SERAGLIO

by Colin Falconer

  I should not have asked her, he thought. I am betraying Abbas. I am taking full advantage of her situation. She is right to ask me; yes, what is it that I want?

  'You want me to come to your bed?'

  "I am afraid I am enchanted. Just as Abbas was.'

  'And look what happened to him.' She touched his hand but withdrew before he could take it. 'You must understand. I don't feel anything anymore. I walk into a room and I watch myself from the corner. I cannot explain it. I might look pretty in your bed but I fear I will make a very poor companion. And if it's a lover that you want, it might be better to have me as your mistress for a short time. Then you might more easily discard me, for I am sure you will be very disappointed.'

  'I shall never discard you.'

  'No, I don't believe you would. Listen, Ludovici, you are Sultan here. Put your handkerchief on my shoulder, and I will come. Just let me stay.'

  'It's dangerous, you understand? I will look into things, see if there is somewhere else you can go.'

  She stood up to go, then hesitated. 'Why have you never asked me this before? I know you wanted to. I could see it in your eyes.'

  'Because of Abbas.'

  She kissed him on the forehead. Her perfume made him ache. After she had gone he sat for a long time moving, thinking about all she had said. Was it true that she felt nothing anymore? That was perhaps not so surprising after all she had been through. But she had agreed to be his mistress. Isn't this what he had dreamed about for three years?

  'Abbas, forgive me,' he muttered. But forgive him for what exactly? If it was her love he wanted then she was as unattainable as she ever was for his friend, the Kislar Aghasi.

  Mesopotamia

  Baghdad had been built from the same stones as the ancient city of Babylon. It straddled the Tigris and the Euphrates, palm trees framing the domes and minarets. Suleiman stared at the walls, motionless on his white Arab stallion, watching the siege engines and cannon rumble into position and breathed a prayer of thanks. The crisis was past.

  The Persians had not attacked that morning in the mountains, through grace of God. His presence had galvanized the army, and by that evening they had reorganized and begun the long slow retreat from the mountains that might have buried them.

  The Empire of Mohammad, the army of Islam, would have been destroyed, thanks to my Seraskier Sultan! True Believer or not, he has a duty to me and his ambition blinded him to it.

  Ibrahim rode towards him, the rubies and emeralds embroidered on his saddle glittering in the sun. He grinned as if the horrors of the last week were just a bad dream to be dismissed with the dawn.

  'Why so solemn my Lord?'

  'Why? Because you should have stood at these gates two months ago. Because a week ago you almost led my army to ruin!'

  Ibrahim shrugged, as if it were a minor offence. 'Your generals itched for a long campaign, and we have given them one. That old bear at the head of the Yeniçeris is still melting the snow out of his boots!'

  'You may laugh, Ibrahim but this was our objective. Babylon! We did not come here to placate the Aga nor find the Shah. We were here to chase away dogs from a holy place!'

  Ibrahim grew sullen. 'You said you wanted the dog's head.'

  'No, I did not say that. You did.' He squeezed the flanks of his horse with his knees and trotted ahead, leaving Ibrahim alone on the plain.

  Chapter 16

  Stamboul, 1535

  Early spring but snow still clung to the roofs of the kiosks in the Topkapi, fell in minor avalanches from the dome of the Aya Sofia and froze the fountains in the courtyards of the Eski Saraya. Only Hürrem and the Kislar Aghasi himself were allowed the fur-lined kaftans of rank; the odalisques and servants were obliged to freeze as they made their way along the icy cloisters. Inside the Palace, all the shutters and doors tightly closed against the cold, the stale aroma of incense and charcoal and hashish mingled with each other to create a suffocating fug. Hürrem had her servants spray her apartments with orange blossom and rosewater to relieve it.

  The fall of Baghdad and the passing of the long winter months had not stilled the gossip about the Suleiman and his Seraskier Sultan; if anything the anticipation of the army's return had intensified it. News came infrequently, couriers riding day and night for twenty, even thirty days to bring news.

  It was the scandal of the whole city, of course, how Ibrahim had defied the sultan even to the point of assuming his title. This scandalous development was not intended to go beyond the Divan but how could you keep secrets in a city like this? Rüstem had made sure everyone in the city knew of it within days.

  Merchants spat and cursed the Greek's name in all the bazaars. The statues in front of his palace in the Aytmedani had even been defaced one night. All Stamboul had hated him for years, resenting his power over the Sultan and the way he flaunted his wealth. No one was surprised or dismayed that he had finally gone too far.

  Or had he? Only one man still tolerated his excesses.

  Many times Hürrem assumed that Ibrahim was already dead, strangled in his tent by the bostanji or hung on a gibbet in a Baghdad square. He could have been mouldering in his grave for weeks by the time any chaush might arrive with the news. But the long winter was almost over and Ibrahim still lived. Like some terrible spirit it seemed he could not die.

  How far could he goad the Sultan before he finally did something about it?

  Now Abbas settled himself on his knees to deliver the latest news: 'A courtier has arrived at the palace my lady. Suleiman will be back in Stamboul in the next few days.'

  'With Ibrahim?'

  'Yes, My Lady.' I do not believe this, Hürrem thought. What does it take? One day his Vizier will put a dagger through Suleiman's heart and he will reach up and kiss him on the lips.

  'There is other news,' Abbas said,

  'Tell me.'

  'The Shah attacked the rearguard of the army on its return through Azerbaijan. Four generals were lost, eight hundred Yeniçeris surrendered.'

  'Who was Seraskier?'

  'Ibrahim. The Sultan had ridden ahead with his bodyguard.'

  Well, some good news at least. 'It seems the Greek's golden touch has deserted him.'

  'Yes, my Lady.'

  'It is not the outcome we all prayed for yet that is no fault of yours, Kislar Aghasi. You have done well.'

  'Thank you.'

  'Rüstem, too. He shows a great talent. I am sure we will find a use for him again in the near future. You should convey him my thanks and assure him he will be amply rewarded.'

  'I will tell him.'

  Abbas executed a temenna, eager to be out of the room. It was not just the overpowering heat from the charcoal braziers and the cloying smell of perfume. He felt physically ill at what he had done. He had no love for Ibrahim, or any of them. But he felt base and discredited by it. Still, if his toadying had bought her time to get out of Stamboul, then it had been worth it.

  'By the way, have you seen Julia?' Hürrem said, just as he reached the door.

  'No, my Lady.'

  'I am curious, that is all. I have been wondering about what you told me. How much could a simple slave girl pay you that would be worth risking your neck?'

  She knows. 'I took pity on her also.'

  'Ah, pity was it? My good, brave Abbas.'

  'As you say.'

  'She is mistress now to Ludovici Gambetto, one of the Venetian merchants on Pera. Did you know?'

  The room started to spin. 'Yes, My Lady, I knew,' he said, and hoped that she believed him.

  'I hope she pleases him more than she pleases the Sultan.'

  'I hope so too.'

  'Thank you, Abbas.'

  He returned to his cell, fire burning in his heart. Mistress? You told me you had sent her out of Stamboul and instead you have her in your bed. Ludovici, what have you done? You lied to me, you lied!

  Chapter 17

  Suleiman looked suddenly old. Yet there was no physical change since the last time she had seen hi
m. There was no more gray in his beard, his back was still as straight. Of course, his skin had been burnished by the long winter in the desert and mountains, and that had made the lines on his face more pronounced. But it was not that; he just looked drained, as if all the juice had been squeezed out of him.

  He sat in front of a low table, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. His homecoming had been muted; she had welcomed him home in her apartments in the Eski Saraya, they had shared a meal though Suleiman had eaten hardly anything. Instead of ravishing her, as she had expected, he had fallen asleep on the divan. Now awake again, he seem scarcely more refreshed than before.

  'What is wrong, my Lord?'

  'You know what is wrong. All Stamboul knows what is wrong. What may I do, little russelana?'

  'What happened in Persia? You confronted him about the letter?'

  'I waited for his confession, but it did not come. He acts as if nothing has happened. What should I do now? Bring Rüstem before him?'

  'May he find excuse that way?'

  Suleiman shook his head. 'I wanted only his free admission. I could not bear to debate it with him and have to listen to his lies. The letter was signed under my seal. What could he say that would pardon him?'

  'And yet?'

  'And yet I love him, Hürrem. Not as I love you, but …'

  You must execute him, Hürrem thought. Otherwise we are all in danger. Ibrahim is not stupid. If you give him time, he will make a move against you, he knows it is his only hope. How can you still hesitate? 'You might exile him, as you did Achmed Pasha.'

  'Achmed Pasha used his place of exile as a base for revolt. Do I dare take the same risk with Ibrahim, who is a far better general than he ever was?'

  Of course you cannot, Hürrem thought. I am relieved you have at least thought that part of it through. 'He has been your friend for so long, my Lord. I know you love him like a brother. Do not ask me for my counsel in this.'

  'Yet who else may I trust?'

  She stroked his cheek. 'But he was the greatest of your Viziers.'

  'Yes but now his ambition and his greed have outreached him., On our return from Baghdad he allowed the beys of Cairo and Syria to camp in a valley, with no escape. As commander he should have been watchful for an attack at our rear. Instead he was more concerned to ensure the safety of the bales of Persian silk he had looted. He allowed the Shah's cavalry to inflict the greatest defeat my army has ever suffered. Instead of celebrating our victory at Baghdad we are mourning the loss of almost a thousand good men. All thanks to … Seraskier Sultan!'

  Hürrem held his hands in hers. 'He is guilty of negligence in his command, through his own self interest. He has done the unthinkable, and assumed the name of Sultan. My Lord, I feel your pain, but what else can you do?'

  The sun set behind the roofs of the old palace. 'He comes to dine with me tonight alone at the Topkapi Saraya.'

  Hürrem put her head on his shoulder. Incredible! What does it take to lose your loyalty? 'What will you tell him, my Lord?'

  'I do not know. I never thought this day would come. 'I cannot end his life, Hürrem, I cannot. I have given my word.'

  'My Lord?'

  'I made a vow when I made him Vizier - I swore to it before God - that while I lived he need not fear me. He has my oath on that.'

  They sat in silence. Long shadows crept across the carpet. Pages crept into the room to light candles and oil lamps. 'Must he die?' Hürrem whispered.

  'The law says he must.'

  'Then there is a way, though I hesitate even to whisper it. But if it ceases your torment …'

  'Tell me.'

  'You have sworn not to put him to death while you are living. Then let the order be carried out while you are asleep. The muftis say that while a man sleeps he does not truly live. It is like a small death. So you can fulfil the law, your duty to the throne and to Islam, and still not violate your oath.'

  Suleiman said nothing for a very long time.

  'So be it,' he said at last.

  Chapter 18

  The flickering light of the lamps was reflected in the rubies inlaid in the censers. They reminded Ibrahim of the camp fires in the valley of Sultania the night before the snowstorm. As if he wished to be reminded of that! He ran a finger around the rim of his jade cup, staring into the blood red wine. 'We have given a lashing to the Persian dogs,' he said. 'They will be licking their wounds for as very long time.'

  'The campaign was not well advised,' Suleiman said. 'We were almost drawn into a trap. As it was, the final battle went to the Shah. He will be celebrating now, despite our victories at Baghdad and Tabriz.'

  'There will be other summers.'

  'To what purpose?'

  Ibrahim's anger was sudden. 'We have an empire that rivals that of Alexander the Great. Why should we engage in this moping? We have Baghdad, the Shah has the snow and the rocks!'

  'We lost many good men for no reason. The Defterdar Rüstem, for example.'

  Ibrahim felt the blood drain from his face. Why would Suleiman bring up Rüstem? Was he dead? On the contrary his spies had whispered to him that he was still alive, had been seen in Manisa.

  Rüstem!

  If it was true the enormity of this betrayal took his breath away. In other circumstance he might have applauded such sleight of hand. 'What do you know about my clerks?' Ibrahim said, unable to meet his eyes.

  'Only that this one was murdered by the Shah engaging in some secret diplomacy of yours. Did he volunteer for his mission or did you order him to go?'

  'He volunteered, He seemed very eager.'

  'And what was his purpose?'

  'I attempted to lure the Shah out of the mountains. That was my only intention. I attempted a minor deception.' It sounds as if I am pleading, Ibrahim thought. Well perhaps I am. He must realize I meant no harm against him.

  'It seems you failed.'

  Ibrahim tried to read Suleiman's eyes. God help me in my sorrow! He does not believe me!

  'I tried everything to finish the Shah for you. If I went too far, it was only my enthusiasm for victory that was my fault.' There, it was said now; a plea for forgiveness, without confessing the sin. What if Suleiman only suspected? What if Rüstem really were dead right now, eating shit in the devil's latrines?

  Unless Hürrem had some hand in this.

  'Well, it is done now,' Suleiman said.

  'There will be other victories, my Lord. Like Rhodes and Mohacs. Do you remember how close we came to giving up then? If we can endure the black times, God is sure to reward us.'

  'It was your counsel that prevailed at Rhodes, Ibrahim.'

  'I am glad you remember. Remember too that I only wish to serve you.'

  'And you have served me well, many times. But victory in itself means nothing unless it serves Islam. Perhaps we have both forgotten that.'

  'Every victory furthers Islam.'

  'Does it? You must know the mind of Mohammed before you can speak for him.'

  Ibrahim swallowed his anger. As Suleiman had just admitted to him, he would not have prevailed at Rhode or at Mohacs without him. 'I was not born to Mohammed,' he said carefully. 'I still have much to learn.'

  'It is too late for that. I do not think anyone can teach you anything now.' If he had smiled as he said that Ibrahim might have smiled along with him. But Suleiman did not smile.

  'Shall we go hunting in Adrianople again this summer?' Ibrahim said.

  'Perhaps. Only God knows the future.'

  'I could fly the falcons for you again. Like the old days.'

  Suleiman did not reply.

  'Do you remember the time that boar rushed my horse from the thicket on the Marantza River? You saved my life then.'

  'You stood and faced it even though you were unarmed. You looked as if you were not afraid of anything.'

  Yes, because the boar only had razor-sharp tusks, Ibrahim thought. Not a palace full of mutes with bowstrings. 'I was not afraid because you were there to protect me.'

 
'I cannot always be there. We must all face death alone some time.'

  No, he could not mean it! I am your Vizier, Suleiman! Your Seraskier, your friend! I have eaten at your table, slept in your tent through endless campaigns! 'The only thing I fear is the way death comes. You swore to me once that you would never condemn me. I could not bear the dishonour of dying that way.'

  'I remember my oath, and I will never break it.'

  Ibrahim stared at him in confusion. What then? What is he planning? 'My Lord, I am just a man, and I have made many mistakes. There is something I must confess-'

  Suleiman put up his hand to still him. 'You do not have to plead your case with me Ibrahim.'

  'But my lord-'

  'There is no need to say more. I am tired. We will talk again tomorrow.'

  ***

  Suleiman rose to his feet. His head felt like lead. The drugged wine had affected him more than it seemed to have affected Ibrahim. He just wanted to sleep, longed only for this ordeal to be over.

  'The pages will prepare your bed. Sleep well, my friend.'

  Ibrahim rose to embrace him. 'Sleep well, my Lord.'

  Suleiman embraced him, then pushed him away and went into his private chamber, locking the door behind him.

  ***

  Hürrem rose from the bed and hurried over to him. He was gray. I must not let him change his mind, she thought.

  She was naked except for rose damask trousers and a single pearl fastened around her waist. He did not even seem to notice.

  I will make him notice, she thought. I will make him drunk with wine and drunk with me and when he has had a surfeit of both, he will sleep. When he wakes it will all be over.

  'My Lord …'

  'He all but begged me for his life.'

  She laid her head on his chest.

  'I cannot stand this! Hold me little russelana.'

  She took him over to the bed. 'Drink this,' she whispered, and offered him a goblet of wine.

  'It will help me sleep?'