friends. I come with a message, not ill intentions.”

  “Wa-alaikum-as-salaam,” the men said, reluctant, weapons still at the ready.

  “He’s Prince Mehmed’s musahib,” one of the men said, and the others seemed to relax at the news.

  “I’ve left my mantle a bit up the path,” Vlad said. “Would one of you get it?”

  With that he stepped close to the fire and rubbed his hands together above the flames. When his coat arrived, he put it on then sat on the ground.

  The Karamanids sheathed their weapons and resumed their seats.

  “What’s your message?” the oldest among the men said.

  “Are you the leader?” Vlad said. When the man didn’t answer Vlad stood. “Take me to Kasim ibn Jihangir. I’ll let him share my message with you.”

  The men looked at each other, no doubt perplexed at the stranger’s audacity.

  “Kasim’s camp is about five miles from here,” the leader said, “and it’s too dangerous to ride down the mountain in the dark.”

  “Then give me two men with torches and I’ll walk.”

  In the light of the surrounding campfires, Kasim’s tent appeared as a shabby affair of faded black felt that had seen too many scorching summers and stormy winters. The large, discolored patches that held together the sides of the tent had patches of their own, testifying to the frugality, if not the poverty of the Karamanids. The contrast between Kasim’s ratty accommodations and Mehmed’s luxurious ones made Vlad wonder how real the Karamanid threat to the Ottoman Empire could be.

  There was no sentry in sight to announce Vlad’s arrival.

  “Wait here,” said one of his two escorts. Then leaving Vlad unattended, he and his companion entered Kasim’s tent.

  The boisterous laughter that moments before rang from within was replaced by a whispered dialogue.

  After a few minutes, a page held open the tent flap and said, “Enter.”

  In the light of a single lamp, Vlad spotted Kasim reclining on pillows against the back wall. A group of six youngsters about his age were seated on a worn-out carpet in front of him. At Vlad’s arrival they moved aside to clear Kasim’s view. After a perfunctory salaam, Vlad took a spot on the floor between them, as if he were an invited guest. Kasim sat upright with a jerky motion. But if he felt affronted by Vlad’s aplomb, he concealed it well.

  “So Mehmed sends his musahib to negotiate on his behalf?” Kasim said with a mocking smile. “Since when does the bird catcher negotiate with the bird, once he’s got it in his cage?”

  His companions laughed.

  “The Karamanids don’t have a reputation of bird catchers, where I come from,” Vlad said and saw Kasim wince. “Nor one of violating diplomatic immunity.” This time Kasim gripped the hilt of his dagger, but remained outwardly calm. “Instead, they are famous for being true to their word.”

  “And where do you come from, Mehmed’s musahib?” Kasim said. Vlad’s last sentence seemed to have mollified him, for he took his hand off the dagger and leaned back against the pillows.

  “Eflâk’s my homeland. It was there my lala told me tales of honor and courage about the Karamanids.”

  “Your lala was a righteous man.”

  Vlad acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “The tales I heard in childhood don’t square with what I saw today. The Karamanids my lala spoke of wouldn’t have chased foreign diplomats as if they were highway robbers.”

  “
My men followed you for your protection,” Kasim said, heated. “I wanted to make sure no harm came to you in our land.”

  “And the ambush?” Vlad said. “It has killed nine of Mehmed’s people and cut off our path.”

  “Ambush?” Kasim shouted, red in the face. “You call a rockslide ambush? Rocks tumble off the cliffs daily around here.”

  “How unfortunate for Sultan Murad that such a natural event should block his son’s path. Are you planning to help the prince find another way out of Karaman?”

  Kasim gave Vlad a contemptuous look. “Allah al-Karīm, the Generous, has placed the son of my jailor into my hands, and you’re expecting me to reject His gift?”

  Kasim’s companions guffawed, but he silenced them with a slicing motion of his hand. When he spoke again his voice crackled with anger. “You claimed you had a message for me. Deliver it and go back to your master, before I lose my patience and have you impaled like a goat thief.”

  “What I’ve got to say is something you’d do best to hear alone.”

  Kasim jumped to his feet and jabbed a finger at Vlad. “I don’t need Mehmed’s kul to tell me what’s best for me.”

  Vlad shrugged. “It’s your call. Perhaps your friends should hear about your escape from the Macedon Tower and the man who—”

  “Wait,” Kasim shouted. His demeanor changed from aggressive to guarded. “My companions have had a long day and need to rest, not listen to anecdotes about my escape.” He made an authoritative gesture, and everyone left the tent.

  I’ve guessed right. Vlad was amused to conclude Kasim must’ve embellished the story of his escape from Edirne and didn’t want the truth exposed to his friends.

  “The man I’m speaking of is Emirzade al-Tabrizı.”

  Kasim cocked his head, hands raised in a gesture of astonishment. Then slowly his face stretched with a grin that showed powerful white teeth against his coppery skin.

  “It’s you,” he cried and opened his arms to Vlad, “the pretend Persian who claimed my grandfather sent him to spring me loose. I thought your voice sounded familiar but couldn’t place it.”