SERAGLIO (4 page)

Shah Tamasp regarded the miserable creature in front of him. The man had been brought to the camp blindfold and in chains by two of his scouts. He lay face down in the dirt at the entrance to his pavilion, two scimitars pressed into the flesh of his neck, while the Shah read the contents of the missive he had brought with him.

The Shah showed the letter to his mullah, who passed it to one of his generals. They shook their heads. What trickery had the Suleiman's Vizier devised now? The Shah snatched it back and read the letter a third time. He was a young man, thin as a whip with cruel eyes. When he spoke his voice was high and sibilant as a girl's. 'What is your name, messenger?'

The wretch raised his face a few inches from the ground. 'Rüstem, my Lord.' There was a trickle of blood on his lips.

'What is your rank in Suleiman's army?'

'Defterdar, my Lord.'

'A treasury clerk? When do the Osmanlis send their money counters as couriers?'

'The Grand Vizier trusts me.'

The Shah frowned. Well, this was odd. 'So Ibrahim is persuaded to sue for peace. Is this what his Sultan wants, also?'

'Ibrahim has the confidence of the Lord of the Two Worlds. He has his
tugra
.'

'Yes, I see that.'

'He has given him leave to make treaties in his name.'

'Defterdar Rüstem, can you tell me why your so-called Lord of the Two Worlds does not lead his army against us himself, as his father did?'

'He has tired of war, my Lord. He wishes for peace.'

So it was true, then. Suleiman was weak. The offer was reasonable. Too reasonable? But if it were real, he could present his mullahs with a great political victory. They could not hold Baghdad in the face of the Osmanli armies. When Ibrahim grew tired of chasing him through the mountains, he could take Tabriz and the Holy City and return to Stamboul. And then they would have to do this all again next year.

Yes, perhaps this clerk is telling the truth. Rome worries them more than Baghdad.

And yet.

'Such a treaty might be possible, messenger Rüstem. But we must meet at a place of my choosing, with only bodyguards in attendance.'

'You doubt Ibrahim's honour?'

The Shah smiled. 'Of course. He's a Turke.'

'Greek,' Rüstem corrected him.

'Well there you are then.'

He nodded at the two guards, who dragged him roughly to his feet. 'If he agrees to my conditions, tell him I accept his offer. Go in peace, Defterdar Rüstem.'

The guards dragged him away. The Shah watched them put him on his horse, still chained and blindfolded. They led him through the rows of tents toward the south. He wondered again about Suleiman. An Osmanli who wanted peace? A lie or the first sign of weakness? Well, as God wills.

The wind was cool t
oda
y, but winter was still a long way off. The Osmanli army would not be going home just yet. He would have to wait and see.

***

'If you follow the spur, it will lead you to the valley where your friends are camped,' the Persian said and ripped the blindfold from Rüstem's face. The other rider unlocked his chains.

Rüstem blinked in the sunlight. One of his guards, a bearded ruffian in a battered conical helmet, tugged at his beard. 'Next time we meet, perhaps the Shah will let me wet my word on your liver.'

Rüstem ignored the insult and took the reins of his horse. He had no time for Persians, his was a greater game. The gamble had paid off. A simple thing now to conclude this business.

Poor Ibrahim. He was far too fond of the grand gesture to be a truly great Vizier. Greatness required calculation and planning. Someone with the ability to see opportunity in danger.

Someone like himself.

The two Persians galloped away and he was left alone on the high steppe. He allowed himself a small smile. Then he rode back down the spur towards the camp. He rode like a clerk, but he had the heart of a bandit.

Ibrahim's face betrayed both amusement and wonder. One finger tapped a tattoo on the arm of his throne. The silk tent flapped in the wind as it buffeted and sighed.

'So you found the Shah?'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'You astonish me, Rüstem. I thought never to see you alive again. They kept you blindfold, no doubt.'

'Indeed.'

'They treated you well?'

'Passably.'

His robe was torn and filthy. There was blood and matted dirt in his beard. Had he suffered? The pale grey eyes betrayed nothing.

'Your lip is cut.'

'It is nothing.'

Ibrahim roared with laughter. 'And I thought we might never see you again! What a loss you would have been to the world of poetry and good conversation!'

'I think not, my Lord,' Rüstem said, seriously.

Ibrahim shook his head. He sometimes entertained a fantasy in which he scooped off the top of Rüstem's skull with his sword, like an egg. When he peered inside there was no brain, just an abacus. 'So what does the Shah say to our offer of treaty?'

'He has refused it, my Lord.'

Ibrahim's face darkened, but the smile stayed doggedly in place. 'He does not trust us, Rüstem?'

'It was the authority of the letter he mistrusted.'

'The authority …?'

'He said he could not treat with you.'

The smile vanished. 'Why not?'

'He said you were only a soldier, and that he could only accept such an offer as genuine if it were signed by the Sultan, not the Sultan's clerk.'

Ibrahim stood up. He clenched his fists to stop the trembling in his hands. Then he grabbed Rüstem and threw him across the tent. Rüstem lay on his side, looking neither frightened or really all that surprised.

Ibrahim drew the
killiç
from the jewelled sheath at his waist and raised it, double-handed, above his head, then brought it down, with all his strength, on the back of the throne, sending splinters of ivory and wood spinning across the tent. 'The Sultan's clerk? Is it the Sultan's clerk who sits every day in the Divan and administers the Empire? Is it the Sultan's clerk who leads his armies into battle for him while he pleasures himself in his Harem? The Sultan? I AM THE SULTAN!'

'He spoke in ignorance, my Lord.'

'Does he think the Sultans sends clerks into battle? Does he, Rüstem?'

'I only repeat his words. He said he could not treat with any but the Sultan of the Osmanlis..'

'How long must I endure this? The Sultan has entrusted to me his kingdoms, his armies, his power, everything! The making of war or the granting of peace are in my hand. Does the Shah know who it was called for the army to come here? It was I - not the Sultan! I take the burden and yet he calls me the Sultan's clerk!'

'But my Lord -'

Ibrahim held the
killiç
in front of Rüstem's eyes, turning it slowly so that the light pooled and shivered on the blade. 'When we take him, we take him alive.'

'First we must lure him out. If we convey to the Lord of Life a message …'

'No! I swore I would bring him back his head! Should I now rush to him with entreaties for his aid?'

'… Then perhaps there is another way?'

'Another way?'

'All the Empire knows how greatly the Sultan has honoured and trusted you. Perhaps you should impress this upon the Shah. You must show him that you have the authority to make such a treaty.'

'How?'

'You must extend the offer again. Only this time you must sign it as the Sultan.'

Ibrahim stared at him. Did this lunatic realize what he was saying? 'That is impossible.'

'What else may we do, my Lord? Except chase him around the mountains until winter comes.'

'I may do many things, Rüstem, but I cannot assume the title of Sultan.'

'Who will know once it is done? You may bury the document with the Shah.'

He has a point, Ibrahim thought. Unthinkable!

And yet …

Why not? I am Sultan in everything but name. He has trusted me with his Divan and his armies; if he did not wish me to invoke his power, why would he give me so much?

'I cannot do it,' he said.

'In that case let us hurry on and take back Baghdad but he will take it back as soon as we are gone. But you promised the Sultan his head and this is the only way to lure him out.'

Ibrahim closed his eyes. Rüstem was right. How could he return to Suleiman without this victory? The Austrians had humiliated them at Güns; now the Shah taunted him from the mountains. And until their Asian border was secure again they could not take their armies against the Roman Emperor in Europe. His destiny was in the Green Apple, not here in this wilderness. It was Rome that would carve his name alongside Alexander's in history. If he must take a hammer to swat this mosquito, then so be it.

He told Rüstem to get up and fetch a quill and parchment.

To the Shah Tamasp of Persia, greetings and health, may prosperity and glory signal your days. From sundry verbal communications we have cognizance of your desire for peace, and by the grace of the Most High, whose power be forever exalted! we ourselves have no desire to make war on our brothers in Islam. We therefore make it known that should you give up the holy city of Baghdad and all territories you have conquered by force of arms, we shall cede to you Tabriz, and the lands known as Azerbaijan, should you pay tribute each year of one thousand gold ducats. Night and day our horse is saddled to ride and meet with you to conclude our peace.

Written in the year of the Hejira, 941.

Ibrahim. Seraskier Sultan.

Seraskier Sultan!

Rüstem reined in his horse on the ridge overlooking the Osmanli camp. The smoke from the morning campfires drifted upwards, throwing gauze over the distant panorama of the mountains. From here he could see the scarlet tent of the Grand Vizier, his standard with the six horsetails limp in the still of the morning.

Seraskier Sultan!

Rüstem turned and rode away towards the north. He spurred his horse beyond the first ridge, then wheeled around and galloped west. When he did not return Ibrahim would assume the Shah's men had murdered him. By the time he gave him up for lost he would be in Stamboul.

Seraskier Sultan!

Topkapi Saraya

Suleiman crumpled the letter in his fist, his face ugly with grief.

The pashas and muftis and generals who surrounded him all fell silent. They tried to look miserable, but they didn't fool anyone. He knew what they were all thinking. The vain boastful Greek had finally written his own death warrant!

Rüstem Pasha stood in the centre of the Divan, waiting his turn to speak. There was no scent of perfume on him now. He stank of horse. He claimed to have ridden for three weeks from the borderlands of Azerbaijan to bring his news.

I would rather your horse had fallen and broken your neck, Suleiman thought.

'You wrote this at his command?' he said finally.

'Yes, great lord. He bid me take it to the Shah Tamasp. He affixed your seal.'

Suleiman knew he was trapped. Ibrahim, I could have forgiven you anything, but not this! If Rüstem had come to me privately with this, I could perhaps have found some way to excuse you. But now he has made it public and presented me with your treachery in front of everyone. There is nothing I can do for you.

What have you done?

'Why did you not do as he commanded and take this to the Shah?'

'My Lord, I know my duty. I could not allow such treachery to take place. I am your loyal servant.'

You pathetic little worm! Suleiman thought. How dare you speak to me of treachery! Ibrahim has served me faithfully for more than a quarter of a century, he is my boyhood friend, he was my Seraskier, now my Vizier. How do you know this was really treachery? How can you be so certain?

'The Sultan owes you a great debt, Defterdar Rüstem,' he forced himself to say. He stared at the crumpled parchment in his fist. 'How does the campaign progress?'

'Since Tabriz, Ibrahim Pasha trails the Shah through the mountains but our only glimpse of him has been the dung of his horses. The Agas urge Ibrahim to Baghdad but he ignores their counsel. He says he is the only one capable of achieving victory. He says it has always been so.'

A sigh passed around the chamber. How dare Rüstem say such things! Suleiman wondered. He repeats these calumnies in front of everyone as if they were figures from a balance sheet.

'What of the morale of my army?'

'They all ask for your presence to lead them. Without you they believe they cannot achieve victory. Even the
Yeniçeris
believe Ibrahim will only lead them further into the mountains, to disaster.'

Suleiman watched the dust filtering through the shafts of yellow sunlight. The passage of dust; the passage of life, the passage of all reputations.

Behind him, high on the wall, was the dangerous window. There was no one there this morning to witness Ibrahim's fall of grace, but Suleiman wished with all his heart that he was up there now, that he could watch someone else make the terrible decision that he knew must finally be made.

The Eski Saraya

Suleiman removed his turban and ran a hand over the smooth skin of his scalp to the single scalplock at the base of his skull, the legacy of his ghazi forefathers. He closed his eyes. He felt the weight of his royalty more keenly today than any time in the fifteen years since he had taken his throne.

She entered silently through a velvet curtain and knelt at his feet. For once she had no smile to greet him. She kissed his hand and rested it against his cheek.

'You knew?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'How?'

'Whispers in the Harem.'

'How is it the Harem know everything that happens even before I do?'

'When I came through the curtain and saw your face I knew the whispers must be true.'

He stroked her hair and his face softened. 'What am I to do?'

'May I see the letter, my Lord?'

He still held it crumpled in his fist. She took it from his fingers and unfolded it. It was barely legible, badly creased and the sweat from his hand had smudged the ink. But she could still read the signature.

Seraskier Sultan.

Oh Rüstem, she thought. Abbas chose well. You have a rare genius for intrigue.

'He sues for peace with the Shah under your name,' she said.

'It is madness. What could have possessed him to do such a thing?'

'Is this Defterdar Rüstem to be trusted?'

'He is just a clerk. In his misguided way he thinks he does well by me. The treason is there written beneath my own seal. Seraskier Sultan! There is no circumstance, no provocation, under which any man might call himself Sultan other than me. To do so is rebellion. He knows it.'

'But he is your friend.'

'Yes, my friend, and much more than a friend. It only makes this even more unforgiveable.'

'Do not act too rashly, my Lord.'

He shook his head. 'You may be the only one t
oda
y who speaks for him. Suddenly he has enemies I did not even dream of. They have swarmed from every crevice in the Palace walls to denounce him.'

Yes, I will speak for him, she thought, and when his head is rotting on the palace walls, you will remember that I did. There is nothing anyone can do to save him so I may not fear overstating my case. 'You must go to him.'

He nodded. 'The longer I delay, the more damage this shall do to me. I cannot ignore this, but I cannot bring myself to harm him, little
russelana
. It would be like cutting out my own heart.'

'If he is indeed your friend, there must be some way you can excuse him.'

He snatched the letter from her hand. 'There is no way! What excuse can there be?' He jumped to his feet and went to the candle. He held it to the flame, twisting it in the flames, watching it burn.

'Here, it is ashes now. He will tell me of this letter with his own lips when I arrive. If he is truly my friend he will not try to hide this from me.' He crushed the ashes with his boot.

Hürrem stood up and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled his head to her breast and felt him cry in her arms.

'Hürrem,' he said, 'what would I do without you?'

'Shh,' she murmured and stroked his head, despising his weakness more than she had ever done.