The Architect's Apprentice (10 page)

By the River Pruth they waited. The water ran wild and deep between the Ottoman Army and the enemy. The Janissaries itched to be on the other shore, athirst for victory.

One morning, Jahan saw the zemberekcibasi
*
hurrying as fast as his legs would carry him, coming in his direction. Eager to learn what was going on, he was late in moving out of the man’s way.

‘How is the beast doing, mahout?’ asked the zemberekcibasi, quickly righting himself after their minor collision.

‘He is very well,
effendi
, ready to fight.’

‘Soon,
insha’Allah
. First we need to cross this cursed river.’

And with those words the man disappeared into a hefty tent that had two soldiers outside standing sentinel. Jahan should have stopped there, but he didn’t. Not pausing to think whose tent this could be, he walked with such steadiness that the guards took him to be the attendant of the zemberekcibasi and let him pass.

Inside, it was so crowded nobody paid the boy any attention. Quiet as a mouse, Jahan tiptoed to a corner opposite the door, squeezing in between two pages. Cloth walls, brocade cushions, carpets of dazzling colours; salvers piled high with delicacies; braziers, lanterns, incenses with sweet fragrances. He wondered if he could filch a few things for Captain Gareth but even the thought of that was terrifying.

The Grand Vizier was there, a heron’s plume attached to his turban. The Sultan was at the far end, clad in an amber kaftan, dignified as a sculpture. He sat on a bejewelled throne set upon risers, a position that allowed him to study. The Shayh al-Islam, the Janissary agha and the other viziers had lined up on either side of him, offering comments. They were discussing whether or not to alter their route, in order to find a bend in the river where the ground would be hard
enough to build a bridge. This not only meant losing weeks, perhaps as much as a month, but also the favourable weather.

‘My gracious Lord,’ Lutfi Pasha said. ‘There’s someone who can build us a strong bridge.’

When the Sultan demanded who that might be, Lutfi Pasha said, ‘One of your elite guards. Sinan is his name, your Haseki
*
slave.’

Before long a man was ushered in. He kneeled down, merely steps away from where Jahan stood. He had a wide forehead, chiselled nose and dark, sombre eyes that exuded calmness. Asked to come forward, he proceeded slowly, lowering his head, as if against a gusty wind. After listening to why he had been summoned, Sinan said, ‘My felicitous Sultan, we shall have a bridge, Allah willing.’

‘How many days, by your reckoning, would be needed to complete it?’ asked Sultan Suleiman.

Sinan paused, though not for long. ‘Ten, my Lord.’

‘What makes you think you will succeed when others have failed?’

‘My Lord, the others, with pure intentions no doubt, began the construction straight away. I shall build the bridge in my mind. Only after that will I have it set in stone.’

Strange though the answer was, it seemed to please the Sultan. Sinan was given the task. He went back the way he had come, unhurried. As he passed Jahan, he took a look at the boy’s face and then did something Jahan had not seen any man of his rank do before. He smiled.

It was then that a thought occurred to the boy. If he worked with this man, he could get close to Sultan Suleiman’s riches. Everyone said the sovereign had brought chests full of coins and jewels to distribute to those who demonstrated great courage on the battlefield.

‘
Effendi
, wait,’ Jahan yelled once he had sneaked out, catching up with the architect. ‘I am the elephant’s tamer.’

‘I know who you are,’ said Sinan. ‘I have seen you take care of the beast.’

‘Chota is stronger than forty soldiers. He could be of great help to you.’

‘Well, do you know anything about construction?’

‘We … we worked with a master mason in Hindustan.’

Holding the boy’s eyes in his stare, Sinan gave this some thought. ‘What were you doing in the Grand Vizier’s tent?’

‘I slipped in on the sly,’ said Jahan, this time telling the truth.

The lines around Sinan’s eyes softened. ‘An elephant could prove useful. A bright, inquisitive boy like yourself might help, too.’

Jahan felt his cheeks burn. In all his time in the world he could not recall anyone having called him bright. And, just like that, the elephant and the mahout joined the army of stonemasons and began working with this stranger called Sinan.

Keen as the labourers were to put their backs into the work, the first day went by without anyone moving a finger. So did the second. Sinan seemed to be dawdling: walking back and forth along the river, staring into the distance, poking canes into the water, taking measurements, carrying scrolls of paper, scribbling numbers, drawing shapes no less obscure than those on an oracle’s charts. The soldiers were starting to get nervous, asking what on earth they were waiting for. At nights in the tents and around the fires, rumour had it that Sinan was clearly not the right man for the task.

On the third day Sinan announced they would start construction. To everyone’s surprise he had chosen a site two
donum
*
up the shoreline, where the river was wider. When asked why he was taking them that far, he said a bridge could be short or long, that didn’t matter, but its foundations had to be as strong as granite.

Chota carried wooden frames and planks; he moved rocks into place so as to protect the structure from the force of the current. That he could plod in the river easily proved to be opportune. In the fast-flowing water that reached up to their chins he was a great asset. They used massive, watertight barrels, each of which had been sealed inside with clay mortar and lowered into a newly dug hole. Covered in mud, sweat and dirt, Jahan toiled alongside the labourers. Strange men they were. Tough and taciturn, but yet caring towards one of their own. They would put their right hand on their heart whenever they heard someone mention the prophets Seth and Abraham, the Patron Saints of Stonemasons and Architects. Among them, Jahan felt more at ease than he ever had anywhere. Like them, he found a secret joy in raising stone upon stone. Ten days after Sinan had been entrusted with the job, they finished the bridge.

Seated on his horse, the Sultan was the first to cross, holding the reins tightly in one hand. The Grand Vizier followed, then the others, including Lutfi Pasha, who congratulated himself on having found the architect. Once the royal entourage reached the opposite bank, everyone rejoiced. The whole army began to traverse the bridge, six men at a time. Here and there prayers were heard – men unafraid of bloodshed but terrified of water. When it was their turn, Jahan and Chota made a move, but they were stopped by the Subashi.

‘The beast ought to wait. He’s too heavy.’

It was Sinan who came to their rescue. ‘
Effendi
, this bridge can carry fifty elephants if need be.’

The Subashi grunted his approval. ‘If you say so …’

Turning to Jahan, Sinan said, ‘Come, I’ll walk with you.’

Thus they crossed the bridge together, the elephant lumbering behind them.

Once on the other shore, Sinan was called urgently. He quickened his steps. Having not been told to stay behind, Jahan followed, and so did Chota.

Ahead of them the notables were having a debate over what would happen to the bridge after the army left. From their expressions Jahan saw that things had become tense. Lutfi Pasha wanted to construct a watchtower and detail a regiment to guard the bridge; the Grand Vizier and the Governor-General of Rumelia, Sofu Mehmet Pasha, disagreed. Unable to reach an agreement, they had decided to consult the architect.

‘My Lords, if we build a tower, the enemy will capture both the tower and the bridge,’ said Sinan. ‘They can ambush us from behind.’

‘What do you suggest?’ the Grand Vizier asked.

‘We made it with our hands; we can destroy it with our hands,’ Sinan replied. ‘Then we can build a new bridge on our return.’

Lutfi Pasha, who, because he had recommended Sinan to the
diwan
, expected obedience from him, became furious. ‘Coward! You are scared you’ll be left behind to guard the tower.’

Sinan paled but when he spoke he sounded placid. ‘My Lords, I’m
a Janissary. If the Sultan orders me to raise a tower and to guard it, I shall do as he says. But you have asked my honest opinion, and this I gave.’

Into the ensuing silence the Governor-General said, ‘Well, the Arabs have been burning their ships.’

‘This is not a ship and we are not Bedouins!’ Lutfi Pasha snapped, throwing a cold glance in Sinan’s direction.

The meeting came to an end without a solution being reached. Later in the afternoon, the Sultan, who had been informed of the argument, announced his decision. Apparently, he had favoured Sinan’s suggestion over Lutfi Pasha’s. The bridge was to be demolished.

Destroying a bridge was easier than building it, Jahan soon found out. Yet it pained him to see the stones they had toiled so hard to gather and carefully position now come tumbling down. He disagreed with Sinan more than anyone. How could the man recommend wrecking the bridge, as if the sweat of their brows meant nothing to him?

When he found his chance to talk to Sinan, Jahan began by floundering. ‘
Effendi
, forgive me. I don’t understand why we are doing this. We worked so hard.’

‘We shall work harder the next time.’

‘Yes, but … how could you so easily say, “Let’s knock it down”? Doesn’t it make you sad?’

Sinan regarded the boy as if they had already known one another in a different time. He said, ‘My first master was my father. He was the best carpenter in the region and he was the one who trained me from boyhood. Every Zatik
*
he’d fast for forty days. Meanwhile he would ask me to carve a lamb out of wood. Then he’d tell me it was not good
enough and take it from me. “I have destroyed it,” he’d later say; “go make another one.” I resented this but my lambs got better.’

Jahan’s back tightened as he thought about his stepfather. He recalled how once the man had scoffed at the furnace he had built in the backyard for his mother. Now, years later, he was not surprised to see that the anger he had felt back then was still entrenched deep in his heart.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Sinan continued, ‘When my father passed away, we found a chest in his shed. Inside were all the lambs that I had carved as a boy. Father had kept every one of them.’

‘I understand he made you a better craftsman, but he wounded you.’

‘Sometimes, for the soul to thrive, the heart needs to be broken, son.’

‘I don’t understand,
effendi
. I wouldn’t want anyone to waste my work.’

‘In order to gain mastery, you need to dismantle as much as you put together.’

‘Then there’d be no buildings left in the world,’ Jahan ventured. ‘Everything would be razed to the ground.’

‘We are not destroying the buildings, son. We are destroying our desire to possess them. Only God is the owner. Of the stone and of the skill.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Jahan again, albeit this time not as loudly.

Thus, on the bank of the River Pruth, they left behind them their sweat, their faith and their work, lying in ruins that gave no clue as to what an exquisite bridge had once stood in that place.