SERAGLIO (3 page)

Galata

Galata was built on one of Stamboul's seven hills, just across the Horn from Seraglio Point. It was dominated by the Galata Kulesi, a round tower built by the Genoese as part of the city's fortifications. Tiny houses and shops clustered at its foot, next to the harbor, and this was where the Jewish and Genoese commission agents kept their homes. Berbers and Red Sea Arabs had warehouses here also, and filled them with spices, ivory, silks, glass and pearls. There were even small shops where wine and arak were served.

The smell of fish and salt from the Bosphorus overlaid the dank urban stink.

Ludovici also kept a house in the quarter, although no one ever lived in it. Its purpose was a safe house where he might receive his spies and pay baksheesh to palace officials. Endless comings and goings at his
palazzo
in Pera by government pashas might excite too much comment.

The house was painted yellow, the colour of the Jews. It was sparsely finished. Most of the rooms were empty; the only room that was furnished was an upstairs audience chamber; there was a low cedar table and some cushions scattered about a rich Persian silk carpet. They belied the humble surroundings.

It had taken four servants to ease Abbas' enormous bulk to the floor. He now concentrated his attention on the pastries piled on the silver plate in front of him. When they were gone he dipped his fingers daintily into a silver bowl proffered by another of Ludovici's servants. He belched politely into a silk handkerchief.

He came once a month now, disguised in his black
ferijde
. Ludovici had tried at first to speak to him as he did in the old days, but the Abbas he had once known was gone. Aside from discussing politics he seemed to gain no pleasure from his visits, though he provided invaluable insights into the workings of the Topkapi. He never took baksheesh for his information. Ludovici wondered why he still came.

There could only be one reason.

'How is Julia?' he said, breaking the silence. It was always his first question.

'She is well.'

'Business is good?'

'Thanks to your help.'

Abbas nodded. That side of things did not interest him overmuch. 'You know she cannot stay in Stamboul much longer. It is no longer safe here. Not even in the
Comunità
Magnifica
.'

'What has happened?'

'I cannot tell you that.'

"But Abbas …'

"Please. Get her out of Stamboul. As soon as you can.'

'Where could she go?'

'It doesn't matter as long as it is not Stamboul. I have done all I can to protect her, but the situation is impossible now. Do you understand?'

'I will do what I can.'

Abbas gripped his arm with one massive fist. 'No, that is not good enough. You have to get her out! Now!'

'All right,' Ludovici said. What on earth could this be? 'Has someone found out about her?'

'Just promise me that you will get her out of Stamboul.'

Ludovici frowned. 'I promise,' he said. 'But ,,,'

'Let us go to other business,' Abbas said and would talk no more about it.

The Hippodrome

Suleiman sat on a pure white Cappadocian horse, watching his march through the Atmeydani. Ferries were waiting to take them across to Üsküdar and Asia. Behind him, veiled and hidden behind a lattice grill, he could feel Hürrem watching him. The knowledge of her presence helped still his nagging doubts.

The Hippodrome shook to the rumble of supply wagons and siege engines. Choking clouds of dust swept across the square whipped up by the horse's hoofs and the iron spiked shoes of his infantry.

Ibrahim appeared through the haze, resplendent in a white cloak. 'Your blessing on our endeavour, my Lord. Would that you were with us!'

'You must defend Baghdad against the devil.'

'I will crush the Shah as you have commanded me!' He reined in his horse to review the army at Suleiman's side.

First came the
azabs
; irregular infantry, criminals and jailbirds and cutthroats come to fight for loot or else die and go straight to Paradise. They had nothing to lose and were sent in first at every charge; 'moat fillers', Ibrahim called them.

The regular cavalry - the Spahis of the Porte - thundered by, their horses caparisoned in gold and silver cloth, saddles studded with jewels, their conical helmets and burnished steel chain mail gleaming. They were spectacular in purple, royal blue and scarlet according to rank and regiment.

Next came the
Yeniçeris
, enormous Bird of Paradise plumes waving in the wind like a moving forest, blue skirted cloaks swinging with every stride, muskets slung over their shoulders. The huge copper cauldrons that served as each regiment's standard went with them. A white banner emblazoned with the flaming sword of Mohammed fluttered in the wind, embroidered with gold text from the Qu'ran.

Next came the dervishes, naked except for green aprons fringed with ebony beads, wearing towering hats of brown camelhair, chanting from the Qu'ran. Madcaps rode up and down the lines, long hair straggling from under their leopard skin caps, horses festooned with feathers. They were the crazy scouts, the religious fanatics who carried out the suicide raids no one else would attempt.

At the rear came the Divan, judges in green turbans, viziers on horseback glittering with jewels. With them came the camels bearing a sacred fragment of the holy Ka'aba, lumbering under the brilliant green folds of the standard of Islam. A metal
sanchak
Qu'ran, in miniature and inscribed in bronze, jangled at the top of the standard.

Finally there were the supply wagons, camels bowed under the weight of powder and lead, rumbling bronze siege cannon.

I should be with them, Suleiman thought.

'I will bring you back the Shah's head!' Ibrahim shouted.

What was it Hürrem had said? Do you not worry sometimes that he might abuse his power?

'We must regain Baghdad. As Defender of the Faith, I am sworn to protect it!' He felt a stirring of unease. I have put all my faith in you, Ibrahim. God grant that I have not trusted you too much.

Pera
.

Julia was sitting on the
terrazzo
. Ludovici stopped on the steps on the way from the garden to admire her. Abbas was right, he thought. She is so beautiful. If only I could make her feel about me the way she felt about him.

She is mine, but only because she has no choice. She is virtually a prisoner. She cannot leave my protection for fear of her life; having once been a concubine she may not return to Venice, for they would treat her like a whore. Serena would send her away to a convent.

There is nowhere else for her to go.

She looked up from her book. Ovid. So remote, like an angel carved from ice. She saw him watching her. 'Ludovici,' she said. He was wearing a rust-coloured kaftan, like a Turk. 'You enjoy playing the renegade, don't you?'

'It has nothing to do with it. It's cooler in such hot weather.'

'What is wrong? You look worried about something.'

'We must talk,' he said to her.

She fixed him with those ice blue eyes. A vision, as Abbas had once described her.

He sat down, fidgeted, wondered how to start. Finally: 'Julia, you have been here under my protection for almost three years.'

'And I have always been grateful to you for all you do for me.'

'Are you happy here?'

'Happy? What is happiness?'

He shrugged. Well, I don't know, he thought. Meat and wine on the table, a silk doublet, a woman to warm the bed. 'You should be married.'

'I am married. If Serena is still alive.'

'I don't know if he is. You said he was sick the last you heard of him. He was an old man when you married him. I could make enquiries, find out.'

'I don’t' really care about him.' She picked up her book.

He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Their conversations always went this way. It was as if she had been scooped hollow with a spoon. She was broken. How to find repair?

He felt like a father with a disgraced and unmarriageable daughter. What was he going to do about this?

'What is wrong?' she said. 'You are staring.' He looked away, flustered. I wonder what she thinks about all the time? What goes on behind those ice blue eyes? Perhaps she read his mind, for she said, unexpectedly: 'Do you ever see him?'

'Yes, sometimes.'

'Does he ever ask after me?'

'Always.'

Her eyes glistened. 'Poor Abbas.'

He reached across the table and took her hand. It was warm. 'I want you to be happy,' he said.

'You have kept me safe. Isn't that enough?'

***

The door was slightly ajar and the flickering candlelight danced on the marble floor. Ludovici paused in the shadows, deafened by his own heartbeat. His mouth went dry.

He pushed open the door. Julia sat at her dressing table, combing out her hair. The silk of her nightgown shimmered in the light. A small cross glimmered between her breasts. She saw him in the mirror and froze. She set down the brush. 'Ludovici?'

He imagined bunching her gown in his fists and tearing it side. 'Goodnight, Julia,' he said and gently shut the door.

Azerbaijan.

Rüstem had already calculated that, provided he did not commit himself too soon, he could profit from the Kislar Aghasi, regardless of how the dice fell. It was plain that there would soon be a confrontation between the Harem and the Divan; it was politic then to have a foot in both camps.

He would therefore encourage Ibrahim in his ambition. If he emerged triumphant, he would be there at his side. If he failed he would seek his reward from the witch, the
ziadi
Hürrem.

***

It was a long march through the lonely steppes of Anatolia. The army trailed a cloud of dust that spiralled a hundred feet into the air. The jackals fled in their wake.

The Sultan's horde; an endless column winding into the wilderness east and west, mile after mile, the
akinji
scouting ahead, camel trains and heavy guns creaking over rutted roads far behind, the column stretching from horizon to flat horizon. A summer passed as they made their way east, finally arriving at the feet of the great mountains of Asia and the cool still waters of Lake Van.

Finally they glimpsed the blue-tiled domes of Tabriz, glittering in the sun. Ibrahim hurried on after the Shah, but the Persian would not fight, would not risk his cavalry against artillery and instead chose to slip away into the mountains of Sultania.

By the time Ibrahim realized his pursuit was useless, the first chill of autumn was in the air.

***

Ibrahim's standard of six horsetails - only the Sultan had more - was jammed into the hard earth. The tent whipped in the wind. Razor-backed mountains rose against a mottled sky.

When Rüstem entered the Grand Vizier's tent, copper braziers had already been lit against the chill. And this was yet summer. What must winter be like in this place?

Ibrahim brooded on a throne of ivory and ebony wood. Rüstem touched his forehead to the carpet in salute.

'Rüstem? Should you not be guarding the camel train and the silks?' He noted the hard edge to the Vizier's voice. He was in a dangerous mood. The frustrations of the past weeks had begun to tell, as the quick, decisive victory he had counted on did not come.

'I thought I might be of service to you, my Lord.'

'To help count the money?'

'In the matter of the Shah, my Lord.'

Ibrahim flushed with anger. 'The Shah!' Rüstem had never seen the Vizier lose his icy calm. He wants this victory too badly, he thought, and that will disturb his judgment. 'The Shah is no better than a jackal! He runs away from us then doubles back to sniff at our spoor and snap at our heels.'

'Our scouts have still not located his army?'

'These are his mountains. He knows every valley, every ridge.'

'Perhaps there is a way to flush him out.'

Ibrahim seemed desperate. 'How?'

'If you offer him a treaty …'

'Never ! I have vowed to crush him!'

'You are not treating with a European nobleman, my Lord. The Shah is just a jackal, as you have said. There would be no dishonour in using an offer to treat simply as a means to draw him close enough to strike.'

Ibrahim brooded on this. Then: 'What do you suggest?'

'If we can get a message to him …'

'How can we do that?'

'I am sure the Sufavids are watching us, even as we speak. Any lone messenger travelling east will be intercepted. They will find us - we do not have to find them.'

'They will cut off his ears and nose and send them back in a leather pouch!'

'They might. But then again - perhaps the Shah does not wish to spend every summer skulking in the mountains. He cannot make war on us forever.'

Ibrahim got up and paced the tent. Outside, the sky had turned lead grey. Rain clouds swept towards them with the swiftness of charging cavalry.

Rüstem watched Ibrahim think it through. He held his breath. This was the moment; if Ibrahim took the bait, his fortune was assured. Ibrahim would raise him up or he would lift himself up on the Grand Vizier's corpse. Either way, he would not be a clerk for ever.

'Let me take the message to him.'

Ibrahim gaped at him. 'You, Rüstem?'

'I will coax the jackal from his lair.'

'When does a defterdar become an ambassador?'

'When he has ambition.'

Ibrahim nodded his understanding. 'What is your plan?'

'A sealed message from you, my Lord, offering him Tabriz and Azerbaijan in return for the holy city of Baghdad. We respect his borders to the east.'

'He will never believe we would strike such a bargain.'

'I can persuade him, if I have him face to face. And you have a duplicate of Suleiman's
tugra
, his personal seal. It is affixed to the offer, he must believe it is genuine.'

'Supposing he listens to you. What then?'

'We bring him and his escort to the plain under flag of truce and we massacre them like the dogs they are.'

The rainstorm was overhead now and broke like a volley of cannon fire, thundering onto the hard ground and slapping violently on the roof of the tent. The flares in the brazier flared in a gust of wind. 'He will never believe it.'

'Let me try. Perhaps he has heard of the alliance the Pope wants to bring against us. I will convince him we are more concerned for our borders to the west and wish to be rid of him.'

Rüstem knew that Ibrahim had promised the Sultan the Shah's head; and after Vienna he could not afford another failure, not with the
ziadi
Hürrem whispering against him. He needed this victory.

'All right, Rüstem. If you can bring him to me, your reward will be beyond your wildest dreams.'

Rüstem bowed. And you only know the half of it! he thought.