‘A forfeit, I think,’ came the voice from within, soft with satisfaction. ‘Now, what would be appropriate?’
There was a rustle in the dark and a whisper met by a wheezing laugh.
‘Yes!’ came the voice. ‘That’s it! A question that demands the truth.’ She paused. ‘Are you a virgin, Anna Mamonas?’
Anna recoiled.
‘The marriage to the Mamonas boy,’ continued the Sultana. ‘An unconsummated pleasure, he tells us. So the answer must be yes, surely?’
Anna still could not speak.
‘It seems simple enough,’ came the voice from the darkness, soft and full of hatred. ‘Will my grandson have a virgin for his queen, as he believes he will? Or will he have a whore?’
‘Highness,’ Anna whispered, looking into the darkness, ‘what do you want of me?’
But the answer came from someone else.
‘Enough!’
It was Suleyman and he was striding into the room. He wore a riding coat that billowed behind him and high boots mottled with dust.
‘Enough, Grandmother,’ he said more softly, turning to kneel before her.
‘Enough?’ asked the woman from the shades. ‘Would you not like to hear the answer to that question?’
The heir to the Ottoman Empire bowed low. He was breathing deeply. ‘It is, I think, a question better put to her by the man she will marry,’ he said calmly. ‘I will take her to a place where we may speak with greater ease.’
There was a snort of displeasure from the darkness and Suleyman rose. He bowed again, then turned to Anna and stretched out his hand. ‘Will you come with me into the garden?’
She rose and went before him from the room, not bowing as she left.
They stepped into a scene of moonlit geometry. Low hedges of yew enclosed beds of flowers that had been coaxed to the challenge of providing autumnal scent by expert gardeners. Around them were lawns and a perimeter of fruit trees that almost succeeded in masking the high wall that was the limit of the harem’s world.
The lawn was scattered with the shadows of sleeping animals and, between the trees, the domes of smoking leaves. A sudden breeze carried their rich smell to Anna and she shivered.
In between the hedged borders were four terraced walks that converged at a tiny lake where stood an island with a chiosk enclosed by a lattice interwoven with jasmine and honeysuckle. Around it, the waters were strewn with lily pads and leaves and an arched bridge connected the island to the garden.
Suleyman was leading her towards it and soon they had crossed the bridge and were sitting on a stone bench within. The smell of burning leaves was fainter but still with them and Anna closed her eyes and filled her lungs with its unpainted goodness.
Suleyman said, ‘An oasis, I should imagine.’
Anna opened her eyes. ‘This island? Yes, lord.’ She was trying to keep her voice steady. ‘An oasis within the desert that is your father’s harem.’
‘A desert?’ he asked. ‘Is it not a place of beauty?’
‘No,’ replied Anna. ‘It is a dry place of scheming old women and it is strewn with the carcasses of those they do not like.’
‘I suspect she just was trying to frighten you.’
Anna looked out through a gap in the vines to the lawns. She saw the trees beyond and she heard something faint within them. ‘Did you know that there are caged birds in those trees?’ She laughed softly. ‘You have your walls and you almost manage to disguise them with trees. But then what do you do? You put caged birds in their branches!’
Anna looked over at Suleyman and saw his profile against the fading sky. She saw that he was without fight that night.
They were both quiet for a long while, thinking of what had nearly happened on a bloody piece of ground.
‘Would you have done it?’ Suleyman asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You love him that much?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet he betrayed an army.’
‘Did he? You let him escape. It seems careless.’
Suleyman didn’t answer. Luke Magoris was removed, Anna had submitted to him and Constantinople would fall. Nothing else mattered. It was victory, so why did it not feel like victory?
‘You can do a lot of good as the wife of the Sultan … Save whole populations from the sword. Constantinople’s, for instance.’
Anna flinched.
Damn you, Suleyman.
The Prince sighed. ‘I merely tell you what is true.’
‘So tell me something more. Did he betray the army?’
Suleyman rose. ‘I said what I said to keep him here. Surely that should please you?’
‘You said what you said because Zoe wants him here. It is your agreement.’
The harem had given her much time to think. He shrugged.
‘Well, whatever the past, you submitted to me and I lowered the sword.’ He looked out again over the garden. A sambar stirred and called out in its sleep. ‘How long will it take for you to come willingly?’
Anna breathed deeply. The smell of the leaves was fainter.
You can do a lot of good as wife of the Sultan.
She looked back at him. ‘Willingly?’
‘Willingly.’
‘Six months,’ she said. ‘It will take me six months. Then I will come willingly. But tomorrow I want to ride as far from this place as I can. And I don’t want to come back inside these walls. Ever.’
Suleyman waited.
‘There’s more. I will not marry you until my marriage to Damian is annulled. It must be set aside in the eyes of the Church. My church.’
Suleyman seemed to be lost in thought, but then he laughed. ‘Well, it’s not the language of poets,’ he said, ‘but I dare say I can agree to these things. Where would you like to ride to?’
‘I don’t care. Tomorrow?’
‘Of course. You have demanded it.’
‘Can I go alone?’
‘Ah, no,’ said Suleyman. ‘You will be escorted.’
‘By your Varangians?’
Suleyman laughed again.
‘I think not. By my sipahis.’
Suleyman was as good as his word.
Anna was woken at dawn the next morning and escorted to the Gate of Felicity. Two black eunuchs threw back the bolts of the giant doors and pushed them open. Outside was a saddled horse and a troop of sipahis wearing silver mail and turbaned helmets.
Anna had chosen to dress as her new freedom permitted. She wore clothes she had not worn since leaving Monemvasia. Gone were the diaphanous veils and silken pantaloons of the harem and in their place was a buff leather jerkin covered by a woollen surcoat. On her head was a velvet cap with a jaunty feather piercing its brim.
‘Where do we ride to?’ she asked the nearest of the men.
‘We go north into the hills, lady,’ said the knight from behind his nose-guard. ‘The lord Suleyman is to meet us there later.’
Anna leant forward to pat the neck of her horse. The horse was young and strong and still smelt of its stable, and Anna felt the curve of its belly against her legs and breathed in its scent with pleasure.
Then they were in motion and the five sipahis closed ranks around her as they trotted across the square.
Anna reined in. ‘No.’
They stopped.
‘Know this,’ she said. ‘You will tell me where to ride and I will ride there, fast. If you can, you may follow me.’
At exactly that moment, Suleyman was woken by a servant to bad news. The woman lying by his side heard it too.
Bad news from Chios.
‘Sunk?’ said Zoe, raising herself on to her elbow and pushing the hair from her forehead. She rubbed her eyes. ‘How?’
‘A sudden storm,’ replied Suleyman, putting on his slippers. ‘It comes off the land at this time of year.’
‘How many?’
‘Half the fleet. We won’t have enough ships now to enforce the blockade. Their alum and mastic will get through.’
‘Have you told
my father?’
‘It’s he who is telling me. He’s waiting outside.’
As soon as Suleyman had left the room, Zoe rose and went over to the place where she knew there to be a spy hole from which he could see those who awaited audience. She rose on tiptoes to look through it. In the room were her father and a man she didn’t know. He was handsome.
Suleyman was pouring wine and talking. ‘You are hardly in a position to complain, di Vetriano. Your city played quartermaster to the Christian army.’ He turned to her father. ‘Pavlos, do you speak for them still?’
Pavlos Mamonas bowed. ‘The Serenissima wishes to convey its regret over its part in the crusade.’
Silk on silk.
Suleyman frowned. The full enormity of the disaster at Chios was coming home to him and he would have to explain to Bayezid why the ships were there at all. He needed Venice more than ever now.
Mamonas continued. ‘The Doge has instructed me to enquire whether you wish them to resume the arrangement.’
Suleyman looked up sharply. ‘You know damn well I do,’ he said crossly. ‘Is it as before?’
The man di Vetriano spoke, joining the tips of his fingers as if in petition. ‘It is as before, lord. Venice wants Chios, as soon as the fleet is re-equipped.’ He paused. ‘And a person.’
Suleyman raised his finger to his lips. He glanced behind him and then ushered the two men through the door they had entered by.
When the door was closed, Suleyman said, ‘I gave Magoris to you before Nicopolis, and you managed to lose him. Anyway, I don’t know where he’s going. Only Yakub knows that.’
‘But, lord, you will know the route he’s to take,’ said the Venetian, ‘should we want to … intercept him.’
Suleyman was silent, thinking. He’d already decided on something else, something that he’d thought of every moment since Anna had done what she’d done at Nicopolis. This might be the time. He glanced at the door, then turned back to the two men.
‘We will talk of this interception.’
From Anadolu Hisar, Bayezid’s party had ridden south and east along the shores of the Sea of Marmara and then on to Bursa, once capital to the Ottomans until Edirne had supplanted it and shown the direction of their territorial ambition.
Bursa was the end of the Sultan’s journey and the place where Yakub would leave his retinue to travel on to his capital at Kutahya. Bayezid had come to Bursa to commission a new mosque to thank Allah for the great victory at Nicopolis. On the eve of the battle he’d promised to build twenty new mosques if victorious but the Vizier had whispered in his ear of campaign and sundry other costs and now there would be twenty domes on this single mosque instead.
Much of the last part of the ride the Sultan had spent in conversation with the old man who’d joined the party late and, like everyone else, Bayezid seemed to hold him in the greatest respect.
So it was with some surprise that Luke saw the man leaning over his bed the next morning.
‘Luke Magoris,’ he said, ‘it’s time to rise. Your first lesson begins today.’
Luke swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Lesson? Lesson in what, sir?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘firstly in who I am, I suppose. Do you know who I am, Luke?’
Luke shook his head.
‘My name is very long and I won’t try to teach it to you. I am a sufi, a mystic, and I come from the holy city of Konya. My friends, who include Plethon, call me Omar. You may call me Omar since we will be friends.’ He paused. ‘You’ve heard Rumi?
Luke shook his head.
‘Well, he was a great thinker and poet, a man of great wisdom. All Muslims revere him, even Bayezid. He was buried in Konya and I watch over his tomb. Before that I was in Kutahya.’
‘So that is why you know Yakub?’
Omar smiled. ‘I have known Yakub for many, many years. You might say we think alike about things. We want you to help us.’
‘Help you? By becoming a janissary?’
Omar laughed. It was a deep laugh, full of warmth. He tapped his long nose. ‘That’s what Bayezid believes, certainly. But I think Prince Yakub may have different plans for you.’ He paused and looked hard at Luke, suddenly serious. ‘A great many people are depending on you, Luke.’
An hour later, Omar led Luke down into the city streets, which were already busy. As they walked, he talked of Islam.
‘If you were to be trained as a janissary, as Bayezid wishes, then you would be indoctrinated in our faith. Whatever you now think, believe me when I tell you it would happen. It always does. But instead I shall explain the Faith to you and why I choose to follow it.’
Around them thronged men and women of every colour and dress. There were Arabs, Turks, Georgians and Jews, and no one bowed and no one gave precedence to anyone else. All seemed equal in the city of Bursa.
‘I choose to follow Islam because its rules are reasonable and uncomplicated and much to do with allowing courtesy to our fellow humans. There are five pillars to our faith: belief in Allah, prayers five times a day, giving money to the poor, making a pilgrimage to Mecca and observing Ramadan. Within everyone’s grasp, you would think.’
Luke thought of Christian Europe where the Latin word of God was denied the ordinary man and the Church grew rich by selling the way to Him.
The day was cold and without sun and they stopped at a stall where a man sold chestnuts roasted on a grill. Soon they came to a large mosque in a courtyard with buildings surrounding it. A fountain played at its centre and around it sat men and women washing their feet.
‘This mosque was built by Bayezid’s grandfather Orhan, founder of the Ottoman Empire. It is not just a place of worship, but also a place of rest, of learning, even of commerce. Here there is a hospital, a dormitory for travellers, a school, a soup kitchen. And over there is a market. Look, you can see that a caravan’s just come in. It is late in the season.’
Omar pointed towards the arched entrance to what looked like another courtyard. There were people crowding through it, eager to see what had arrived on the camels. He turned to Luke and winked. ‘I love markets. This is Han Bey, the best of them. Shall we go and see?’
Inside was chaos but, through the bustle, Luke could see that the courtyard was surrounded by an arched colonnade under which the merchants were selling their wares. The press of people was a river of colour and, miraculously, the river seemed to be flowing in a single direction.
With vigorous use of his elbows, Omar worked a passage to the front, Luke hard behind him. Soon they were able to see the merchandise on offer under every arch they passed.
One man sold caged birds of exotic hues that spoke in different languages. Another had gracefully carved lyres, tambours and a kudüm inlaid with mother of pearl; he played neys of a different sizes to the delight of watching children. They saw trays of spices and bales of exquisite silks and tables on which leather-bound Korans were opened by men with gloves. There were weapons from Persia and fireworks from China. There was silver from Bohemia and gold bands from India which women held out on their wrists to admire.
The merchants were resplendent in silks of every colour, paragons of fat prosperity with their beards combed and their turbans flashing with jewels. Coins were piled high on tables covered with rich kelims and behind them stood big men with arms folded above belted daggers.
It was overwhelming and exhausting and after an hour Omar pushed their way back to where a walled fountain played beneath a tiny mosque raised on stone pillars. They sat on the wall next to a family eating something wrapped in vine leaves.
‘You’ve heard of the Mongols? Of Genghis Khan?’ Omar asked.
Luke nodded. All the world knew of Genghis Khan.
‘Well, the only good thing that he did,’ continued Omar, declining a vine leaf offered by his neighbour, ‘was to bring the East under one rule. Trade has flowed freely ever since. Look at it!’ He waved his arm over the scene before them. Then he leant back and trailed a fing
er in the water, lifting out a leaf that dripped into his lap. ‘There’s a new Mongol leader now who is just as terrible,’ he said quietly. ‘Temur the Lame. Have you heard of him?’
Temur the Lame. Tamerlane. He had heard of Tamerlane.
‘What Temur decides to do next will decide the fate of empires. Yours included.’
Luke was about to ask more when he saw a commotion in a part of the market they’d yet to visit. There were shouts of anger and a stick was waving in the air.
Omar rose. ‘So much for the peace of Islam,’ he said and began to make his way towards the disturbance. This time the crowd parted before him like a sea.
At the far end of the square, a little semicircle had formed in front of an arch under which were tables arrayed with trays and jars and scales next to piles of lead weights. There were lumps of something white and grey and sometimes translucent lying on the tables and to Luke they were familiar. The merchant had his back to him and was remonstrating with a stout woman, who was livid with rage and shouting without pause.
For the crowd, this was entertainment at its best. The more that the woman shrieked, the more they laughed, some so helpless that they were hanging on to their neighbours for support.
Then Luke recognised the back.
‘Dimitri!’ he shouted and stepped out into the open space, clapping a hand on to his friend’s shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’
Dimitri swung round. ‘Luke! What are you doing here?’
The two embraced.
‘Thank God you’re safe.’ said Dimitri, stepping back.
The woman had stopped yelling, momentarily diverted by this new arrival. Then she started again.
‘Oh, shut up!’ shouted Dimitri. ‘Go and look in the brothels!’
The crowd roared at this.
‘I don’t really understand what she’s saying,’ said Dimitri with a shrug. ‘It seems I sold her some aphrodisiac yesterday which she gave to her husband last night. She hasn’t seen him since.’
Another man emerged from the shadow of the arch behind. He was bald and smiling and holding a set of bronze scales. He held out his hand. ‘Luke, I heard your voice. What happy chance!’
‘Benedo Barbi!’ cried Luke, taking his hand. ‘What brings you to this chaos?’
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