The Architect's Apprentice (21 page)

Jahan would always remember 1562 as the year of happiness. Everyone had one such year in their lives, he believed. It grew, it blossomed, and, just as he started to think it would always be like this, it was over. His time of joy started when they set out to build a mosque for Mihrimah. Now that her father had given her vast lands and ample revenues, she had become the richest woman in the empire – and the most commanding. People were frightened to upset her. Including the apprentices. Even Master Sinan was rather uncomfortable in her presence. She sent everyone into a cold sweat. Except Jahan. He was too besotted with her to remember to fear her.

Thus, while the other apprentices were timid and reluctant to say anything new, Jahan was bursting with ideas. He worked so hard that, even though he was still no more than an apprentice, his master valued his eagerness. Sinan began to take Jahan with him whenever he visited the Princess to inform her about their progress.

All throughout those early months, no matter what Jahan did or where he was, he thought about the layout that Sinan had drawn so neatly. At night in bed he racked his brains to figure out how to perfect it. Even in his sleep he carried stones to Mihrimah’s mosque. Then one day, overstepping a boundary, he drew a porch of seven domed bays and handed it to the Chief Royal Architect.

‘You put aside my layout and drew your own,’ said Sinan, sounding more incredulous than upset.

‘Master, forgive me, I meant no disrespect. I believe the entrance to the mosque should be overwhelming, unexpected.’

Sinan could have scolded him then and there. He didn’t. Instead he inspected the sketch and asked, ‘Why seven?’

Jahan had already thought of an answer. ‘It is the number of the layers of earth. And the circles a pilgrim makes around the Kaaba. It’s a holy number.’

Sinan remained thoughtful for a moment. Then he rolled up the scroll and said, ‘Come back with new designs. Do a better job, if you want me to take you seriously.’

Jahan did. He kept drawing, measuring, dreaming. At no stage did he confess to himself that he wanted the mosque to remind Mihrimah of the day they had met. When she was still a girl escaping from a wasp. When she had worn a necklace with seven pearls. In his plans he chose the lightest marble and granite for the columns, the colour of her dress and veil. Four towers would support the dome, as they had been four in the garden that afternoon: the Princess, Hesna Khatun, the mahout and the elephant. And a single minaret would stand high, slender and graceful, just like her. Her mosque would have lots of windows, both on the dome and in the prayer hall, to reflect the sunshine in her hair.

After weeks of this frenzy, Sinan pulled Jahan aside and said, ‘I have been watching you toil away. Although you are not fully ready, I believe you have the strength and the grit. I’m going to give you more responsibility for Princess Mihrimah’s mosque. I’ll let you make those changes.’

Jahan kissed his master’s hand, put it on his forehead. Whatever life had been like for him until then, it would never be the same afterwards. On no other construction site would he work this hard, exhausting himself with every detail.

Meanwhile, Jahan’s tireless dedication was a source of irritation for the other apprentices, although this he wouldn’t realize until it was too late.

As they neared the end of Mihrimah’s Mosque, the master and the apprentices found themselves in a quagmire. For some time now the ancient aqueducts had been in need of repair. Lined up like defeated giants, they loomed over the city, aged and drained. As the population of Istanbul grew, so did the demand for water. Deep under hospitals, inns, slaughterhouses,
hamams
, mosques, churches and synagogues, holy springs percolated through the soil – except, it was not enough any more.

Sinan was ready to embark on the task. He did not just want to restore what had been done back in the days of the infidels: his intentions were bigger, more daring. He yearned to bring water to the entire city by building a succession of stone bridges, sluiceways and subterranean tunnels. Cisterns – open and covered – would supply provisions for dry summer seasons. It was a major venture and one that earned him adversaries aplenty – but none was powerful as Rustem Pasha: the royal groom, the new Grand Vizier and Mihrimah’s husband.

Rustem had opposed Sinan’s plan from the beginning. Fresh water meant fresh migrants – more congestion, more hovels, more pestilence. Istanbul was crowded enough and could do without new settlers, each of whom would arrive with a bundle of dreams and disappointments.

Many sided with Rustem, though for reasons of their own. Rival architects who begrudged Sinan his talent did not wish him to undertake such a colossal commission for fear that he might succeed. Laymen insisted no mortal could fetch water from the mountains – unless he was Ferhad bursting through Mount Bisutun to carry milk to Shirin. Preachers said the earth should be left undisturbed, lest the
djinn
awaken and heap calamities on mankind. While everyone sniped, Sinan went on working as if there were nothing to fret about.
How he held on to his faith amid treachery and remained quiet in the face of malicious gossip was beyond Jahan’s grasp. Not even once had the master returned slander with slander. He reminded Jahan of a turtle that, upon being prodded by children, retreats into its shell, waiting for the madness to pass. Yet the turtle that was Sinan kept working, working, all the time that he remained still.

Nikola and Jahan were to assist the master in the water scheme. It was their responsibility to take the measurements, calculate the angles of the slopes, perfect the designs, and inspect where the Byzantine waterways had failed and how they could be improved. Once they had all this information, they would present their findings to the Sultan.

Entrusted with a task this big, Nikola and Jahan were thrilled and anxious in equal measure. Of all the jobs they had undertaken over the years, this was by far the hardest. Even so, they slogged away less to impress the Sultan or to defeat the Grand Vizier than to avoid embarrassment for their master. One by one they detected the springs and boreholes, creeks and streams, well-heads and reservoirs, marked them on the map and ruminated on how to connect them through channels both above and below the ground. Finally, one Thursday afternoon, the master and the two apprentices, spruce and spirited, headed to the palace, laden with designs and hopes.

It was Rustem who welcomed them, courteously but coldly. Jahan dug his fingernails into his palms so as to stop from shaking in front of the Croatian who had stolen Mihrimah from him. The Grand Vizier did not notice a thing. With his tall body, cunning mind and resilient nature, he had won a great many accolades – and today it seemed likely that he would do his best to obstruct Sinan. So deep was his dislike of the migrants from Anatolia that, in order to prevent them from coming, he was willing to sacrifice the prosperity of everyone in the city.

Upon being ushered into the Audience Chamber, they found Sultan Suleiman on his throne, which was covered in gold cloth and studded with gems. A fountain trickled in one corner, its sound
breaking the silence in the room. The Lord of Worlds, wearing a robe of yellow satin with black sable, greeted Sinan warmly, though the hardness in his voice was lost on no one. He had put on bright colours for the first time in weeks. His two sons had become each other’s worst enemy, but it was the loss of Hurrem that had shattered him like nothing else. The woman to whom he had written love poems, the mother of his five children, the queen who was both hated and adored, the concubine who had climbed higher than any other harem girl, the laughing one, was gone. She had died without seeing one of her sons on the Ottoman throne.

After prostrating themselves three times on the ground, eyes cast down, the apprentices trod behind their master, the carpet soft and lush beneath their feet. Later on, Jahan would remember the light spilling from the sconces, and the smell of the linden tree outside the window that he dared not peek at but was comforted by all the same.

‘Chief Royal Architect, defend your plans,’ ordered Sultan Suleiman.

Sinan gave his apprentices a nod. They had drawn their sketches on panels of camel skin, so thin as to be transparent. Four in total. Nikola and Jahan, each taking an end, unrolled and displayed the first design. Sinan, meanwhile, gave an account of what he intended to do, pointing every now and then at some detail. Neither the Sultan nor the Grand Vizier uttered a word.

They swiftly proceeded to the second and third drawings – aqueducts of various sizes and at various locations. The fourth – that of a warren of underground conduits that would link several sources, the plan that most excited them – Sinan put aside. Had he found a more receptive audience, he would have shown it. Now, however, instinct told him to keep it to himself. Instead, he said that, with the help of ducts, he would make the water flow to gardens, courtyards and vineyards. He said there was nothing as noble as relieving the thirst of the parched. When he finished, Sultan Suleiman hemmed and hawed for a while. Turning to the Grand Vizier, he asked his opinion.

Rustem had been waiting for this moment. He spoke gingerly, as if what he were about to reveal caused him pain, yet he had no other choice. ‘Architect Sinan is a skilful man. He came here with a sublime idea. But I’m afraid he doesn’t understand this will only bring us trouble.’

‘What kind of trouble, Vizier?’

‘My Sultan, this is costly. It’ll strain the treasury.’

When asked what he had to say to that, Sinan said, ‘There are ways to cut expenses. Where we can, we’ll choose the shortest route and use suitable materials.’

The Grand Vizier said, ‘What will you have achieved then? More migrants! Say there is a fire – how will you put it out if you have houses planted side by side like wild mushrooms?’ Not expecting an answer, he produced a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘This city is full to bursting. We need no more.’

A shadow crossed Sinan’s face. ‘How many will arrive is a question that can be settled by our Sultan. But the people who are here ought to have water.’

This went on for a while. The Chief Royal Architect countered the Grand Vizier, the Grand Vizier countered the Chief Royal Architect. Finally, bored with the parley, the Sultan declared, ‘That’s enough, I’ve listened to both sides. You shall learn my decision!’

Sinan and his apprentices, walking backwards, left the chamber. Rustem stayed behind, which Jahan thought unfair. Surely in their absence he would try to persuade the sovereign. Jahan racked his brains to try to save the situation. If one of them could spend a bit more time alone with the Sultan, without the interference of the Grand Vizier, he might be brought round. Otherwise, they stood no chance.

That evening, enervated by the events of the day, the apprentices stayed in Sinan’s house. Jahan had hoped to discuss things, but the master, never one for idle ramblings, made them study. Exhausted, they retreated to bed following supper. It was there, as he lay on his mat, tossing and turning in the dark, that Jahan came up with a plan.

Unable to wait till the morning, he groped his way to the other side of the room, where Nikola was sound asleep. He shook him by the shoulder.

Jolted out of whatever dream he was having, Nikola said, ‘Who is there?’

‘Shh, it’s me.’

‘Jahan … what’s happened?’

‘Can’t sleep. I keep thinking about how it went today.’

‘Me too,’ he said, even though he had been dead to the world a moment ago.

‘How can our Sultan reach a just decision when the Vizier is with him all the time? Master sees the Sultan only once in a while. Rustem has access to him every day.’

‘True, but there’s nothing we can do.’

‘Maybe there is. I’ve an idea,’ Jahan said. ‘There is one place where the Grand Vizier will never bother the Sultan.’

Nikola gasped. ‘You are going to enter the harem?’

‘Nay, dim-witted one,’ Jahan said, chuckling despite himself. ‘There’s
another
place the Vizier would not accompany him. Guess!’

‘Ogh, I can’t,’ Nikola pleaded. ‘Tell me.’

‘Hunting. When the Sultan goes hunting, I’ll follow him and explain our intentions. Without that nosy Vizier around, he’ll think more clearly.’

‘Brother, that’s a brilliant plan,’ Nikola said.

They both knew the Grand Vizier detested the chase. Being hopelessly clumsy, he could not move at the same pace as the others, let alone track a prey up and down the hills.

‘This’ll be our gift to our master,’ Jahan said. ‘Don’t tell him anything yet.’

Nikola’s voice dwindled to a whisper. ‘What if it’s dangerous?’

‘Why should it be? If the Sultan does not want to listen, I’ll leave.’

‘Shall I come with you?’

‘Better if I go alone. When I get back, I promise I’ll tell you everything.’

‘But … be careful.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.’

Despite his confidence, Jahan’s mind was a beehive the rest of the week, his nerves in shreds. He constantly rehearsed, word by word, what he would tell the Sultan. Thanks to his companions in the menagerie, he knew where the Sultan would be hunting and when. Here began the second part of his plan, which he had not shared with Nikola. He would take Chota with him. So far all his efforts to endear the animal to the Sultan had been for naught. Now, Jahan thought, both the elephant and the mahout had a chance to win him over.

The day, at last, arrived, and the morning saw Jahan, atop the elephant, a leather bag strapped to his back, reaching the enormous Bab-i Humayun Gate in the direction of Hagia Sophia and saluting the guards.

‘Where are you going?’ one of them asked.

‘Our Sultan, refuge of the world, forgot his lucky bow. I’ve been ordered to take it to him.’

‘Why didn’t they send out a horseman?’ demanded a second guard.

‘Because elephants are faster than horses,’ Jahan said without missing a beat.

They sniggered. The first guard said, ‘Maybe I should go to check.’

‘Sure, I’ll wait. If the Sultan notices he doesn’t have his lucky bow and gets upset, it won’t be my fault.’

Chewing their moustaches, the men regarded him. Jahan’s seriousness had given them pause for thought. Then, as if linked to each other through an invisible string, they both moved aside.

‘Go!’ said the second guard. ‘You’d better hurry that elephant up.’

And so Jahan did, though not until the city was behind them. He didn’t want Chota to trample anyone. As soon as the sights and sounds of Istanbul had vanished, he ordered the elephant to run.

They reached the pinewoods north of the city. Jahan had learned that whenever the Sultan went hunting, he would drive his prey towards the edge of a certain precipice. That’s where Jahan waited. A
long time went by – or so it seemed to him. He began to worry. They might be hiding somewhere behind the bushes, for all he knew, and shoot him accidentally. He was inventing new fears when he heard the distant barking of dogs. There were half a dozen of them, drawing swiftly near.

Then Jahan saw it – him. A stag. Out of the forest he sprang, reeling. An arrow had pierced his neck and a second one his heart. It was a miracle that he was still running.

As Jahan got off the elephant, the stag came closer, its antlers glittering in the sunset. It was a magnificent animal – large liquid eyes, wild to the point of delirium. Disturbed by the smell of blood, Chota swung his tusks. But the stag had reached a point beyond threats. He widened his nostrils and, opening his mouth, as though he wanted to say something, collapsed.

Jahan sprang towards him, tripping over a tree root. By the time he reached the deer, five greyhounds had appeared out of nowhere, barking with all their might. They circled the carcass, not letting him get close.

On an impulse Jahan turned around. The Sultan, sitting astride his horse, was staring at him. Trembling, Jahan threw himself to the ground. ‘My Lord.’

‘What are you doing here – you and the elephant?’

‘This humble servant came to see you, if you’ll allow me to say a few words.’

‘Aren’t you my mahout?’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Jahan said. Just the other day he had stood a few steps away from him, showing their designs. But apparently he had forgotten. ‘I’m also an apprentice to Master Sinan. It’s on this matter that I came to plead to your Highness.’

While they were speaking, servants had loaded the carcass on to a cart pulled by two horses. The greyhounds, still barking their triumph, followed noisily.