The Wanderer (64 page)

When we had made our way down to the water’s edge, Mustafa ben-Nakir looked about him and asked, “Where is your brother Antar the wrestler?”

I replied impatiently that I knew little of his movements, because since our return from Tunis he had gone barefoot, let his hair grow, and spent days together among the dervishes, watching their magic arts and listening to the shameless tales with which they beguiled credulous women into giving them money. Yet I called him and he emerged reluctantly from the boathouse, gnawing a bone.

“Ah, Antar, do you think to join our brotherhood?” asked Mustafa ben-Nakir in wonder at his appearance. Andy stared at him oafishly with his round gray eyes and said, “You see I have no lionskin over my shoulders. But my aim has indeed been to seek God upon the moun- taintops and in the desert. How could you guess my thoughts, when I have not hinted them even to the dervishes?”

Mustafa ben-Nakir was so greatly astonished that he touched brow and ground with his finger tips at Andy’s feet.

“In truth,” he said, “Allah is great and marvelous are his ways. This is the last thing I should have expected. Tell me what has led you to seek the holy path.”

Andy seated himself on the edge of the landing stage and dipped his weary feet into the water, gnawing meanwhile at his bone.

“How am I to explain to you what I hardly understand myself? While I had my friend Michael’s little dog beside me I felt a better creature. Rael hated no one and at once forgave all wrongs. If when I was drunk I happened to tread on his paws and make him yelp with pain, he’d come up to me at once to lick me as if asking forgiveness for having got in the way. He took the blame for my mistake, though over and over again I tried to explain the foolishness of this. On cold nights Rael would keep me warm. But who rightly values happiness and friendship before they’re gone? Not until that good dog found his well-deserved reward in the Seraglio did I see how much Michael and I had lost.”

He wiped away a few tears and went on, “Now that sorrow has found me I can see that the little dog was wiser than I; I see at last that I bear the guilt of the world’s evil. Whenever I see a man do an evil or a cruel deed I say to myself, the fault is yours! Alas, I’m a simple man and would do best to betake myself to a mountaintop or a desert, for these new thoughts of mine seem greatly to irritate other people, and I think I shall never again go to war. If I do it must be for some good and righteous cause.”

“I can offer you a good cause at this moment,” said Mustafa ben- Nakir eagerly. “Move away out of earshot and guard us against eavesdroppers; make short work of them if they appear. A poem is about to be born in my heart.”

Andy answered good naturedly, “I’m an ignorant fellow, yet I understand the anguish of such a birth. But I’ve noticed too that wine can allay much of it, and I will fetch Michael’s largest wine jar from the cellar.”

When he had gone, Mustafa ben-Nakir at once began, “I’ve been in the city to perform certain devotional exercises, and at the same time I heard news. There was also a story being told which I shall now repeat to you.”

In vain I protested that I was in no mood for stories and would prefer to hear his errand in plain language. He insisted in injured tones that ill tidings must be wrapped in silk, and in the name of the Compassionate he went on, “There was once a rich and respected lord whose falconer was a handsome youth of the same age as himself. The master became exceedingly fond of his servant and believed him as honorable as he was handsome, but when he would have entrusted him with the stewardship of his household, the guileful servant protested, saying, ‘It is not easy to govern so large a household. What surety have I that one day my lord will not be wroth with me and take off my head?’ The honorable master laughed and said, ‘I, wroth with thee? Thy friendship is more to me than the sight of my eyes. Yet, since neither of us can see into the future, I swear by the Prophet and the Koran that I will never dismiss or punish thee for any error. Rather I will protect and shield thee with all the power that Allah has given me, all the days of my life.’

“Not many years had passed before the slave squandered his master’s substance and endangered his house by forming connections in the teeth of law and custom. All too late the noble lord perceived his mistake and would have punished the slave who had so basely abused his trust, but he was a devout man and could not break his oath. The slave, who after the manner of slaves hated and envied his master because of his noble nature, crept to his bedside one night, strangled him, and sold his house and possessions to the unbeliever, thus doing not only his master but all Islam irreparable harm.”
 

Mustafa ben-Nakir fell silent, and in the blue darkness I saw the glitter of his eyes. He added coolly, “Is not that a strange story? What would you have done, Michael, in that noble master’s place?”
 

“Allah, what a foolish question! I would have hastened to the Mufti and asked him for a
fatwa
to release me from my rash oath. That is what a mufti is for.”
 

“Exactly!” whispered Mustafa. “This very morning the story has been told
to the Mufti. He has been asked to prepare a
fatwa,
in return for which Sultan Suleiman has promised to build the most splendid mosque ever seen, at the highest point of the city. The
fatwa
frees him from the sacred oath that he swore in the folly of his youth, and he can now act without offending against the laws of the Koran.”
 

I was silent, for the significance of the story had already dawned upon me. The Grand Vizier’s fate was irrevocably sealed, and no one in the world could help him now. Mustafa ben-Nakir covertly watched my face in the blue twilight and became impatient.
 

“Why don’t you speak, Michael ? Are you as simple as your brother Antar? The opportunity will slip through our fingers. The Mufti has been given until tomorrow evening to consider. Tomorrow is the Ides of March, according to the Christian calendar, when all notable events are wont to take place. The time for action has come. The Ides of March favor the bold man, but crush the weak and vacillating beneath an iron heel.”
 

“If by action you mean that we must fly, it is too late. In any case I will not desert the Grand Vizier in his most desperate hour, however foolish this may seem in the eyes of the prudent/’
 

Mustafa ben-Nakir cried impatiently, “Are you asleep, Michael? Sultan Suleiman is unlit to be lord of the world. The Grand Vizier carries the Sultan’s personal seal, and the Seraglio knows that Suleiman has been sick for some days. The janissaries love Prince Mustafa. The Young Moor is wintering here with his ships, and all we need is a large enough sum to distribute among the janissaries, rosy promises for the people, and larger farms for the spahis. Then the Seraglio would joyfully proclaim Prince Mustafa sultan. Michael, Michael! Destiny unaided has prepared all things for tomorrow.”
 

“But,” I asked in amazement, “what do you mean to do with Sultan Suleiman?”
 

“He must die, of course,” said Mustafa in surprise. “One of those two must die, as you must see for yourself. When the Sultan has obtained his
fatwa
he will invite the Grand Vizier to an evening meal with him, but this time the meal will end with the coming of the mutes. Before this, however, will be the Grand Vizier’s moment—the only moment and the last. They eat together; then poison, dagger, or noose will speak. The Sultan’s face can be painted to conceal all signs of violence. And in any event, after his death the people will be thinking more about young Mustafa than about him.”
 

My thoughts took a bold flight, and after my long depression and apathy I was fired with enthusiasm; for reason told me that Mustafa’s plan was excel
lent. Once the deed was done neither janissaries nor eunuchs would ask needless questions; they would quickly submit to the will of Allah and hasten forward to receive from the heir the gifts to be expected at the beginning of a new reign. Meanwhile the cannon of the Young Moor would command the city. Should any pasha of the Divan be foolish enough to demand an inquiry, his colleagues would hasten to suppress him in the hope of seizing his appointment. I myself would lose nothing by the altered regime, whereas if the Grand Vizier were to die a traitor’s death at the hands of the mutes, my own head would soon roll into the vaults beneath the Gateway of
 

Peace. Tradition would require the distribution of a large number of black kaftans among the Grand Vizier’s adherents and servants.

We had already drunk deeply of the wine that Andy had set down within reach, and now I said, “Your health, Mustafa ben-Nakir! Your plan is excellent but you have not yet told me all. Be honest for once and say why you’re risking your neck. I know you and your philosophy well enough to be sure that you wouldn’t lift a finger for the Grand Vizier alone.”
 

By the light of the rising moon I saw him incline his head toward mine. He seized the wine jar and drank, then said rapidly, “Ah, Michael my friend! Though I sought solace among the fair daughters of Bagdad how could I find it, when in
her
I had learned to adore the unattainable? I must be freed from this phantom, for reason tells me that she is but a woman like other women. But I can only win to this release in her arms, which is possible only if Sultan Suleiman dies and I can claim her as my reward. It is as simple as that. For the sake of a woman’s rippling laugh the goddess of history will tomorrow turn a fresh page in her great book.”
 

He hid his face in his hands and his whole body shook with passion, pain, and the sorcery that wine and the cool spring night had wrought. Andy approached, commiserated with him on the birth pangs of his poem, and helped him to his feet, though he too was so unsteady that they nearly tumbled into the water together. When Mustafa had released himself from Andy’s arms he seized me by the shoulders and muttered thickly, “You know enough, Michael el-Hakim! Hasten now to him who is in both our thoughts. When he has promised to do his part we will make all ready for tomorrow.”
 

Andy helped Mustafa away to bed and then at my orders put on a clean kaftan to attend me, for I dared not set forth alone on so perilous an errand. While the sleepy slaves were preparing the boat, Giulia came hurrying down to the landing stage, wringing her hands and weeping.

“Don’t leave me alone, Michael! What has happened and what did Mustafa ben-Nakir want of you? And whither are you bound? You would not
hide anything rrom me?”
 

I told her that Mustafa ben-Nakir had drunk himself insensible while composing a poem in honor of a certain exalted lady, but that I, being unable to sleep, was on my way to the great mosque to watch and pray. She told me that she too was sleepless and begged me to take her with me, that she might seek the company of the harem ladies. I could not refuse, yet it was without pleasure than I took my place beside her beneath the stern awning; indeed, I was surprised at my own sudden antipathy to her presence. Chancing to brush against her I felt that she was trembling.

“Are you cold, Giulia?” I asked in wonder. Then as she drew away from me, I turned my eyes to Alberto’s dark, expressionless face. I remembered Giulia’s cat, and many other things, until I too began to tremble.

“That Tunisian drug,” I said in a low voice. “Why did you put it in the fruit you gave me some days ago? I had no need of it; I was quite well.”

My calm tones lured her into the trap, for scheming though her nature was she often saw no farther than the end of her nose.

“Ah, Michael, you’re not angry with me ? It was for your good. You looked unwell and I feared you might have caught the boatman’s sickness. I could not guess it would make you so ill.”

After this admission I knew for certain that Sultana Khurrem had heard of the drug and begged her to obtain some of it. But Giulia had wanted first to try it out on me. It was clear that in such a matter the Sultana could not approach the Seraglio physicians. But Giulia was her confidante, and the very next evening the drug was in Khurrem’s hands, to be skillfully introduced into the finest of the fruits destined for the Sultan’s dessert. Courtesy, of course, required the Grand Vizier to offer the Sultan this very fruit.

Despite this new evidence of Giulia’s treachery I felt no particular anger. Perhaps it had consumed itself. Indeed the certainty brought me something approaching relief. No more was said, and when we came alongside the Seraglio quay I set her and Alberto ashore before proceeding further to the end of the street leading to the great mosque. From here Andy and I could walk unnoticed uphill toward the Atmeidan and then follow the high wall surrounding the forbidden gardens. While I entered the Grand Vizier’s palace by a back entrance, Andy remained on guard in the street.

I was taken straight to the Grand Vizier, who was sitting in his library on a plain leather cushion, holding a Greek parchment in his hand. He smiled pleasantly and said, “My clock is slow, and so I am not at all surprised to see you at so late an hour.”

This time he was singularly well and carefully dressed. His hair was oiled and his hands and nails colored. He had even put red on his lips and wore earrings set with sparkling diamonds, and seemed to have regained his usual serenity. Wasting no time on preliminary courtesies I said, “Noble lord, your clock is not slow. I fancy that someone has bribed your clockmaker or the Sultan’s to put it deliberately out of order, for you to take it as a bad omen. But your clock is not slow, happy Ibrahim. Indeed, it gains upon that of your enemies.”

I told him rapidly of all I had learned—of the poison in the fruit, of the
fatwa,
of Mustafa ben-Nakir’s plan, and of his brotherhood that stood ready to give Ibrahim the Grand Master their support.