The Wanderer (27 page)

The sight did not tend to raise our spirits, but since I was always eager to learn, I engaged the guard in conversation. In return for a ducat he showed me his bloodstained apron and also the pit into which the bodies were thrown, to make their slow way along an underground drain into the Sea of Marmara. He told me that even the most eminent ambassadors had to wait on the same cushions as ourselves, as this gave them opportunity for wholesome meditation upon the Sultan’s limitless power, the vanity of existence, and the incalculable twists and turns of fortune. I learned that only about fifty heads a day were thrown into the vaults, which testified to the mild rule of the Sultan and the good order prevailing in his dominions. Suleiman would not even allow torture at interrogations. Besides the deaf-mutes there remained a few skilled executioners, both black and white, who had been in the service of Selim the implacable, also a Chinese and an Indian specialist in methods of torture peculiar to those distant lands.

“But,” added the friendly guard, “should our lord the Sultan wish to rid himself of some slave who has fallen out of favor, after being honored with his friendship and a high appointment, such a slave is not made to kneel at the block. Instead the Sultan sends him a black kaftan and a strong silken cord. No one has ever abused this mark of favor; all have gladly ended their days by their own hand and received honorable burial. The Sultan then takes back house, slaves, and all that the deceased used and enjoyed while the sun of fortune and favor stood at the zenith. Especially during the reign of the beloved Sultan Selim were sudden changes of fortune seen, and he was not sparing in the item of black kaftans. Great activity prevailed always in the tailors’ workshops, and in those days we would curse our enemies with the words, ‘May you become Selim’s Vizier!’“

Hardly had he ended when two gigantic men stepped up to me, grasped me firmly by the arms and led me between them into the

Courtyard of Peace. Torgut-reis and the eunuch were treated in the same manner. I struggled and protested loudly that I had done no wrong, but one of the chamberlains hastened forward to me with his staff of office in his hand, and exhorted me in a whisper to hold my tongue.

I became aware of the breathless stillness that hung over the Courtyard of Peace, so brilliant in its white and gold, and fell silent. They led me unresistingly into the great chamber of the Divan where a number of the most eminent dignitaries of the Seraglio were assembled, wearing ceremonial kaftans. I had no time to look at them more closely, for we were taken straight across the room to a low throne. I at once fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the floor, remaining in this position like Torgut-reis and the eunuch until by a gentle pressure on my arms my escort signed to me that I might now lift my eyes to behold the lord of the two halves of the world, the Sultan of sultans, Allah’s shadow on earth.

The moment is fitting to bring this book to an end and begin the next, in which I shall tell of Sultan Suleiman and of my own new dignities in the Seraglio.

THE Sultan of the Ottomans, Allah’s Deputy, Ruler of Rulers, Commander of Believers and Unbelievers, Emperor of East and West, Shah of Shahs, Great Khan of Khans, Gate of Victory, Refuge of all Peoples, and the Shadow of the Eternal—in short, Sultan Suleiman, the son of a slave girl—was at this time thirty-four years old. Sitting cross legged on the cushions of his low throne he was more breath taking in the fantastic splendor of his dress than any jeweled idol. From a canopy blazing with rubies and sapphires a tassel of giant pearls hung down over his head. A damascened and jewel-hilted blade lay within his reach, while on his head he wore the turban of the sultans, ringed with a triple diamond tiara. The backward-sweeping plume was held in place by a diamond crescent; his dress flashed with myriads of precious stones and must have been heavier to wear than iron chains. At every movement, at every breath, he sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow. Yet it was the man behind the glory who held my attention.

His rather thin face and slender neck appeared pale against the glittering gems; he had the smoke-colored complexion often seen in those of melancholy temperament. The keen, aquiline nose reminded me that the symbol of Ottoman sovereignty was the vulture. The lips under the narrow mustache were thin, and the cold sternness of his gaze was such as to inspire the profoundest awe in those of his subjects who had the supreme privilege of pressing their foreheads to. the ground before him. But when I scrutinized this face to read its secret, there seemed to flow from it a fathomless, hopeless woe, telling me that he of all men best understood the futility of power and knew himself to be as mortal as the meanest of his subjects. Perhaps he too harbored within him an incorruptible judge.

At his right hand stood Ibrahim, the Grand Vizier, as splendidly arrayed as the Sultan himself, though without a tiara. On his left stood the second and third viziers, Mustafa-pasha and Ajas-pasha, whose long beards and air of covert suspicion threw into yet stronger relief the open, noble bearing of Ibrahim. I contemplated this most remarkable man with even greater interest than I felt for the Sultan, seeing personified in him the glorious future standing guard over the Ottoman throne; the two old men were but the vanquished past.

Ibrahim addressed Torgut-reis on behalf of the Sultan and received from him Khaireddin’s letters in a silken bag. Seraglio attendants then brought forward some of Khaireddin’s most princely gifts, which Sultan Suleiman was graciously pleased to survey. In token of his favor he extended his hand for Torgut to kiss; no doubt Torgut’s proud warrior face appealed to him. With this the audience was at an end. We were led back into the courtyard, where our escort took their hands from our arms and held them out for reward.

While we yet lingered in the forecourt by the Gateway of Peace, dazed by the honor conferred upon us, a languid little assistant of the Defterdar approached and ordered his clerks to make a list of the presents Khaireddin had sent. Andy and I were included in the roll of slaves, and but for Torgut-reis and the eunuch we should have been sent off at once with the Italian boys for a medical inspection. But Torgut spoke so warmly on our behalf that the assistant set us down for special duties. For his part, he said, we might go where we pleased; he couldn’t find a crib for every donkey they sent him.

We rewarded him for his good will and returned to our vessel, where servants of the second and third viziers presently arrived to acquaint us with their masters’ willingness to receive gifts from Khaireddin, as a mark of favor to us. We sent our eunuch to the Old Seraglio with an assortment of costly stuffs and ornaments for the Sultan’s mother, receiving in return a Koran bound in gold and silver, which she hoped might stimulate Khaireddin to strenuous and unceasing warfare against the unbeliever.

Meanwhile Abu el-Kasim wandered about the great bazaar negotiating for the purchase of a shop. Near the shore he found a dilapidated house and invited Giulia and me to live there with him, if we would bear our share of household expenses. But for the present I thought it well to remain in the house that had been put at Torgut’s disposal, at least until I received orders as to my future.

I soon began to suspect, however, that my future depended upon chance alone, for my first impression of the Seraglio was one of utter confusion and disorder. Its functionaries shuffled off duties and responsibilities upon one another or neglected them altogether, for fear of making a mistake. And while a most irksome and finicking exactitude was observed in all matters of routine, any novelty was the source of infinite worry to the officials. From woodcutter to baker, from groom to kennelman, each slave had his minutely prescribed duties which might not be exceeded by a hair’s breadth. Whether he held a high or low position, his task, rank, and payment were fixed by statute. So there was nothing for Andy and me to do but wait patiently for suitable vacancies to occur, through either death or disgrace. Only by an order from the very highest level could a special appointment be created for us, and as I learned afterward, respect for the Sultan entailed the continuance of such appointment after our death and forever, whether necessary or not.

Thus I came gradually to see that it was not so very easy to run a household of several thousand people, and I was assured that the most rigid order was needful if friction was to be avoided. For example, a special sum was set aside for the maintenance of a slave girl whose sole duty was to appear silently before the Sultan wearing a flame-colored dress, whenever a great fire broke out in the city. With the exception of the mosques, the buildings were of wood and such a conflagration might cause untold destruction. As I wandered about the capital I came upon huge ravaged areas where goats and donkeys grazed among the ruins. The superstitious Moslems did not willingly build new houses on land that had been swept by fire.

My anxiety proved groundless. Difficult as it had seemed for an outsider to gain a footing in the Seraglio, all went smoothly as soon as the necessary order was issued from above. When we carried Khaireddin’s gifts to the Grand Vizier’s gleaming palace, beyond the janissaries’ training ground, Ibrahim gave me no sign of recognition. But on the following day the Chief Pilot of the Cartographer’s Office, Piri-reis, sent a servant to bring me to his house, while almost at the same moment an artilleryman in leather breeches came for Andy.

I followed the barefoot slave, who guided me past the Seraglio to the shores of the Marmara. Here on a slope near the sea wall, stood the house of Piri-reis, surrounded by a wooden fence and a number of acacia trees whose leaves were already turning yellow. Round the usual stone basin lounged a group of retired or invalided sea janissaries. Many were maimed or scarred, and had evidently been given these light guard duties in return for a lifetime of service at sea. Yet they were not idle, but with great skill carved models of ships and furnished them with oars and sails. They bowed respectfully as I greeted them in the name of the Compassionate.

The house was low and shabby, but unexpectedly spacious. I was taken to a meagerly carpeted room, where models of many types of ships hung from the ceiling. The Chief Pilot sat on a dirty cushion, turning the pages of a great atlas on a stand before him. To my surprise I noted that he was wearing a rich kaftan and a ceremonial turban in honor of my coming. I threw myself on the ground before him to kiss his slipper and greet him as Light of the Sea, who had turned night into day for those who sailed remote and unknown waters.

My humility so won his heart that he cordially invited me to rise and sit beside him. He was nearly sixty years old, his beard was silver gray, and wrinkles without number surrounded his short-sighted eyes. I found him a delightful old man.

“You have been commended to me as a man of learning,” he began, speaking in Italian. “It seems you have command of many Christian languages and know the kings of Christendom and their statecraft. You now wish to extend your knowledge of seafaring and map reading so as to be of service to the Refuge of all Peoples. I shall not name your patron, for you know well enough who he is. Of him may be said in the words of the Prophet, ‘Allah makes easy the fulfillment of his desires.’ So you’ve only to command me, Michael el-Hakim, and I will obey, placing my skill at the service of your benefactor. Mention this to him, if at any time he is pleased to hear you.”

I saw that this distinguished old man actually feared me and fancied me to be in special favor with the Grand Vizier. So I at once assured him that I had no other object than to serve him faithfully to the best of my poor ability and that no task was too humble for me, though I should prefer to be given work connected with map making. I hoped soon to become proficient enough in the Turkish language to be of use as dragomin to the Cartographer’s Office.

Piri-reis said with a sweeping gesture, “The Cartographer’s Office, in the service of the Abode of Bliss, you see before you. I beg you not to take offense when I tell you that many a learned Christian navigator has visited me, boasting loudly and making very impudent claims. Some of them took the turban to please the High Porte while in their hearts they remained idolaters, and aroused scandal and indignation by their manner of living. They stole and dirtied my charts, arrived drunk and broke my models, annoyed my slave girls with indecencies, and even molested married women. I had more trouble than help from them, and therefore dislike having ex-Christians living in my house. Pray do not ask to lodge here, at least until I know you better; don’t be angry with me for what I’ve said, for I’m an old man and love peace and quietness.”

His words alarmed me, for I thought he wanted to be rid of me altogether. I said, “I have a wife, and prefer to live with her in the city. But don’t send me away, for I must feed and clothe myself and my wife as befits our rank, and for that a steady income is essential.”

With lifted hand he invoked Allah and said, “Don’t misunderstand me. In accordance with the wishes of your exalted patron you will of course receive the highest possible salary—and with all my heart, for I’ve taken a liking to you. But I beg you not to roar and yell like other Christians, or stamp and tear the turban from your head when I assure you that I can give you no more than twelve aspers a day and a new suit of clothes once a year.”

He looked at me appealingly while I rapidly calculated that twelve aspers a day came to about six gold ducats a month—no mean sum for a man who could at most distinguish an oar from a sail. I therefore kissed his veined hand and blessed him in the name of the Compassionate for his generous treatment of a renegade exile. My sincere gratitude delighted him, and he added, “Believe me, this modest fee will secure your future better than the weightiest purse, provided you truly desire knowledge and are as fond of maps and charts as I am. No one will envy you and you’ll make no enemies to plot against you, slander you, and profit by your mistakes to overthrow you. You may come and go daily as you please. You may speak with my slaves, clerks, and map makers, and ask me for what you want as if you were my son. One thing only I beg. Never come to my house in a drunken state, but send word that you’re ill in bed.”