BOOK 9.
Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s Star of Fortune

BY FAIR words Abu el-Kasim persuaded my daughter’s Russian nurse to renounce her Greek religion and embrace Islam, that he might marry her lawfully in the presence of the cadi and two qualified witnesses. The woman so warmly admired Abu’s broad turban, his kaftan with the jeweled buttons, and his glittering monkey’s eyes, that she clapped her hands for joy when she understood his honorable intentions. I knew not whether to laugh or cry when I saw how tender Abu was of his wife’s reputation and how he even overcame his avarice for the time, that the wedding celebrations might be as splendid as possible. All the poor of the quarter were feasted for many days in succession, pipes and drums resounded, and women sang in shrill voices their ancient nuptial hymns.

To my delight Giulia made no opposition, though she failed to understand how I could hand over a woman still in her prime to such a man as Abu, still less incite her to renounce her Christian faith, schismatic though it was. Abu el-Kasim swore that he would make her son his sole heir if he should have no children by her, and at the boy’s circumcision he gave him the name of Kasim, so that in Tunis it might be thought that he was Abu’s son.

By the time I received the Grand Vizier’s anxious letter from Bagdad I had already accompanied Abu el-Kasim and his family to their vessel and seen them off with many blessings. A singular, almost morbid conviction had grown upon me of late that a curse lay over my house, and I rejoiced at the Grand Vizier’s summons, plainly though it showed that the stress of war had deranged his mind. Dread of my own house inclined me to this long journey, and as feverishly as during my imprisonment I had longed for Giulia, I now yearned to be parted from her for a time, that I might meditate in peace and quiet upon her and upon our relationship.

Giulia made no objection to my journey, envied me my sight of Bagdad, and gave me a long list of things to buy for her in the bazaars. As the day of departure drew near she displayed increasing affection, but shortly before I left she spoke a few grave words. “According to news received by a certain distinguished lady, Grand Vizier Ibrahim has secretly summoned to Bagdad a number of eminent statesmen, and it’s certain that he is up to no good. But the Sultan, blinded and bewitched by his friendship, cannot see the danger, though the ambitious Ibrahim has assumed a new title and in the Persian manner signs himself Seraskier-sultan. Fortunately Khurrem was able to persuade the Sultan to send thither the loyal Defterdar, Iskender-tseleb”

“I know all this,” I replied curtly. Her words distressed me, for the attempt, foiled by the vigilance of the Grand Vizier, to steal part of the Sultan’s war funds had aroused much excitement throughout Istanbul and fantastic rumors were current in the Seraglio. But nothing would deter Giulia from pouring poison into my ear.

“Believe me, Michael—be wise and don’t walk blindfold into disaster. Take careful note of all the Grand Vizier says. Calm him; prevent any hasty or ill-considered action. For although Sultana Khurrem wishes him no ill, he will be setting the noose about his own neck if he continues to persecute her friends and faithful servants. Iskender-tseleb”

“I take a very different view of that incident,” said I. “Why should the Seraskier steal his own money? And besides, he has the written confession of the accused—a confession which throws a strange light upon the Defterdar, as should be evident to all right-thinking persons.”

Giulia’s face darkened.

“And it was extorted under merciless torture! Perhaps you can explain why the Grand Vizier was in so great a hurry to take the lives of those unhappy men as soon as they had confessed, if not to silence inconvenient witnesses.”

“Allah be gracious to me!” I cried in exasperation. “Only a woman could reason thus. How in wartime could he have pardoned the men so dangerous an offense? As Seraskier, he was compelled to make an example of them, to prevent the spread of sedition.”

A queer gleam came into Giulia’s eyes, but with a great effort she controlled herself and answered, “You refuse to see the truth, Michael, and you will have a terrible awakening. Don’t blame me if when the time comes I can do nothing to save you. I wish you a good journey to your dear Grand Vizier, and hope that on the way you will find time to think the matter over. Be sure that rich rewards await you if you come to your senses in time.”

According to Ibrahim’s commands, I traveled the long road to Bagdad with the greatest possible speed. I was blind and deaf with exhaustion, my cramped limbs ached, and I was in agony from saddle sores when at length I slipped from my mount with my companions to press an aching brow to the ground and stammer prayers of thanksgiving. The countless mosques, minarets, and towers of this fabled city were like a mirage amid the flowering gardens crisscrossed with irrigation canals, and the holy tombs of Islam lay more thickly here than anywhere else in the world. Bagdad was no longer the city of the caliphs, for after the days of the great Imam the Mongols had looted and burned it more than once. Yet in my eyes it seemed rich and splendid, and with all the tales of Arabia in my thoughts I rode in through the city gates preceded by runners who hastened to inform the Grand Vizier of our coming.
As we slowly crossed the empty, arcaded market place I saw in the middle a gallows guarded by janissaries, from which hung the body of a bearded man. The unexpected sight aroused my curiosity; I rode nearer and to my amazement recognized that face, now blue in death, and the well-known shabby kaftan with its ink-stained sleeves.

“Allah is Allah!” I exclaimed. “Is this not the body of Defterdar Iskender-tseleb? How comes it that this man—the richest, noblest, and most learned in the Ottoman Empire—hangs on this gallows like the meanest malefactor? Could he not at least have been given the green silken noose, so that in the name of the Compassionate he might have taken his own life in the privacy of his room?”

Some of the high court officials who had journeyed with me in obedience to Ibrahim’s summons hid their faces, turned their horses, and rode back to the gates, determined to leave the city without delay. The janissaries guarding the gibbet said fiercely, “It is all the fault of the accursed Grand Vizier. The Sultan is innocent, and we never begged this honor. Who can doubt now that Ibrahim is plotting against the Ottoman Empire? The mufti proclaimed a jatwa entitling us to plunder these heretics of their possessions and to sell them into slavery. But Seraskier Ibrahim, that winebibber and blasphemer, denies us our right to pillage. We should like to know how much the merchants have paid him for that. Wages cannot compensate for this injustice and serve only to show that Grand Vizier Ibrahim is suffering from a tender conscience.”

One could sympathize with the janissaries if their tale was true. Iskender-tseleb’s wealth, piety, and pure Turkish origins had won him great regard throughout the Ottoman Empire, so that indeed it can have been no pleasure to stand sentinel over his dangling corpse. I rode on, oppressed by dark forebodings. At the palace chosen by the Grand Vizier for his headquarters I was received with the greatest suspicion; my clothes were repeatedly searched by the guards, who even ripped up the seams of my kaftan in search of poison and hidden weapons. From this I realized the state of terror prevailing in Bagdad. When at length I was led by the elbow into the presence of the Grand Vizier, I found him too greatly agitated to keep still. He was pacing up and down the marble room, his handsome features were puffy and his eyes bloodshot with strain and lack of sleep. His usually well-kept nails were bitten, and he paused often to take a draught of spiced wine. At the sight of me he forgot all his dignity and hurried forward to embrace me. He dismissed the guards and cried, “At last I behold one known and trusted face among the traitors! Blessed be your coming, Michael el-Hakim, for never did I stand in such need of a clearsighted, impartial friend.”

As coolly and dispassionately as he could he gave me a brief account of the progress of the campaign since the departure from Aleppo, and as I thought the matter over I saw that Ibrahim was in possession of so many proofs of Iskender-tseleb’s treachery as to leave no room for doubt. Against the Seraskier’s will, Iskender had been appointed kehaya, or steward, of the army and, blinded by his hatred of the Grand Vizier, he had acted throughout the campaign against the best interests of the troops. Not until the outset of the terrible winter march from Tabriz to Bagdad was Ibrahim able to persuade the Sultan to dismiss the Defterdar from his post as kehaya, and then it was too late, for when snow set in and floods came and roads were transformed into bottomless swamps, the wretched state of the supplies and equipment was revealed, as also the confusion and disorder brought about by secret agents. The Grand Vizier did not hesitate to cast the blame on Iskender-tseleb both for the ruinous condition of the baggage wagons and for the lack of forage, as a result of which the draft animals dropped from exhaustion. The Kehaya’s reconnaissance and route planning had been most imperfect; indeed, he seemed to have chosen the worst roads in order to undermine the morale of the troops and to incite them to revolt against the Seraskier.

“Vanity led me to follow his deceitful counsels and march on Tabriz without waiting for the Sultan to join me, for it would have been a triumph if I could have defeated the Shah unaided,” said Ibrahim candidly. “All too late I realized that Iskender’s encouragement was born of his secret wish to destroy me and discredit me in the eyes of my lord and sovereign. I now have proof that the Defterdar was in secret communication with the Persians throughout the whole march and gave them all needful information as to our routes and objectives, so that they were able to withdraw in time and avoid a pitched battle. If that is not treachery, tell me what is! In the end it was either his head or mine. Yet since his execution I’ve been oppressed by a feeling of impotence. I feel caught in a net. My head is at stake, and there is no one whom I can trust.”

As we sat drinking wine together, agitated servants in gilded helmets hurried in to tell us that the Sultan had woken from his midday rest and seemed out of his mind. He was screaming and tearing at his breast and no one could quiet him. Together Ibrahim and I raced to the Sultan’s bedchamber, where we found him standing in the middle of the floor staring into space. His face was wet with sweat, and he trembled all over. The sight of the Grand Vizier seemed to bring him to himself; he wiped his face and dismissed all anxious questions with the words, “I had a bad dream.”

His nightmare had been so terrible that he refused to speak of it, and the Grand Vizier proposed that they should visit the baths together. Because of their many cares and anxieties they had both drunk too much and so become a prey to nightmares and even waking illusions. But the Sultan was plunged in his own thoughts; his eyes were lowered and he would not look the Grand Vizier in the face.

The execution of Iskender-tseleb, which had caused such an uproar in Bagdad, nevertheless cleared the air and made plain to everyone who was master. One of its results was to bring about a shuffle of appointments by which some found themselves a rung higher in the hierarchy. These had every reason to feel grateful to the Grand Vizier. Moreover the newly conquered provinces in Persia offered new and profitable posts. By means of these and other measures superficial order was restored, and there were even cheers to be heard when the Sultan and the Grand Vizier together rode to the mosque or to the holy tombs in the neighborhood of the city.

In the course of these devotional exercises the Sultan was always greatly saddened by the fact that Shiites had long since destroyed the tomb of the founder of Sunna, the wise Abu-Hanif, and in their heretic frenzy had even burned his holy bones, so that no orthodox Sun- nite had since then been able to pay homage to the greatest saint of the true path.

Though discontent in the army was temporarily allayed, the Grand Vizier thought with some uneasiness of the coming spring and the renewed campaigns against Persia. He engaged a learned historian to chronicle the course of events, and having thus ensured a fair and impartial record he questioned the learned man as to previous campaigns, constantly reverting to the story of Eiup, the Prophet’s stand- ard-bearer, and demanding to know every detail of his life. Eiup had died a hero’s death before the impregnable walls of Constantinople, and hundreds of years later his sacred bones were mysteriously found in the forgotten grave—a discovery that fired the janissaries of Muhammed the Conqueror at the final victorious assault on Constantinople. There was a strange light in Ibrahim’s eyes as he said to me, “Such another find would be very welcome just now, to inspire the troops with courage and enthusiasm. Yet I fear the days of miracles are past.”

I am resolved to express no opinion about what followed. According to a secret tradition handed down among the descendants of one of the guards of Abu-Hanif’s tomb, this guard rejected the Shiite heresy, rescued the saint’s remains, and buried them elsewhere, replacing them by those of a heretic. These false bones had afterward been burned, but the sacred relics of the great teacher were in safekeeping somewhere within the walls of Bagdad.

This story was told, for a consideration, to one of the Sultan’s attendants by a direct descendant of the watchman. The attendant related it to the Grand Vizier, who commanded a certain devout and learned man named Tashkun to seek out the resting place of the bones.

After much research and diligent peering among the ruins, Tashkun ordered his men to dig up the floor of a certain dilapidated house. An ancient vault was revealed, through one of whose walls came a heavenly fragrance of musk. Hearing of this discovery, the Grand Vizier at once hastened to the spot and with his own hands pulled away a few stones, leaving a gap large enough to crawl through. Thus the resting place of the great Imam was discovered and its sanctity vouched for by the mysterious fragrance. An express messenger was sent to the Sultan, who came in haste and descended into the tomb. The army could now see for themselves that by the grace of Allah, Ibrahim and Suleiman had rediscovered the long-lost but miraculously preserved remains. The Sultan spent nearly a day and a night at the tomb in prayer and fasting, and his fervor infected the troops; even the dullest could see that Abu-Hanif hoped for the uprooting of the Shiite heresy, so that the path of Sunna, which he had founded, might take the place of honor in every country of Islam.

I naturally visited the tomb myself and saw the yellow-brown skull and the skeleton in its rotting shroud, and I was able to satisfy myself that these remains gave out the same scent that I remembered from my boyhood when, as a reward for scholarship, I was allowed to help at the enshrining of holy Hemming’s bones in Abo cathedral. Nevertheless this strange and timely discovery caused me some distress of mind, and at a convenient moment I inquired of the Grand Vizier how it had come about. He was far from being a devout man. Was it deliberate deception, I asked him, or some diabolical illusion?

Grand Vizier Ibrahim looked upon me with shining eyes, and his whole being seemed purified by his prayer and fasting as in a firm and convincing tone he replied, “Believe me or not, Michael, the discovery of those bones was the greatest surprise of my life. I had planned to deceive and with the help of my most faithful dervishes I buried some bones of suitable holiness for pious, credulous old Tashkun to find. No doubt they lie hidden to this day. I was far more amazed than Tashkun when thanks to his dreams and other visions he actually found Abu-Hanif’s tomb. Surely if such things can befall me, the star of my fortune cannot fail to reach the zenith.”

But the suspicions of the Seraglio had poisoned my mind, and his words did not convince me.

The discovery of Abu-Hanif’s holy bones eclipsed all unpleasant or troublesome memories, and the army spent the remainder of the winter in feasting and merrymaking. With the coming of spring the Grand Vizier grew more serene. His despair melted away and gave place to an exhilarated, joyful mood. Nothing seemed impossible, and the whole world witnessed his triumphs. He had sent word to Venice and Vienna of the capture of Bagdad, and even now the French ambassador with a brilliant retinue was on his way with felicitations and proposals for an alliance. Ibrahim seemed to have attained the climax of his fame and glory; nevertheless he was not blinded by it, and before I left that beautiful city he sent for me to give me my final instructions.

“I’ve had enough of treachery and in future I will show no mercy to any who plot against me. You must go to Khaireddin in Tunis, and if you value your head keep him from succumbing to the blandishments of either the Seraglio or the Emperor; let him remember his debt to me. It was not to help him extend his own kingdom that I made him Kapudan-pasha, and he must now keep Doria and the Emperor busy at sea so that I need not give a thought to what goes on behind my back while I’m waging war in Persia. Impress this on him, or he may lose his horsehair switches as suddenly as he came by them.”

In proof of his favor and his continued trust he bestowed such princely gifts upon me as to surpass my wildest hopes. From them I gained some notion of the sums the Bagdad merchants must have paid him for protection; from them also I glimpsed the glorious future awaiting me if fortune continued to smile upon him and I proved myself worthy of his trust.

I came home to find Giulia in a state of agitation.

“The Seraglio is in an uproar over the murder of Iskender-to?”

This and much more she said, but I paid little heed, being still full of the wonder of Bagdad, and I had not the smallest doubt that despite all intrigues the Grand Vizier’s star of fortune was now rising to its zenith.

Soon after my return a wealthy Jewish dealer in precious stones called upon me, honored me with many fine presents, and by way of introduction brought me greetings from Aaron in Vienna. After mutual expressions of esteem he said, “You’re the friend of the great Khaireddin, Michael el-Hakim, and it seems that last summer when Khaireddin attacked Tunis, Sultan Muley-Hassan was forced to flee from his kasbah. In his fright he left behind him a red velvet bag containing two hundred selected diamonds of considerable size. In the list of presents sent by Khaireddin to the Sultan there is no mention of these stones, and no trace of their sale has been found either in Istanbul, Aleppo, or Cairo. I have made many inquiries about the matter among my colleagues in different cities, for as you may fancy, so considerable a treasure aroused my curiosity. You need not regret speaking openly to me, Michael el-Hakim, and telling me all you know of this. I would offer you the highest possible prices and assure you of my silence. If necessary I can sell these diamonds in India and even China without anything becoming known of the matter. I am accustomed to such traffic, and if as I suppose the Grand Vizier is concerned in it—for it represents a vast fortune—he need feel no uneasiness about the consequences.”

“Allah is Allah!” I exclaimed in some indignation. “Where did you hear all this nonsense? And how dare you insult the Grand Vizier by mentioning his name in the same breath with such an affair? I have never even heard of these diamonds.”

But the Jew swore to the truth of what he said and in an attempt to convince me he went on, “Muley-Hassan himself laments his loss in a letter to the Emperor—a letter actually seen by a colleague of mine. The Tunisian Sultan’s ambassador to the Imperial Court has openly boasted of it, to draw attention to his lord’s wealth.”

Aghast, I seized the Jew by the beard, and shaking his head by it I cried, “Wretch, what are you saying? What is Muley-Hassan’s ambassador doing at the Emperor’s Court?”

The honest Jew freed his beard and said reproachfully, “Are you a stranger in the city ? The news is in every man’s mouth. The Knights of St. John and the Pope himself have besought the Emperor to drive Khaireddin from Tunis. Sultan Muley-Hassan has appealed to the Emperor; he declares that all his misfortunes have resulted from his loyalty to Charles, and so for his own sake Charles must at least try to help him.”

If all this was true it was indeed high time for me to hasten to Tunis, carry out my task there, and hurry away before the Emperor’s attack. I ought to have relied more on Ibrahim’s foresight and not dallied so long on the way. I therefore hastily dismissed the Jew with renewed assurances that I knew nothing of his diamonds, and with promises to inquire secretly into the matter. This I did merely to be rid of him, for I had other things to think of now.

Fair winds and a swift galley brought me to the yellow Tunisian coast and within sight of the Fortress of La Goletta, from whose tower floated Khaireddin’s green and red standard with its silver crescent. Great activity prevailed. Trenches were being dug, barricades erected, and thousands of half-naked, sunburned Spanish and Italian slaves were widening the canal to Tunis. This city is situated on the shores of a shallow salt lake and is separated from the sea by swamps. The sight of Khaireddin’s war galleys anchored in long rows in the harbor greatly relieved and cheered me, but not until I approached the city itself did I realize the true significance of Khaireddin’s latest capture. I had indeed heard much of the wealth and might of Tunis, but discounted much of it as flights of fancy on the part of Khaireddin and Sinan the Jew. Within the city walls there were, besides the kas- bah and the great mosque, about twenty thousand houses, or at least two hundred thousand people; Tunis could thus compare with the great cities of Europe. Not even Khaireddin knew the number of Christian slaves, but I fancy their number did not exceed twenty thousand.

To my great delight I saw that the reconquest of Tunis for Muley- Hassan would be no easy task even for the Emperor. Only by cunning and the incitement of the inhabitants to revolt had Khaireddin contrived to enter it, and even after Muley-Hassan’s flight there had been long and bloody street fighting before the people laid down their arms. The sturdy, defiant towers of La Goletta appeared impregnable and blocked the road that ran along the canal into the city, while numberless little lakes and poisonous swamps on either side of this canal made encirclement almost impossible.

Khaireddin received me with every sign of delight, embracing me like a long-lost son and entertaining me so lavishly that I began to fear the worst. He gave me no opportunity of speaking, but boasted loudly of his defenses and the savage lesson he would give the Emperor and Doria if they came too near Tunis. When I inquired how it was that his proud ships lay at anchor instead of sailing forth to engage Doria in open combat, he turned very sulky and asked for the latest news of the war in Persia and of Iskender-ta?/e£’.r execution, of which he had heard only the mendacious rumors of the Seraglio. Was it indeed true that Grand Vizier Ibrahim had gone out of his mind and ran about on all fours foaming at the mouth and chewing the carpets? To this I replied sharply that such a tale was nothing but malicious invention. Khaireddin listened attentively, stroking his beard, and I fancied I saw a guilty look in those prominent eyes of his, as of a child caught out in some misdeed. My misgivings increased.

The same evening, therefore, I sought out Abu el-Kasim, since Andy was outside the city directing the fortifications. Abu had bought himself a pleasant house with a walled garden and had so far overcome his avarice as to furnish it richly and buy a flock of slaves to wait upon his wife and son. Looking at him now it was easy to forget that he was nothing but a petty merchant who had made his fortune by adulterating drugs and inventing new names for age-old ointments.

Like a proud father he led the splendidly dressed Kasim forward to greet me, and seemed to imagine I had forgotten that the boy was not his son. Contrary to Moslem custom he allowed his Russian wife to approach me with only a thin veil over her face, hoping to elicit my admiration for her gorgeous clothes and jewels, beside which he looked like a gray spider.

Having sent wife and son back to the harem, Abu el-Kasim offered me wine and said in a worried tone, “Khaireddin’s janissaries and renegades are perhaps not the best shepherds in the world, and their manner of fleecing their sheep has aroused much discontent among the inhabitants of Tunis—above all among the old Arab families who under Tunisian sultans were members of the Divan and could manage the city as they pleased. A month or so ago a Spanish merchant arrived here. He seems to have no notion of the nature or value of his wares, and sells the most precious of them to chosen customers for a mere song in the hope of winning their favor. He sells spices and even perfumes without the least reference to the prices agreed upon among the merchants here, so you may judge of my indignation when I heard of him.”

Abu el-Kasim assumed an injured air and looked sideways at me as he sipped his wine.

“This Spaniard has in his service a Christian Moor who is far too much inclined to wander about after dark—not with sighs and a rose in his hand, but on visits to Muley-Hassan’s warmest adherents and other malcontents. From sheer curiosity I have had these two men shadowed and several times the Spaniard has openly visited the kasbah and offered merchandise to no less a man than Khaireddin. Not only that, but Khaireddin has had lengthy conversations with him in private. I’m prepared to wager that the foreigner is an Imperial agent and probably a Spanish nobleman, since he behaves so foolishly and has a Christian Moor for a servant.”

We talked far into the night, and next morning I betook myself to the harbor and went aboard the Spaniard’s ship on the pretext of buying a good Venetian hand mirror. When the Moorish servant informed his master that a wealthy and distinguished customer had arrived, the Spaniard hurried up on deck and greeted me with marked respect. From his features, hands, and bearing I saw at once that he had never grown up among drugs. He soon led the conversation round to world affairs, and when I told him that I had just arrived from the Seraglio in Istanbul to enter Khaireddin’s service, he displayed great eagerness to learn the latest news. I told him truthfully of the unrest in the Seraglio and of the suspicions concerning Grand Vizier Ibrahim, and of how, despite the capture of Bagdad, no one believed in a happy outcome to the war in Persia.

At this point in my narrative I abandoned truth for fiction and remarked that I had felt the time ripe for seeking a new master since no man, however perfect his integrity, could hope to escape the Grand Vizier’s morbid suspicions. From my complaints the Spaniard judged me to have committed some misdemeanor and escaped to Tunis beyond the reach of Ibrahim’s wrath. He at once invited me into his luxuriously appointed stateroom and asked me where I was born and how I had come to take the turban. As if in passing he mentioned that the Pope, on the Emperor’s recommendation, had recently permitted certain eminent renegades to be received again into the bosom of the Church. Because of the great services they had rendered the Emperor he had even pardoned them their falling away, without asking too many awkward questions.

Few words were needed, therefore, to bring us into perfect understanding, and the Spaniard now confided that his name was Luis de Presandes, that he had been born in Genoa, belonged to Charles’s personal suite, and enjoyed his full confidence in all the complicated affairs that were commonly placed in his hands. Charles was shortly to sail for Tunis with the mightiest navy ever seen. The patriotic inhabitants were ready to rise when the time came and support the Emperor, having had enough of the Turkish reign of terror; they longed for the noble Muley-Hassan, their rightful sultan. The wise man must trim his sails to the veering wind, and all the world knew the Emperor to be a just ruler; he would not forget any man who sincerely repented of past errors and now did his part for the good cause. But fearful would be the punishment for any renegade who persisted in denying his faith and serving the Turks.

In such words as these he sought both to lure and to frighten me, and in the name of Christ and His mother he exhorted me to recall the faith of my childhood, return to the Christian fellowship, and so win pardon for my grievous sin. He wept as he spoke and I too shed tears, being tenderhearted and ever susceptible to beautiful words. Nevertheless I would make no promises, nor would I accept the earnest money he offered me, for through Andy I had conceived the greatest respect for the articles of war and the binding nature of such payments. Yet we parted like bosom friends, and I promised to think over his proposal. I furthermore swore by Cross and Koran never to breathe a word of what he had said.

This oath put me in an awkward position, but his own missionary zeal inspired me with an idea. After only two days Abu el-Kasim succeeded in persuading Master Presandes’s Moorish servant to remember with a contrite heart the Moslem faith of his forefathers and, in terror of the hideous punishment that awaited apostates, disclose his master’s plots. Without breaking my promise I could thus confront Khaireddin and say, “What has the Kapudan-pasha of the High Porte to do with the secret emissary of the Emperor? What is in your mind, Khaireddin? Do you really believe the Grand Vizier’s arm is too short to reach you, even from Persia?”

Khaireddin was much startled and began hastily to defend himself. “The noble Presandes is the Emperor’s plenipotentiary and thus enjoys diplomatic immunity. I’ve kept him dangling only to gain time for completing the defenses of Tunis, and could not receive him openly without arousing suspicion among the Grand Vizier’s agents.

That is the whole truth, Michael, and I beg you won’t misinterpret my perfecdy innocent actions.”

He stroked his beard uneasily, and his whole appearance betrayed fear and a guilty conscience. But I disclosed the Spaniard’s secret plan for inciting the inhabitants of Tunis to armed revolt, to coincide with the Emperor’s arrival, and also handed him a list, given me by the Moor, of dependable sheiks and merchants recommended to Presandes by Muley-Hassan’s envoy in Madrid. Khaireddin’s face darkened; he tore his beard in rage, and with a roar that shook the walls of the kasbah he said, “That hound of an unbeliever has betrayed me! He showed me the Emperor’s written instructions by which he was authorized to offer me the independent sovereignty of Algeria, Tunis, and other cities, on condition I left the Sultan’s service. I have not the smallest intention of leaving the Sultan, to whose favor I owe my high position. But all favors are precarious. Therefore I thought I should lose nothing by conversing with Presandes and profiting by the Emperor’s generous terms. But the Emperor is clearly falser than I could have believed, and never again will I put my faith in Christian oaths.”

I realized from this agitated confession that the Spaniard was not quite so simple and inexperienced as I had thought. On the contrary, he had secured his position and fancied that Khaireddin would let him go even were someone to denounce him. Khaireddin, he thought, would laugh up his sleeve at such a denunciation, believing himself to know more of the Spaniard’s business in Tunis than anyone. Now, however, Khaireddin had him arrested at once. In a secret hiding place aboard his vessel another of the Emperor’s instructions was found, clearly demonstrating the deceit and treachery of his negotiations. Despite Master de Presandes’s loudly repeated claims to diplomatic immunity, the sword fell; his protests were silenced forever.

Being now fully aware of Khaireddin’s irresolute and vacillating nature I made ready to leave Tunis, as I had a dislike of violence and bloodshed. But precious time slipped away unnoticed, storms and bad weather hindered my departure, Abu el-Kasim’s hospitality enticed me evening after evening, and above all I hoped to see Andy before my departure, to persuade him to return with me to Istanbul. Not until I met him barefoot, ragged, and dirty in the courtyard of the kasbah did I learn that Khaireddin had never told him of my coming, and indeed had sought on various pretexts to keep us apart. This was understandable enough, for like a prudent general Khaireddin was unwilling to lose a good master gunner just before the outbreak of war. We embraced one another joyfully and Andy exclaimed, “I’ve had enough of this place. Khaireddin made me a laughingstock in the eyes of all decent gunners last winter, when we were fighting Berbers and Arabs in the desert. He made me rig sails to our cannon, and of course they were of some help on level ground with a following wind. But when I saw my honest guns flying along like so many drabs with lifted petticoats I was ashamed. But Khaireddin just laughed and bent on larger sails, and I can never quite forgive him for the disgrace. I much doubt whether he is capable of land fighting. And then the savage treatment of Christian slaves has cut me to the heart, so I shall be more than glad to come back with you to Istanbul.”

Andy now looked like a Greek monk or some pious dervish. He had let his beard grow till it stood out round his face like a jungle, and I felt it was time to take him in hand before he turned quite queer in the head. But he said, “At heart I’ve always been a good-natured fellow. My losses and sorrows have led me to understand people better than before, and I cannot see why we must be forever hurting one another. If you had seen how the renegades and janissaries treated the captive Italian boys and women—I can’t believe that the purpose of this life is witless destruction and slaughter. Brooding over these things has given me headaches that the African sun does nothing to cure. So now I punish my body for all its misdeeds by fasting, and letting the sun scorch my back.”

I seized him by the arm to lead him quickly to the baths and thence to Abu el-Kasim’s house to dress him in proper clothes. But at the gate of the kasbah Andy remembered something, and with a strange look at me he said, “I have something to show you.”

He led me past the stables to the middens, and there gave a whistle. A ragged seven-year-old boy crept from his hiding place and greeted him with a yelp of pleasure, just as a dog welcomes its master. The boy had a red velvet cap upon his head but his eyes were almost closed, so swollen were they by the bites of flies. His arms and legs were thin and crooked, and his dull expression showed him to be feeble minded. Nevertheless Andy took him and tossed him into the air until he howled with delight, then gave him a piece of bread and a bunch of onions from the wallet at his girdle. At length he said to me, “Give him an asper! But it must be newly minted and shiny.”

I did so, in the name of the Compassionate. The boy looked at Andy, who nodded, then disappeared behind the heaps of garbage. He soon returned and after another glance at Andy he gave me in return a dirty pebble. I took it to please him, and pretended to put it in my purse. Then wearying of the game I urged Andy to come away. He patted the boy on the head, nodded to him, and came. As we walked he spoke in a low voice as if to himself, telling how he had rescued the boy from the janissaries at the time of the capture of the kasbah, and given him into the care of the grooms. Thrusting his hand into his wallet he drew out a handful of dirty little pebbles like the one the boy had given me. They were about the size of a finger tip. Showing them to me he remarked, “He’s not ungrateful. Every time I bring him food he gives me one of these, and he will give me as many as I like for really shiny aspers.”

I now began to feel grave fears for Andy’s reason, and said, “Dear Andy, you must have a touch of the sun! You don’t mean you exchange silver aspers for the rubbish that boy gives you, and keep it in your purse?”

I was about to throw away the stone that I’d been given, as the fowl droppings that stuck to it dirtied my fingers. But Andy held my arm urgently and said, “Spit on the stone and rub it on your sleeve!”

I had no wish to soil my fine kaftan, yet I did as he asked, and when I had rubbed the stone it began to shine like a piece of polished glass. A queer thrill ran through me, though I dared not believe I held a jewel in my hand. One of that size would have been worth many thousand ducats.

“Just a piece of glass,” I said doubtfully.

“So I thought. But I happened to show the smallest of these stones to a trustworthy Jew in the bazaar, and he at once offered me fifty ducats for it. This showed me that it was worth at least five hundred, and I put it away again. I laugh sometimes to think what an enormous fortune is rattling about in my purse.”

I still found it hard to believe him until suddenly I remembered the boy’s red velvet cap. I clapped my hand to my forehead and cried, “Allah is indeed merciful! That idiot boy no doubt had time to ransack the empty rooms of the kasbah before it was captured, and found Muley-Hassan’s velvet bag which he left behind in his haste.”

I told Andy what the Jewish merchant in Istanbul had confided to me, and suggested that we should return to the boy at once and get the rest of the two hundred from him. Andy said, “It won’t do, for the boy never parts with more than one or two at a time. He’s as cunning as a fox, for all his idiocy, and though I’ve spied upon him once or twice I have never been able to find his hiding place.”

“The matter is somewhat complicated,” I said, “and must be carefully considered. The diamonds being Muley-Hassan’s property form part of Khaireddin’s spoils of war; that’s to say they belong to the Sultan. We should get little reward for finding them; indeed they would only seek to extort the rest of the two hundred stones and suspect us of dishonesty if we were simple enough to hand over no more than those that by the grace of Allah have fallen into our hands. Yet we should be mad to leave the rest of this great fortune lying in the dirt.”

Such was also Andy’s opinion. We dared not breathe a word to anyone of our discovery, but postponed our journey from day to day. Every time we visited the boy he gave us two or three stones, for which we dared not offer more than one asper each, lest the sums he received should attract attention. However, I spoke to the Imam of Jamin’s mosque and left with him a sum sufficient for the support and schooling of the boy. If his intellect proved inadequate for reading and writing he was to be trained in some handicraft by which he could earn his living.

At the end of June, when we had collected one hundred and ninety- seven stones, the boy sadly showed us his empty hands, and though we visited him several times afterward, pleading and threatening, it was clear that either he had lost the three remaining stones or that Muley- Hassan had counted them wrongly. We then washed the boy, dressed him in good clothes, and led him to the Imam of the mosque, though he struggled and resisted with all his strength and would not be quieted even by Andy’s kindly words. Having thus salved our consciences we bade a hasty farewell to Abu el-Kasim, meaning to make for the harbor and take ship for Istanbul.

A distant boom froze us to the spot, and soon flocks of terrified fugitives were streaming into the city shrieking that the Emperor’s fleet had appeared before the fortress of La Goletta. The harbor was thus blockaded, and under cover of the unceasing cannonade the Spaniards landed many troops. My own greed had trapped me. I blamed myself bitterly for not having been content with fewer stones, so that I might have sailed from Tunis while there was yet time.

It was small comfort to learn that the Emperor had arrived at least a fortnight before he was expected, and now held the greater part of Khaireddin’s fleet trapped and helpless within the blockaded harbor. Only fifteen of his lightest galleys were able to seek shelter at other points along the coast.

We hastened to La Goletta to discover how true these reports were, and whether we might yet run the blockade in one of Khaireddin’s vessels. But from the tower we beheld the enemy fleet of not less than three hundred sail spread over the waters as far as the eye could see. Only a cannon-shot away, a large group of German pikemen were pouring ashore, and these at once began to throw up ramparts and palisades to protect their beachhead. To prevent Khaireddin’s fleet from breaking out, the great galleys of the Knights of St. John lay in the forefront; behind them I beheld the terrible carrack that like a floating hill rose high above the other vessels. From its four rows of gaping gun ports protruded the dark mouth of cannon. Doria’s slender war galleys, the sturdy caravels of Portugal, and Neapolitan galleasses covered the calm surface of the sea, and in the midst of them all rode the Emperor’s mighty flagship with its four banks of oars and its gilded pavilion gleaming on the high poop deck.

To Khaireddin’s credit be it said that the hour of danger brought out the best in him. Forgotten was his empty boasting; his bearing was assured, he drew in his belly, and in thunderous tones issued the necessary orders. The command of the Goletta fortress he entrusted to Sinan the Jew with six thousand picked janissaries—almost too large a garrison to be crammed into tower and fortifications. He sent Arabian and Moorish cavalry to oppose the landings and gain time. They could not prevent them, but they could at least keep the Imperial troops on the defensive both day and night.

Not until the camp had been strongly fortified did the invaders mount their guns and open the bombardment of La Goletta, and after this the cavalry dared not venture within range. And now the incessant, appalling din of artillery fire made life within the fort so unendurable that I left Andy on the battlements to watch with joyful wonder the progress of the conflict, and returned in deep dejection to Tunis.

Retreat by land was unthinkable, for the wild Berbers, whose hostility Khaireddin had aroused, controlled the roads and robbed all who sought to flee from the city. Muley-Hassan himself was not far away, though like a cautious man he had not yet joined the Imperial troops, despite his promises. But Charles had no need of his help, for his own army consisted of thirty thousand seasoned German, Spanish, and Italian mercenaries, and his artillery kept the area about La Goletta under continuous and accurate fire, so that many of Sinan’s Turkish janissaries were daily carried up the short way to Paradise. And every day fresh vessels brought warriors from all over Christendom to join the Emperor and in his sight win imperishable glory in the fight against the infidel.

Three weeks of savage warfare ensued, and despite the courage and religious zeal of the Moslem defenders only Abu el-Kasim refused to believe that Allah would give Christians the victory and through them bring Muley-Hassan back to power. And so I saw how even a shrewd, cunning man like Abu could be so blinded by happiness that for the sake of his wife and son he believed to the last only what he wished to believe.

La Goletta held out for a month, and this in itself was a miracle. Then the walls began to crumble, and the towers fell. When at last the Emperor ordered the general assault, Doria’s vessels rowed past the fortress in line, firing off their pieces as they went. The huge car- rack of the Knights of St. John anchored near the shore and fired unceasingly over the galleys. Then Sinan the Jew submitted to the will of Allah and blew all Khaireddin’s irreplaceable fleet out of the water, sending a vast column of smoke into the air and setting crockery clattering in the distant city.

The assault was launched from two directions at once. The Knights of St. John charged in from the sea, up to the waist in water, and when they and the Spaniards took possession of the fortress Sinan the Jew issued his last command—each man for himself! To set a good example he flung himself out across the salt marsh that surrounded the stronghold, having already prospected and marked a safe path across the swamps by which the survivors could reach the shelter of the city.

The muddy, bleeding little party staggered up to the gates of Tunis that evening, but at the tips of the staves to which the horsehair switches were attached Khaireddin’s silver crescents still gleamed, in token of the deathless honor won that day by the defenders of La Goletta.

Panic now seized the inhabitants of Tunis. All roads leading from the city were soon packed with fugitives carrying bundles and dragging loads in a blind rush to get as far away as possible. I would of course have joined them had not common sense told me that all would soon fall a prey to Muley-Hassan’s roving horsemen. Fortunately the Imperial troops had suffered so severely that for many days they rested in their camp to lick their wounds, and meanwhile Khaireddin with flattery, prayers, and threats contrived to calm the worst of the panic before summoning his captains, the most eminent men of Tunis, and also the leaders of his Arab allies to a ceremonial Divan in the great hall of the kasbah.

He spoke to them like a father, and as only he could speak when occasion demanded. His plan was to march out of the city and in the time-honored Moslem fashion offer the Emperor a pitched battle in the open. And indeed this scheme was less crazy than I at first believed, though I admit I listened in openmouthed wonder at his valor. So persuasively did he speak that Abu first among them all rolled up his sleeves, brandished his scimitar, and yelled that for the sake of his wife and son he meant to seek the road to Paradise. It is even possible that this behavior was not prearranged, for Khaireddin himself looked surprised. The eminent Tunisian gentlemen joined a little dubiously in the bloodthirsty shouts, and a spark of hope was kindled in my own dejected heart, since I am prone to believe whatever is told me with sufficient emphasis—especially if it is something I hope for.

But when the greater number of the audience left the kasbah, Khaireddin gathered about him the trustiest of his raises for a nocturnal conference. Not even Abu el-Kasim was invited, though Andy and I were allowed to attend on condition of secrecy. This time Khaireddin spoke in a different tone. He stroked his beard vigorously, his face was grave, and he did not even feign confidence in the outcome.

“Only a miracle from Allah can save us,” he said, “and experience has taught me not to expect miracles in warfare. We must seek a pitched battle, for the ruinous city walls would collapse under bombardment and the treacherous inhabitants would sooner stab us in the back than fight against the Emperor. At the same time we must keep an eye upon the Christian slaves packed in the cellars beneath our feet. Nor do I trust the Arab horsemen, for as soon as they’re fired on with cannon and harquebus they will scatter like chaff before the wind. Allah’s will be done. Let us try our luck in pitched battle rather than seek safety in shameful flight, which in any case presents its own difficulties.”

He shook his head, glanced about him sourly, and went on, “The first essential is to get rid of the Christian prisoners. Many are fit to bear arms—even to ride—and one traitor among us is enough to prevent our return to the city. I am no cruel man, as you know, but these prisoners number eighteen or twenty thousand, and for the sake of our own lives we must set to work immediately if all are to be strangled before sundown. Let us console ourselves for the financial loss involved by the thought that when Allah turns the leaves of his great book on the Last Day, the slaying of these unbelievers will be accounted to us for merit.”

But at this even the most loyal captains looked askance at one another, and Sinan, who had invested his whole fortune in Christian slaves and made good money by hiring them out, fingered his sparse beard and exclaimed, “Not my worst enemy could call me sentimental, but so cruel a deed would forever sully our name and fame in every country in the world. The Christians would avenge their death on those Moslems who sigh in their dungeons, and my stomach turns over at the thought of the loss that would be caused us by so hasty an action. Let us rather stack powder barrels beneath the vaults so that if the worst happens we can blow up the whole kasbah; for if Allah should give us the victory, how damped would our rejoicings be by any needless loss!”

His cautious plan prevailed. When early next morning the Emperor’s forces marched from their camp, we left the city to resume our battle with the most experienced and seasoned troops of Christendom. In this Khaireddin acted more courageously than did the Sultan and Grand Vizier in Hungary, though it must be admitted that he had no choice.

Once drawn up in order of battle on the plains, our numbers seemed far from contemptible. The white-clad Arab horsemen covered the slopes of the low hills and the brave inhabitants of Tunis, driven from the city with whips, had armed themselves with cleavers and carving knives, since Khaireddin after the loss of his arsenal in La Goletta could give them nothing better. In numbers, at least, we were nearly equal to the Imperial troops, though not quite ninety thousand as the Emperor’s historians afterward reported to enhance their sovereign’s glory.

I followed Andy’s cannon, armed with a light musket and a scimitar. It was not from ambition or love of fighting that I marched with the rest, but simply because I felt safer among Khaireddin’s janissaries and renegades than in the turbulent city. But the battle lasted little longer than the prayer of one girt for a journey. When the Imperial infantry advanced in squares, the Arab riders poured down the slopes in scattered groups and with wild howls discharged a rain of arrows into the enemy ranks. But the answering artillery fire veiled the yellow battlefield in clouds of smoke, and with even wilder yells the Arabs scattered like chaff. They caught up in their flight the bold defenders of Tunis and swept back into the city more swiftly than they had come. Meanwhile we discharged our cannon. Khaireddin, mounted on his champing steed, noticed that he was now somewhat solitary on that wide field; there were but four hundred or so renegades about him, while thirty thousand well-trained Imperial soldiers were steadily advancing, to say nothing of cannon and muskets.

In this most perilous moment of his life the lord of the sea kept his wits about him. Calling to Allah for help in a voice of thunder, he then exhorted his men to deserve Paradise and hold up the enemy by resolute fighting, while he sought to persuade the fugitives to return. He then set spurs to his horse and galloped so speedily back to the city that many of those he pursued fell beneath his horse’s hoofs.

To us who remained fell the honor of gallantly engaging the whole Imperial army, firing off our cannon once more and shoulder to shoulder defending ourselves against the advancing Germans and Spaniards. Our only hope of safety lay in keeping close order and retiring step by step on the city, since unlike Khaireddin we had no horses at our disposal.

When at last, bleeding and exhausted, we reached the city we found battle raging in the streets. The inhabitants hurled themselves upon the Turks and renegades and from the housetops showered down stones, pots, cauldrons, and whatever else they could lay hands on. They screeched that they would throw off the yoke of the High Porte and greet Muley-Hassan with rejoicing as their deliverer. Then the white flag was run up on the kasbah, and when Khaireddin sought to enter it and save his treasure he found the gates barred, while the Christian slaves who had freed themselves of their shackles greeted him with a hail of stones from the walls, wounding him in head and jaw.

What wonder then that before the gates of the kasbah Khaireddin lost all control of himself, ground his teeth, and yelled between foaming lips, “All is lost! The dogs of unbelievers have captured the citadel and stolen my treasure!”

Terror overwhelmed me when I saw that all was indeed lost. I tried to run after Khaireddin’s horse and hang onto its tail, but my only reward was a kick in the stomach. With a howl of agony I writhed on the ground clutching my belly until Andy dragged me to my feet and led me away, cutting a path through the mob with his sword.

When the Arab horsemen saw that the battle was lost and that Khaireddin had fled, they quickly tore up their treaty with him and galloped off toward the Imperial army, each striving to be the first to pay homage to Muley-Hussan and seek the Emperor’s protection. Their eager yells of peace so alarmed the Spaniards that they drove their rests into the ground again and fired their harquebuses into the advancing hordes. Many hundred Arabs lost their lives, or at least their splendid horses, before the unfortunate mistake was discovered. Was this perhaps the judgment of Allah upon them for their treachery ?

Meanwhile, the inhabitants broke off palm branches and stripped the trees in their gardens so as to hail in time-honored fashion the victorious Muley-Hassan and the Emperor, who entered Tunis in his company. They were therefore utterly dismayed when Germans, Italians, and Spaniards with sword in hand poured in to win salvation by murdering every Moslem they could lay hands on, and to plunder the city.

The sack of Tunis continued for three days, and I have been told that in the course of it no fewer than one hundred thousand Moslems were slain, whether they belonged to Muley-Hassan’s party or to Khaireddin’s.

But I have run ahead of events, and must relate what happened after Khaireddin had fled from the gates of the kasbah. Loyally followed by Sinan the Jew and other bold captains, he made off so swiftly as to abandon the horsetail switches in the street. Here it was that Andy seized an Arab horse by the bridle, threw of? the rider, and pushed me up in his place, so that I found myself very suddenly clinging to the saddle of a shying steed and fumbling frantically for the reins. Andy roared at me to ride to Abu el-Kasim’s house where he would join me as soon as he had collected enough horses. As I left I saw him snatch up Khaireddin’s standard, roaring to janissaries and Mussulmans to rally to the Crescent.

I rode to Abu el-Kasim’s house, protecting my head as best I might from the missiles hurled from the roofs. But when at last I arrived I found Abu lying naked and senseless before his gate. His forehead was smashed in and his beard bloody. Round about him lay a quantity of valuables that had fallen from his bundle, and men were kicking and spitting on his body and reviling him as one of Khaireddin’s spies. I rode straight at them being unable to control my horse, calling upon all the faithful to help me, and they scattered like hens, in the belief that Khaireddin’s mamelukes were at my heels.

I threw myself from the saddle and tethered my quivering, lathered steed. In the courtyard I saw Abu el-Kasim’s wife lying ripped up in her own blood, but even in death she strove to protect her child in her broad bosom. His head was so battered as to be unrecognizable. I knelt quickly beside my friend Abu el-Kasim and poured a little water over his waxen face. He opened his weary monkey eyes for the last time and said in a broken voice, “Ah, Michael! Life is nothing but one great dunghill. This thought is all I can bequeath you in the hour of my death, for the rabble have stolen my purse.”

The veil dropped over his eyes and on dark wings came that One who severs the bonds of friendship, silences song, and reveals the vanity of human happiness and grief.

I sat on the ground beside his dead body and wept bitterly. Just then Andy rode into the courtyard, followed by a few men who had remained loyal to Khaireddin. Rising hastily I shouted, “Dear brother Andy, we’re lost! Nothing is left but to seek the Emperor’s protection, and if the worst comes to the worst we can deny our Moslem faith, since fortunately we were never circumcised. My faith in the Prophet has today suffered so hard a blow that it can scarcely recover.”

But Andy brandished Khaireddin’s horsetail standard above his head and in a loud voice cursed all unbelievers. Then quietly he said to me, “Do you really fancy that the Spaniards and Germans would show mercy to renegades? Jump into your saddle, Michael, and fight like a man so that we may catch up with Khaireddin at Bona, before he has time to hoist sail and escape to sea without us! Believe me, this is our only hope.”

He was battle mad, and his gray eyes rolled so wildly in his powder- blackened face that I could not oppose him. We rode into the street and thanks to the disorder wrought by the Christian slaves we were able to leave the city without violence. We passed countless plundered fugitives who wrung their hands and blindly sought refuge in the desert where the best they could hope for was death from thirst, for the hottest season of the year was now upon us.

At length our exhausted horses brought us to Tagaste where Augustine, the great Father of the Church, was born. At that time, however, I did not stop the meditate upon this, but with sun-dazzled eyes looked eagerly for Khaireddin’s galleys in the harbor. They were just rowing out to sea, but our musket shots and despairing cries induced Khaireddin to send back a boat for us. He greeted us with tears and embraced us like a father, assuring us of his uneasiness on our account. But I slid senseless to the deck, worn out with my exertions. Next morning the skin peeled from my face, and my limbs felt as if they had been crushed. But Khaireddin comforted me, saying, “Allah’s will be done! I dare not return to the Sultan with the fragments of the greatest Ottoman fleet that ever sailed the sea. I shall therefore make for Algiers and remain there until he has had time to calm himself. I’m a poor man now and must begin again from the beginning. I see that my proper place is at sea, not ashore. My friends must speak for me at the Divan, if I still have any friends there. I will be prudent and stay away from the High Porte, and this time gladly leave the talking to others.”

Thus the irrepressible Khaireddin began already to form new plans, though we were not yet out of danger and the Emperor had sent his swiftest galleys in pursuit of us. Khaireddin’s escape threatened to snatch the fruits of victory from Charles’s hands, for dominion of the sea was the Emperor’s main object; the restoration of Muley-Hassan to the throne of Tunis was a matter of complete indifference to him. But Khaireddin easily shook off his pursuers and we arrived safely in Algiers, whence he instantly dispatched every seaworthy craft to capture unprotected Christian merchantmen and at the same time to spread fire and devastation along the Italian and Sardinian coasts. These raids were well timed, for victory peals were ringing in every
village, and Christian congregations flocked into the churches to sing the Te Deum in thanksgiving for Khaireddin’s defeat.

On the third day the Emperor commanded that the looting of Tunis should cease and order be restored in the ravaged city, to allow Muley- Hassan to ascend to the throne of his fathers. In this way the Emperor sought to show how selfless had been his part in the war, which he had embarked upon merely as a favor to a prince who had begged his help.

I have felt it necessary to record the events of this Tunisian crusade, which historians and poets have celebrated and eminent painters immortalized in many pictures. By leading the enterprise in person and exposing himself to countless dangers, the Emperor won the admiration of all Christendom. Poets referred to him as the first chevalier of Europe, to the fury of King Francis I. Yet the true object was never attained, for the summer had not ended before Khaireddin and his captains had given convincing proof of their continued life and vigor. The Emperor’s efforts to annihilate Moslem sea power had been in vain and exceedingly expensive—a circumstance passed over in silence by the historians.

I willingly confess that I was in no hurry to return to Istanbul, and stayed for some time in Algiers as the guest of Khaireddin. Not until just before the onset of the winter gales did I venture upon the long voyage home. The arsenal guns fired no acknowledgment of our salute. The Sultan and the Grand Vizier had not yet returned from the Persian campaign, which was of course a great relief to me, and having handed Khaireddin’s letter to a court official who hurried to meet us at the quay, Andy and I took a boat straight to my house, where I might hide my shame away from the gloating stares of the Seraglio.

Giulia received me with a pale face and swollen eyes, and reproached me bitterly for neither writing to her nor sending her money. Yet when she perceived my exhaustion and grief she let me be. It is no easy thing even for a mature and hardened man to watch high hopes go up in smoke and to witness the death of a good friend.

She promised to forgive me, therefore, and spoke with malicious pleasure of the Sultan’s army, which after three months of campaigning had recaptured Tabriz and remained there for weeks in the vain attempt to lure Shah Tahmasp into decisive conflict. The Sultan had liberally distributed provinces and cities to distinguished Persians who made submission to him, and when his forces began to run short of food he had started on the homeward march. But as they left first one and then another of the Persian lands behind them, the Shah’s forces recaptured them and inflicted severe losses on the Ottoman rear guard.
The Shiite heretics rejoiced and purified their mosques from Sunnite pollution; so the great Persian campaign petered out.

“But,” said Giulia, “the Sultan is in no way to blame for the defeat. The culprits are the bad advisers who enticed him on this questionable enterprise. It is high time the Sultan realized Ibrahim’s uselessness as a general. The Mufti is enraged because he protected the Shiite heretics and forbade the plundering of Persian cities, despite the fatwa prepared for the purpose.”

I answered sorrowfully, “While the cat’s away the mice will play. I shall not abate my loyalty to the Grand Vizier just because he has suffered defeat. Now more than ever does he need a friend’s support, and I’ll merely remind you of the old proverb, he laughs best who laughs last.”

“I shall laugh, never fear! Expect no sympathy from me if you choose to ruin yourself. But there’s still time. I have spoken to Khurrem on your behalf and she is willing to forgive you, for the sake of Prince Jehangir. I may tell you in confidence that she does not blame Khaireddin for his defeat and is ready to put in a word for him too if you humbly ask it of her. Such is the honesty of this good and devout lady.”

I suspected deceit, having learned to mistrust everyone and especially Giulia. But next day Sultana Khurrem sent her pleasure barge to fetch me to the Seraglio, where she received me in her own porphyry chamber in the Court of Bliss. At first she spoke from behind a curtain, but later she drew it aside and revealed her face to me. Her immodest behavior showed how customs here had changed in a few years. At the time when I became the Sultan’s slave certain death awaited every man who beheld a woman of the harem unveiled, even by accident.

The Sultana spoke to me in a playful, teasing tone and gurgled with laughter as if someone were tickling her. Yet her eyes were cold and hard, and at length she ordered me to tell her openly and without reserve all that I had seen and done in Tunis and what had happened afterward. I at once admitted Khaireddin’s reverses, but in his defense went on to speak of his success in the later part of the summer, and assured her that with my own eyes I had seen eighteen big galleys under construction at Algiers, so that by the spring Khaireddin’s fleet would be ready to rule the seas once more.

Khurrem held her head a little sideways as she listened, and a smile played continually over her beautiful lips. It seemed to me that she was paying more attention to my appearance than to what I was saying, and at last she remarked absently, “Khaireddin Barbarossa is a devout and valiant man and a faithful servant of the Sultan. The Prophet himself appears to him in dreams and when he shakes his long beard he looks like a lion with a luxuriant mane. He needs no one to speak in his defense, for I know best how to win my lord’s favor for him. But still you have not told me everything, Michael el-Hakim. Why did you go to Tunis in the first place ? And what message was it that the malignant Grand Vizier sent by you to Khaireddin and dared not put into writing?”

I stared at her, disconcerted, unable to guess at her meaning. Then I licked my lips and mumbled something. She encouraged me laughingly, “Michael el-Hakim, you’re a great rogue. Confess honestly that Seraskier Ibrahim sent you to Tunis to inquire secretly whether Khaireddin would acknowledge the Grand Vizier’s title of Seraskier-sultan. If he said yes, you were to bid him to take his fleet to the Sea of Marmara and await further orders. But the Emperor’s unexpected attack foiled these ugly schemes and Khaireddin was saved from making a negative reply, which would have brought down upon him the Grand Vizier’s wrath.”

“Allah is Allah!” I exclaimed in dismay. “That is nonsense—base lies from beginning to end. The Grand Vizier sent me to warn Khaireddin against the Emperor’s false promises, for Charles had offered to make him king of Africa.”

“Quite so,” assented Khurrem hastily. “Then the Grand Vizier ordered you to tell Khaireddin that it lay in his power to make him king of Africa with the right to appoint his own heirs. Then with the Emperor as ruler of Europe and the Seraskier-sultan as ruler of Asia, Khaireddin would take his place as the third of the world’s sovereigns.”

“What do you mean by that foolish title Seraskier-sultan?” I demanded, so exasperated that I forgot my lowly position. “You turn everything upsidedown. I had no such mission and my only object has been to serve the Sultan loyally. Neither Khaireddin nor I can be blamed for the defeat and I have nothing to add, since you will persist in distorting the truth.”

The smile faded from the Sultana’s lips and her plump face became a chalky mask. Her eyes took on an icy blue glint, and for a moment I seemed to be face to face with a monster in human form. Yet this singular expression vanished so quickly that I fancied I must have dreamed it or been bewitched by her look.

Presently she said in her usual cooing tones, “Perhaps you are speaking the truth and my informant was mistaken. I can only rejoice that all serve the Sultan so loyally and faithfully. You have greatly relieved my mind, Michael el-Hakim; you deserve liberal reward, and I shall not forget to put in a good word for you with the Sultan. Perhaps I am foolish to imagine that so gifted a man as the Grand Vizier would do anything behind his lord’s back. We must wait and see. All will turn out for the best and you and I will be silent about the whole distressing affair.”

She smiled at me again in her bewitching manner, but the cold glint remained in her eye as she repeated the words that seemed to veil a stern warning: “All will turn out for the best, and you and I will be silent about the whole distressing affair.”

With this she made a sign with her plump hand and a slave girl dropped the curtain between us.

As I returned through the splendid courtyards of the Seraglio I was overcome by a sense of unreality. This was like a story, or a dream, and I seemed to have been through it all before. I looked at the countless slaves who from the highest to the lowest turned their backs on me, and they no longer appeared to me as living people. It was as if they had no faces of their own, and only by their clothes, headdresses, sticks, whips, ladles, and other tokens of rank could I tell their position and occupation. They looked like nothing so much as brilliant beetles. Any one of them could have changed places with any other without altering the pattern. All would go on in the same empty way and with the same senseless and outmoded customs as before.

I seemed tQ stand outside. I no longer brooded over myself or my fate. I felt only an unspeakable weariness and depression, and the vanity of it all was like a raw December day in my heart.

At the beginning of January, 1536, Sultan Suleiman arrived at Scutari on the opposite shore of the Marmara, and allowed members of the Divan to help him from the saddle as a sign that the Persian campaign was at an end. The Grand Vizier had secretly ordered the building of a splendid barge, well able to compare with the fabled “Bucentoro” of the Doge of Venice, so that in a manner worthy of the conquerer of Persia the Sultan might glide over to Istanbul amid the thunder of salutes.

Once more the names of captured fortresses and cities were proclaimed to the populace. Once more the bonfires blazed for nights on end and the people roared their acclamations of the returning spahis and janissaries. But this time the joy was forced, as if evil forebodings had poisoned the mood of triumph. Moreover, the army had suffered very severe losses on the retreat, on account of both the Persian cavalry attacks and the bad weather, and many wives bitterly mourned their dead husbands, though they might do this only in solitude and within the four walls of their homes.

After the days of jubilation, life in the capital resumed its normal course, and no foreigner would have noticed any change. King Francis I’s representative, who had attended the Sultan from Bagdad to Tabriz and back to Istanbul, was rewarded for his trouble by the Sultan’s consent to a commercial treaty with France. Slaves of French birth in the Sultan’s dominions were given their freedom and all things pointed to the fact that King Francis, having learned nothing from former failures, was preparing for another war against the Emperor. Khaireddin did not fall into disgrace as many had hoped; on the contrary, the treaty was drawn up in his name and he was designated therein as king of Algeria. Without this, ill feeling would have been aroused among both Moslems and Christians. As it was, many otherwise shrewd Moslems blamed the Grand Vizier for secretly favoring the Christians, just as he had been blamed for protecting the Shiite heretics at the Ottoman army’s expense. But by this time all evil that occurred was laid at his door, to blacken his face and undermine his position, while all good was credited to the Sultan.

In the course of that spring the people’s senseless and unreasoning hatred for the Grand Vizier became so evident that he preferred not to appear in public, and remained either in his palace beyond the Atmeidan or among the buildings of the third courtyard of the Seraglio. Janissaries exercising on the Atmeidan would yell insults and make faces at his palace, and one night some drunken wrestlers broke into it, tore the trophies from the walls and smashed them, and befouled the corners of his rooms. Yet to avoid all troublesome publicity the Grand Vizier made no inquiry and summoned none of the culprits to answer for the outrage.

After his return from Persia the Grand Vizier was compelled first of all to deal with matters that had arisen during his absence and that the pashas had refused to handle for fear of making mistakes. Negotiations in preparation for the French treaty also occupied his time, so that with the best will in the world he could not receive me. The winter days went by without hope of a personal interview, although I longed to warn him of dangers that I did not dare to hint at in a letter. Now and then he sent me word that he would attend to me all in good time.

In response to my continual pestering, the Grand Vizier sent me two hundred gold pieces in a silken bag. This was intended as a proof of his favor, but never did a present sadden and hurt me so much. It showed that in his heart he despised me and believed that I served him only for money—and how could I blame him for that? The fault was mine. Too long I had thought only of presents and rewards. But now as I stood idly among the slender pillars of the Grand Vizier’s entrance hall with that embroidered purse in my hand, I perceived with agonizing clarity that not all the gold in the world could deaden the pain now gnawing at my heart.

Yet I will not seek to appear better than I am, for my object in writing this story is to be as honest as it is possible for imperfect human nature to be. Therefore I admit freely that since sharing the Tunisian diamonds with Andy I felt—though without any great pleasure—that my future was financially secure.

On my return Giulia laid her white arms about my neck and said coaxingly, “Dear Michael, while you were out I searched your medicine chest for a remedy for stomach trouble. The Greek gardener is ill. But I dared not take the African drug that you brought from Tunis, for you told me that an overdose might be dangerous. I don’t want to harm the man through ignorance.”

I disliked her habit of ransacking my chests while I was out, and I told her so. But my mind was on other things and I gave her a drug that Abu el-Kasim had warmly recommended, warning her against administering too much at a time. The same evening I was attacked by pains in the stomach after eating fruit, and Giulia told me that besides the gardener, one of the boatmen had also fallen sick. Such disorders were common in Istanbul and I paid no heed to my own pains. I took a dose of aloes and opium before going to bed and in the morning was fully recovered.

Next day I learned that the Sultan had suffered the same thing after an evening meal taken with the Grand Vizier. Suleiman at once succumbed to a mood of depression—a common enough thing among those suffering from stomach disorders.

As a result of the Sultan’s sickness the Grand Vizier at last had his evenings to himself, and at sunset after the prayer he sent for me. I hastened at once to his palace, but that lovely building, usually brilliant with countless lamps and surrounded by crowds, now stood dark, empty, and silent, like a house of mourning. Only a few pale slaves stood idly in the great hall, which was lit by a few faintly burning lamps, but between the slender columns of the audience chamber the German clockmaker came hurrying toward me. With him, to my surprise, was the Sultan’s French clockmaker, whom King Francis had sent to Suleiman after hearing of his weakness for clocks. Both these masters were examining with solemn physicians’ airs the unevenly ticking clock, made by Niimberg’s most famous horologist, that should have indicated unerringly the hour, date, month, year, and even the position of the planets. The German fell on his knees, kissed my hand, and said, “Ah, Master Michael, I am lost—I have forgotten my cunning. Thanks to my skilled repairs this unlucky timepiece has gone perfectly for six years, and now it has begun to lose. I cannot find what is wrong, and have had to beg the excellent Master Francois to help me.”

The clock ticked heavily, its hand pointed to seven, and the little figure of the smith came out and began jerkily striking the silver belL But he managed only three feeble strokes, the clock resumed its uneven ticking and the smith, his hammer still raised to strike, turned and disappeared. I looked searchingly at the two men and noted that the Frenchman guiltily thrust a wine jar behind the clock with his foot. Both men averted their eyes in some embarrassment, and then Master Francois said boastfully, “All clocks have their little ways, or we clockmakers would be out of work. I know this one inside out and to take apart so complicated a mechanism would be laborious and risky. So we have been content to refresh our memories and compare our pre-eminent knowledge, and so perhaps discover what the fault may be. It is not worth dismantling so costly a toy without good reason. The Grand Vizier is—forgive my candor—somewhat eccentric to regard this little irregularity as a bad omen.”

In his drunkenness he continued to speak so slightingly of the Grand Vizier that I grew angry and raised my hand to strike him—though I doubt whether I would have done so as he held a hammer in his hand and had the look of a testy man. But the German flung himself between us and said, “If the clock is sick, the noble Grand Vizier is more so. No man in his senses keeps his eyes constantly on a clock and loses sleep because of it. At night he often gets up to look at it and in the daytime he will break off in the middle of a sentence before the assembled Divan and stand staring at the dial. Each time he holds his head in his hand and says, ‘My clock is losing. Allah be gracious to me, my clock runs slow.’ Is that the talk of a sensible man?”

I left the fellow and hurried to the brightly lit chamber where the Grand Vizier was sitting cross legged on a triple cushion with a reading stand before him. I am not sure whether he was really reading or pretending to do so; at any rate, he turned a page calmly before raising his eyes to mine. I prostrated myself to kiss the ground before him, stammering for joy and calling down blessings upon him on his happy return from the war. He silenced me with a gesture of his thin hand and looked me straight in the eyes, while a shadow of ineffable sorrow stole over his face. His skin had lost its youthful glow and the roses of his cheeks were faded. His soft black beard made his face seem ghostly pale in the lamplight, and as he had removed his turban no diamonds sparkled over his brow. He had grown so thin that the rings hung loose upon his fingers and seemed too heavy for them.

“What do you want, Michael el-Hakim?” he asked. “I am Ibrahim, lord of the nations and steward of the Sultan’s power. I can make you vizier if it pleases me. I can transform beggars into defterdars and boatmen to admirals. But though I hold the Sultan’s own seal I cannot help myself.”

He showed me the Sultan’s square seal hanging on a gold chain about his neck under the flowered kaftan. I uttered a cry of amazement and pressed my face to the ground once more in veneration for this most precious object that no one but the Sultan might use. The Grand Vizier hid it beneath his kaftan once more and said in a tone of indifference, “With your own eyes you have seen the boundless trust reposed in me. This seal exacts unconditional obedience from high and low in all the Sultan’s dominions. Perhaps you knew that?”

He smiled a queer smile, stared before him with a twitching face, and went on, “Perhaps you know too that the Sultan’s square seal opens even the doors of the harem. There is nothing I cannot do as easily as if I were Suleiman himself. Do you understand what that means, Michael el-Hakim?”

I could only kneel before him, shake my head, and stammer, “No, no—I understand nothing—nothing!”

“You see how I pass the time in my solitude. I read—I tell the chaplet of words. On the golden shelves of my treasury stands the assembled wisdom of all lands and all ages. I read and let the words flow past my eyes. On lonely evenings I can hear the sages speak together—famous generals, great rulers, cunning architects, and inspired poets, besides all the holy men who in their way are as possessed and inspired as the poets. All this wisdom is at my disposal—but how can it profit me now? I am Ibrahim the fortunate. My eyes have been opened and I see through all human prejudice. All this wisdom—hear what I say, Michael—all this wisdom is but words beautifully strung together. Chosen with taste, no doubt, but words only—strings of words and nothing more. I, Ibrahim, alone of all men, have in my possession the personal seal of the Ruler of the World. And what do I do, Michael el-Hakim? You see me. In my lonely room I read words that have been beautifully strung together.”

He drew off the magnificent rings, irked by their looseness.

“He knows me and I know him. Twins could not divine one another’s thoughts more swiftly and completely. Last night when he fell sick he handed me his seal, thereby delivering himself and his power into my hands. Perhaps it was to show me his unshaken trust. But I know him no longer and cannot read his thoughts as I used to do. Then he was a mirror, but another has breathed upon that mirror and I cannot see what is in his mind. I can do nothing—I cannot save myself. His trust has stolen my strength and my will.”

Though he strove to master himself I saw his tremulous hands and twitching face, and as a physician I knew how sick must be his heart. I said soothingly, “Noble lord, the month of Ramadan has begun—a month as trying for rulers as for slaves. When the fast is over you will see all with other eyes and laugh at your hallucinations. You would do well to eat and drink your fill, visit your harem, and linger there until the new day of fasting and it is light enough to distinguish a black thread from a white. Experience had shown that pious vigil among the women of the harem has a soothing effect on the mind during Ramadan, and is prescribed by the Prophet himself.”

He looked at me from out of his despair. “How can I eat or drink when because of his sickness my lord must fast? He is not my lord, he is my heart’s brother, and I have never felt it so strongly as at the beginning of this Ramadan. My heart’s brother and my only true friend on earth. For years I forgot this, arrogantly enjoying his gifts and his infinite favor. While his cruel father Selim lived we rode side by side and the dark wings of death hovered over our heads. He trusted me then—he knew I was ready at any moment to die for him.

But now his trust is gone. Were it not so he would not have given me this seal. He did it only to convince himself. He is a singular man, Michael. But why speak of that? It is all too late. My clock loses more and more and I have nothing to do but read words that have been beautifully strung together. For my eyes are still alive—”

He could sit still no longer, but rose to pace back and forth restlessly, the sound of his steps muffled by the gorgeous Oriental rugs. He cried out in despair, “My clock is losing! It has been slow from the first hour. The clocks of Europe tick more quickly than the best clocks of the East. Whatever I dreamed, desired, hoped, and even achieved, I heard only the answer of my dragging clock—’Too late, too late.’ It was too late before Vienna. Too late in Bagdad, too late in Tabriz. Khaireddin came too late. Whatever I have done or decided—all has been too late.”

Blood was mounting to his head and his eyes were suffused with it as he stared at me. “Allah, what can one man do! What armies of prejudice have I not had to fight, every moment! Everything I have achieved, every law I have made, has been met with hatred and ridicule. Yet when at length all opposition was vanquished the answer was the same—’’Too late!’ Only yesterday in my foolish conceit I could fancy no greater bitterness than this. But now at the beginning of Ramadan, as I sit reading words, I no longer care to defy my destiny.”

His arms fell limply and his face, beautiful in its pallor, became calm and peaceful. An almost mischievous smile played over his lips as he said, “One of the Roman emperors sighed, when he was at the point of death, ‘What an actor the world loses in me!’ But I can hardly call myself even an actor. For the sake of our friendship I have so renounced myself that I hardly know when I’m acting and when I’m in earnest. Too much power turns a man into an actor—above all if that power is dependent on the will and favor of another, though that other be the most excellent man in the world. Yet I know that it is the same with him and perhaps even worse, for after all that has happened he will never be entirely sincere with anyone. He must choose every word and control every change of expression. Michael, Michael, he will suffer worse than I, and he will never know which is truth and which is falsehood in his own heart. And so I shudder for him, knowing how hideously alone he will be in the world. God, Allah, unknown tempter! Whoever You be, You cannot deny our friendship.”

He fell silent and listened, shocked, to the echo of his voice. Then he whispered, “No man can trust his neighbor. That is the only enduring truth; there is none other in the world.”

“Noble lord,” I said, “too great mistrust is as bad as overconfidence. Both are disastrous in their effects. We should in all things seek the golden mean.”

The Grand Vizier looked at me scornfully and asked, “Is that unpleasant woman seeking, through you, to lull me once more into a false sense of security before the blow falls ? What do women know of friendship? Listen carefully, Michael—if there is on earth a devil in human shape it is that woman. But she has only a woman’s understanding; she judges the world by herself and therefore could never see why the Sultan gave me the seal and its sovereign powers. Take her this greeting from me, Michael. To her life’s end she will never succeed in cracking that nut, and nothing angers a woman more than the discovery that in the relationship between man and man there are things that women can never understand.”

He surveyed me proudly with his brilliant eyes and seemed to me at that moment as beautiful as a fallen angel. With a gesture that waved away my attempts at contradiction, he said, “Perhaps you know that last night I dined with the Sultan. The more poison is dropped into his ear the more eager is he to keep me by him, to watch my thoughts and scrutinize my face. I chose for him as is fitting the best fruit in the dish. He peeled and ate it, and a quarter of an hour had barely passed when he felt a burning in his stomach and fancied he was going to die on the spot. He thought I had poisoned him. Exhausted by the emetics of the physicians he nevertheless realized that he would live, and looking me straight in the eye he handed me his personal seal. In this way he thought to bind me to him and prevent me from doing him harm. No stranger could understand his action, but ever since our boyhood I have shared his meals, slept beneath the same roof, and been his closest friend, until that fatal woman induced him to shut his heart from me. You spoke of too great mistrust, and I have reproached myself for it. But when with the sweat of terror on my brow I saw him poisoned I knew that the Russian woman had bewitched the fruit in my hand to cast suspicion upon me. Roxelana is no fool. I ate of the fruit—I ordered the slaves to eat the rest. Neither I nor they sickened. Only in the fruit I chose for him was there poison. Can you imagine anything more devilish than that?”

I shook my head compassionately.

“You are ill, lord. Your poisoned fancy has given you these notions. An infectious stomach disorder is rife in the city, and I myself fell sick the day before yesterday after eating apples. I beg you, lord, to drink this soothing medicine that I have brought. You need sleep—you need to forget your clock.”

“So, you would give me a soothing drink, Michael el-Hakim! That, then, was the object of your visit. When you denied your Christ you did it to save your own miserable life. This time no doubt you have been offered more than thirty pieces of silver. You see, I know the Christian Scriptures.”

Looking him in the eyes I answered, “Grand Vizier Ibrahim, I’m a poor man indeed, for I suppose I have neither God nor holy book on which I may swear a binding oath. But you I have never betrayed, and never shall. Not for your sake, but for mine—though I cannot hope you will understand that, since I hardly understand it myself. Perhaps to prove to myself that I, renegade and backslider, can be loyal to at least one person in the world and stand by his side in time of need.”

Despite the conflict within him I believe my words made their impression, and when he had sat for some time gazing searchingly into my eyes he rose, walked over to a chest with a golden lid, threw it open and tossed out onto the floor a number of purses so stuffed with coin that the thin leather split and the pieces rolled over the floor. On the heap of purses he threw handfuls of pearls, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and other stones; not even at Khaireddin’s arrival had I beheld so much gold and so many sparkling jewels gathered together in one place.

“Michael el-Hakim! As sure as I am that there was poison in the fruit the Sultan ate, so sure am I that you are a betrayer. I ask only to know the truth. Not even the Russian can pay you so princely a sum as I can. Tell me the whole truth, Michael, and you shall take all this treasure away. This time no mutes stand behind the curtain. Truth alone can bring some relief to my burdened mind. The swiftest galley and a hundred sea janissaries shall take you to what country you please. Only have pity, Michael, and tell me the truth.”

I stared as if bewitched at the dazzling heap, but soon with a bitter taste in my mouth I said, “My lord Ibrahim, if I were to tell you that I am a betrayer you would believe it because you want to believe it.

But I cannot confess to what is not true. Let me kiss your hand in farewell and go, and no longer plague you with my presence.”

“If indeed you are loyal to me you’re simpler than I thought. In the world of statecraft, loyalty is a form of idiocy.”

I found the word of release and said smiling, “Then let us be two blockheads in the same boat. You are even more foolish than I, for you wear the Sultan’s personal seal and yet refuse to use it to save yourself.”

The Grand Vizier stared at me, and his eyes were weary with the struggle that rent his soul. His face was ashy pale and a dull film seemed to veil his eyes. In a lifeless voice he said, “Why, why do you stay by me? Are you bound to me by gratitude? It cannot be true. There is no more thankless creature than man, for unlike the beasts man hates his benefactor. Tell me why you will not desert me.”

I kissed his hand with veneration, sat cross legged on the floor before him with my head in my hand, and thought about myself and my life, and about him and his.

For a long time we sat in silence, and then I said, “The question is not easy to answer. It must be because of the love I bear you, noble lord. Not for your gifts to me, but because you have sometimes spoken to me and treated me as if I were a reasoning being. I love you for your beauty, your intelligence, your pride, your doubts, and your wisdom. Your like has hardly been seen upon this earth. It is true that you have your faults. You’re jealous of your power—you’re a spendthrift, a blasphemer, and many other things that people blame you for. But none of this affects my feelings for you. No one hates you for your human failings, Grand Vizier Ibrahim, though they like to talk of them and magnify them, to justify to themselves and to their fellows the malice they bear you. They detest you only because you stand so high above other men, and that is something that mediocre souls can never endure. And yet in each one of us lies the latent faculty of surpassing others. Of that I am sure.

“Perhaps I love you best for your high aims and motives and for never behaving with deliberate cruelty to anyone. Thanks to you no one in the Sultan’s dominions is persecuted for his faith, be he Christian or Jew. Do you wonder that men hate you, Grand Vizier Ibrahim ? But because of these things I love you.”

He listened with a tired smile, as if mocking himself and admiring my talent for stringing words so pleasantly together. I tiptoed from the room and fetched the tray of covered dishes that servants had prepared, setting it beside him, lifting the silver lids and tasting a little of all the food to reassure him. Abstractedly he began to eat, and when I gave him the sleeping draught he took it without demur. I held his hand until he slept, kissed it once more respectfully, and then replaced all the money and jewels in the chest so as not to expose the servants to too great temptation. I called these men and ordered them to undress their lord and carry him to bed, and they obeyed me with gladness, having felt deep concern for the sleeplessness that the Grand Vizier had so long suffered.

Three days afterward Mustafa ben-Nakir appeared, unexpectedly, as was his custom. I feared the worst, for he seemed to bring with him a breath of cold menace. The silver bells at his knees rang as pleasantly as ever, but he was less carefully dressed and less clean than he was wont to be. He had even forgotten the Persian book. I asked where he had been and what he had been doing, and he said, “Let us go down to your marble quay and watch the stars come out. A poem is about to be born in my heart and I do not want your servants or even your wife to be present at this solemn moment.”

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 excellent. 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.

“All is in readiness and nothing remains for you to do but to grasp the rudder of events. Strike first! Remember that where you are concerned the Sultan is nothing but an assassin. You eat alone together, and you are certainly stronger than he. You can take no weapon with you, but you can strangle him with the chain of the square seal. No one will suspect that of being the means of death, however carefully they search your clothes. But first strike him a heavy blow on the temple to keep him quiet. Be swift and bold and all will go well. Dominion of the empire awaits you—dominion perhaps of the whole world!”

He listened to me quietly and as if I were telling him some familiar tale. When I had finished, he said softly, “So, Michael el-Hakim, you’re a traitor after all. But why did you not poison me, when you had so good an opportunity, or at least rob me? But I have had the money counted and none is missing. Truly Allah’s creatures are strange in their diversity. There, do not weep! I would not for the world distress my only friend.”

He patted me lightly on the cheek with his warm hand and invited me to sit at his right side; he poured wine for me into a golden goblet and chose for me the best pieces from a dish before him, as if I had been an honored guest. Having calmed me he went on, “You may be my friend, yet you do not know me. I have long considered all you suggest, and the plan in itself is excellent. Yet there is one drawback. Myself. No one knows this but the Sultan, and he showed his knowledge of it in giving me his seal. In his heart he knows that our friendship binds me closer than iron fetters. No, I shall not murder him. Since his youth he has been a melancholy man, and sorrow will keep him even closer company when I am gone. Henceforth terror will rule the Seraglio—and all because of the Russian. Deeply, deeply do I pity him. He will be the
loneliest man in all the Empire.

“You once said that a man must be loyal to at least one creature on earth. If you, then why not I? Man is greater than statecraft, honor, wealth, and power, though many will not see this. But let us be honest and admit that just as your loyalty to me is no more than loyalty to yourself, so is my loyalty to the Sultan nothing but loyalty to a certain poor Ibrahim who sits at his side, trying to persuade himself that he is a true man. The hour of parting is at hand, and we may doff our masks.”

For a long time we sat in silence until no doubt he wearied of my company, for he said politely, “If indeed you do not mean to run away, do me one last service and have my body buried decentiy, after the Moslem fashion.”

I suspect that he made me this last request from sheer courtesy, to show his faith in me, for he can have cared little what became of his remains. But I promised to do as he asked and kissed his hand and shoulder in farewell. Thus I parted forever from the most notable and singular of all the men I have met, a greater man than either the Emperor or the Sultan.

When I emerged from the servants’ entrance I found Andy sitting in the street in the moonlight, singing a scurrilous German song. I said, “This is Ramadan, my dear Andy. Let us go to the great mosque to pray.”

As with slippers in hand we stepped through the great copper gates and in among the porphyry pillars, peace entered my heart as softly and gently as my bare feet sank into the rich carpets on the floor. Only a few lamps were burning, and above them the vast dome soared up like the night sky.

The mosque was empty, but soon the feast of Bairam would come, when on the last night of Ramadan the hundred lamps would burn, the gilded texts would gleam from the giant medallions, and tens of thousands of Moslems would crowd under the great dome to hear the Koran read aloud from the throne of the Imams. Sultan Suleiman himself would be present, and behind the golden grille the ladies of the harem would follow the ceremonial, among them the devout Sultana Khurrem with Giulia at her side. But I should not share in the rejoicing. Along subterranean conduits my headless body would be sluggishly moving toward the Marmara.

Beneath a solitary lamp I pressed my forehead to the soft rug, rose, and once more prostrated myself before the face of Allah. But above all I directed my prayers to the incorruptible judge within myself, begging for strength to leave my imprisoning body without fear.

The crescent moon was dipping into cloud as the boat touched our landing stage and we stepped ashore. Giulia had not returned, nor was the skulking Alberto to be seen. Mustafa ben-Nakir still lay in profound slumber on my bed. I resolved to take advantage of the moment and said to Andy, “I want to speak to you seriously, so don’t interrupt me with foolish questions. Tomorrow, the next day, or at latest in three days’ time I shall be a dead man. As I am a slave of the Sultan’s, my house and possessions revert to him, though through the favor she enjoys Giulia may be able to secure a lawful settlement. She is a free woman. And you, Andy, are a free man; I have seen to that. Your share of Muley-Hassan’s diamonds is in my care and after my death you’re to have my share, too. No one knows of these stones. Now is our chance to bury them in the garden. After my death, after the auction that will be held here, and when I have been quite forgotten—that will be at most a week, if I know the Seraglio—you can dig them up and sell the smallest of them to a reliable Jew for your journey money. I will give you his name later. The wisest thing you can do is to go to Egypt and seek the protection of the good eunuch Suleiman. You can either sail with him to India or, if he advises it, return to Venice and the Christian countries. You would do best to leave this house early tomorrow and stay for the time with the dervishes, for Moslems treat their holy men and other eccentrics well and do not persecute them.”

Andy stared at me with an expressionless face. Then sighing deeply he said, “Allah truly is the one God, though at times I have doubted his sanity, peace be with him. I hear and I obey, and will pack up and go to Egypt if need be. But there’s a time for everything and I shall not give up until I have seen your head fall with my own eyes. No, I shall not leave you, though they should crack my skull for it—if they can.”

I rebuked him; I sought with both harsh and gentle words to persuade him. But he was obdurate, and I could do nothing but thank him irritably for his friendship and then hurry down with him to bury the diamonds.

By the time we returned from this task, one could distinguish a black thread from a white, and a new day in Ramadan was beginning. Regardless of the sacred laws we went at once to rest, and with the peace of renunciation in my heart I sank into a profound slumber. I lay thus until roused by Mustafa ben-Nakir, who hung over me with tousled hair and his lionskin askew over his shoulders. Rising quickly I washed and dressed without a word, and at the sight of my face he too held his peace. Then unwilling to keep him longer in suspense I told him of what had passed.

As I spoke his face grew ever darker, though like a wise man he allowed no needless ejaculation to escape his lips—a circumstance greatly to his credit, for who else could have listened without cursing to the story of the crazed obstinacy with which the Grand Vizier had thrust aside our helping hands ? When I had ended, Mustafa ben- Nakir began in his turn to wash himself, dye his hands, and anoint his head.

“Grand Vizier Ibrahim has condemned himself,” he said at last. “It is easy to be mistaken in people. But now both your neck and mine are in danger, and no one will thank us for following Ibrahim to his death like sheep. Let us save our skins and cleanse ourselves from blame by testifying against him. No further harm can come to him through that, since the Sultan has already pronounced his doom by appealing to the Mufti.”

“Allah, Allah!” I cried aghast. “May your name be accursed if ever you do such a thing.”

He looked at me in wonder and said coldly, “I have my position and my work to do in the world, and the cornerstone of statesmanship is realism. The wise man abstains from vain struggle and joins the victor, so as to claim his share in the spoils. The turncoat is often in a better position than the conqueror, for he knows more and can sell his knowledge at a higher price.”

I gazed into his shining eyes and beautiful face.

“No,” I said softly. “I follow you no longer, Mustafa ben-Nakir. I have had enough of your doctrines.”

“Then you’re a simpleton, Michael el-Hakim, and I’ve been mistaken in you. Remember that only stupidity is punished. Not lechery, nor greed, nor betrayal, nor apostasy, but stupidity alone. And truth is the worst stupidity, for only the feeble-minded thinks he has found truth. But we will speak no more of this, and I will not seek to persuade a man as simple as you.”

“You’re right, son of the angel of death,” I answered. “All you have told me I have found out for myself. And so it is high time for me to prove that there is something greater in man than I used to think. This concerns only me, and you must forgive me if I now ask you to go. I’m weak and easily led, and should hate to betray myself at the last moment.”

A seductive smile overspread Mustafa ben-Nakir’s face, like sunlight on a shroud.

“How can you be so sure that I am evil ? How can you know that I am not the incorruptible judge within you, Michael el-Hakim?”

His bright eyes seemed to pierce me through. How he came to speak of that incorruptible judge I could not understand, and his words filled me with such horror that I sank to my knees trembling.

“Get thee behind me, Satan!” my lips murmured. But my heart was silent.

Giulia swept into the room, having just returned from the Seraglio. She drew the thin veil from her face, revealing cheeks glowing with excitement and eyes lit with secret triumph.

“Oh, Mustafa ben-Nakir!” she exclaimed. “How fortunate that you’re still here. What will you give me for bringing you good tidings?”

“Torment me not, merciless Giulia, but tell me at once what you have to say. My heart is a leaf in the wind and my hands are ice.”

Giulia tittered and said, “A certain exalted person has heard of the poems you have carved in the bark of the plane trees in the janissaries’ courtyard, and those you sent with the merchants from Basra. She laughs at your poems, but is flattered by your attention, and it may be that she is curious to see your face once more. Tonight favors a meeting of which none need know. Perhaps she will allow you to read your poems to her, for it’s said that during the nights of Ramadan women are full of whims. Hasten to the baths, Mustafa ben-Nakir, and let the attendants rub you with fragrant oils. At sunset, immediately after the hour of prayer, the forbidden door will open to you, and who knows what a night in Ramadan may hold in store?”

“Don’t believe her!” I cried, deeply agitated. “This is nothing but a plot to get you out of the way. Fly to the monastery of your brotherhood, where none will dare to raise a hand against you.”

Giulia stamped and her eyes shot lightnings of rage as she screamed, “Hold your tongue, Michael! You have nothing to say in this matter.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir said, “Though it should mean death, yet she is and must ever be the only woman in the world for me. Perhaps it is a plot, but when she has heard what I have to say she may change her mind. Ah, Michael! I should be mad not to take the opportunity so freely offered. An hour or so ago I was ready to overturn the Empire—nay, the world—only to touch her. If I must die I will do so gladly, once I have dispelled the illusion that the unattainable is worth striving for.”

When I went down to the landing stage with Mustafa ben-Nakir I saw to my surprise two blue-clad janissaries, who came in through the gate and began to follow me. Then as I looked about me I beheld armed janissaries on guard at every entrance, in the garden, and down on the marble quay. By this I saw that Khurrem meant to leave nothing to chance. I lingered to watch Giulia glide away in my beautifully carved boat, Alberto standing beside her with folded arms and a sneer on his dark face. A cold hand seemed to clutch at my heart, and as I stood staring at the hazy roofs of the Seraglio across the water the onbash of the janissaries came up to me and bowed respectfully. The crossed ladles on his white felt cap glinted in the sun. Touching brow and ground with his finger tips he said, “I have been ordered by the Aga to accompany you everywhere and protect you against all evil. I am to answer for your safety with my head; therefore, do not be angered by my constant attendance. For this service the ambassadors of unbelievers pay three aspers a day to the janissaries and six to me—but such things vary with means and position and I have no doubt that you are greatly superior to the ambassadors of unbelievers.”

With a hopeful smile he twisted the ends of his long mustaches and looked admiringly at my turban, my earrings, and the buttons of my kaftan. There was nothing for it but to call down blessings on him and his men and to hand him a purse filled with aspers.

Few days in my life have seemed so long and heavy as that brilliant Ides of March, but after an eternity I watched the sun sink toward the Seraglio and tinge the billows of the Bosphorus with red. I sought out Abu el-Kasim’s deaf-mute under the boatmen’s shed on the shore, explained to him by signs what I wanted, and bade him betake himself as usual to the janissaries’ courtyard by the Gateway of Peace.

I slept not a wink all that night, and at dawn I ordered the sentries to wake the sleeping janissaries, with whom Andy and I then made the journey to the Seraglio. At the Gateway of Peace I found my faithful deaf-mute keeping watch. At my coming he stepped forward and told me with eager signs that the Grand Vizier had come to the Seraglio the evening before, dismissed his followers, and passed through the Gateway of Peace. He had not returned. A further gesture told me that my lord and friend was no more, and regardless of rank and dignity I sat down upon the ground to await the moment when the body of the murdered man would be thrown out into the courtyard. My attendant janissaries sat down also at a respectful distance. In the slowly growing light I saw the shrewd eyes of the onbash fixed upon me, but he asked no questions, knowing that our least actions are written in Allah’s great book long before our birth. Foolish curiosity was thus inconsistent with human dignity and self-respect.

The morning star faded, the cocks in the Seraglio forecourt began to crow, and soon the distant voice of the muezzin from the minaret of the great mosque reminded us that prayer is better than sleep. The onbash roused the janissaries, and we moved off in single file to the tiled fountain, where we proclaimed our intention and in turn performed our ablutions. Then turning our faces toward the Holy City we said our prayers. Soon the sun rose over the spring landscape and the great gates swung wide open. The porter, yawning and scratching his back, replied to our wordless query by pointing at a bier that stood under the archway for relatives to fetch away. But I alone, the renegade, with Andy and the deaf-mute, came to take Grand Vizier Ibrahim on his last journey.

Lying on that shabby bier he was less handsome than in life. His body was full of gaping wounds, and the green silk noose about his neck was drawn so tight that his face was black. His costly garments had been tossed pell mell over his naked body and the porter was even now removing them as his traditional perquisites. Nevertheless he willingly sold me a black cloth in which to swathe the body.

But it was too late. The janissaries who guarded me had already recognized him and could not restrain their cries of amazement and delight, though as a rule these men do not easily forget themselves and make it a point of honor to preserve impassive silence at all times. A crowd of others came to see what had happened, and soon the court resounded to excited chattering. I quickly gave the onbash the order to march and after only momentary hesitation he bowed, ordered four of his men to lift the bier, and took up his position in front of it, sending the other five on ahead to clear the way. Moslems have great respect for the One who severs all the bonds of friendship, and once we had left the courtyard we could make our way in peace, unmolested by passers-by.

We crossed the deserted Atmeidan and entered the Grand Vizier’s palace, where we laid the bier down before the famous clock in the great audience chamber. I was not at all surprised to see that the clock had at last stopped during the evening of the fatal Ides of March, Only a few frightened servants obeyed my angry summons and crept from their hiding places with bent heads. To them and to the eunuchs I gave orders that the Grand Vizier’s body should be arrayed in clean clothes and the face treated and colored to simulate the hues of life. Andy, meanwhile, went to find a hearse and a pair of horses.

While he was gone a dignitary sent by the Mufti arrived to announce in formal terms that burial in any of the Moslem graveyards of a protector of unbelievers and grand master of a heretic sect could on no account be permitted. This was an unforeseen difficulty, but while I was pondering what to do the young poet Baki arrived at the palace in tears, careless of the danger he ran by displaying grief for the death of a man disgraced. He told me that the dervishes would gladly allow the body to be laid at their sacred meeting place at Pera. if only to annoy the Mufti. I therefore sent him forward to arrange the matter with Murad-Asr/e£.

Andy returned from the coach houses where he had found only a hay wagon, as all the Grand Vizier’s state carriages had been removed for fear of the Sultan’s wrath. With curses and threats he had forced the terrified grooms to harness to this a pair of night-black horses that had been used at the funeral of the Sultan’s mother a year or two before. Then I chose the finest carpets and silken covers in the house and with Andy’s help transformed the wagon into a splendid hearse. When I had laid the body of the Grand Vizier upon it—leaving his face uncovered for all to see, for the skillful eunuch had given it back its former proud look—I sprinkled over it many flasks of rose water and also a pot of musk.

Having nothing to lose but my head, and that only once, I resolved to be thorough in my defiance of the Sultan’s wrath. Therefore I ordered plumes to be fastened to the horses’ heads and fine pepper to be sprinkled in their eyes until the poor beasts wept copious tears, as at the funerals of sultans. Encouraged by my boldness, two Negro grooms put on mourning and offered to lead the animals. So, by our resolute action, the procession soon moved of! from the courtyard, headed by the onbash. His eyebrows were drawn fiercely together, his mustaches stood out stiffly, and he strutted and swung his staff of office as if he were a subash, at least. Andy and I walked with slow steps immediately behind the wagon, and we were followed by a few of Ibrahim’s faithful old retainers.

In the meantime a crowd of silent onlookers had filled the Atmeidan, and had any ill-wisher taken it into his head to send agitators among them it might have gone badly with us. But all was deathly still; none dared molest us, and reverence for the dark, hovering wings held all decent Moslems motionless. Thus we crossed the Atmeidan unhindered, and the crowds fell in behind us until it seemed as if all Istanbul in deep, wordless grief meant to follow Grand Vizier Ibrahim to his grave.

At last we reached the great wall near the Adrianople Gate, where we turned our steps toward the shore and crossed the Arsenal Bridge to the Pera quarter, on the opposite side of the Golden Horn. The silent crowds halted at the bridge, but at the other end of it the dervishes were already waiting, led by Murad-Af

Thus it was that contrary to all expectation the Grand Vizier’s funeral procession proved an effective spectacle and one worthy of his standing, despite the short time at our disposal. I fancy that Sultana Khurrem never bargained for such a thing, but rather hoped that the janissaries would desecrate the hated body in the forecourt and rend it in pieces, as had been known to happen before.

When the grave was dug and lined with the costly rugs and silks from the hay wagon, I took my lord Ibrahim’s body in my arms and laid him down for his last sleep, with his face toward the Holy City and his right hand under his cheek, that all requirements for a decent burial might be fulfilled. We then quickly filled in the grave, and to my delight the fragrance of musk floated up through the soil. Here on the mound I planted a young plane tree. Such trees live to be many hundreds of years old, and I hoped that this one would stand as a memorial to the Grand Vizier long after the capricious dervishes had abandoned the place.

With this I felt that my task was fully accomplished. I therefore took a tender leave of Murad-to7-tseleb.
This is my express order. Remember what I said to you last night. From now on your presence would be more trouble to me than it’s worth.”

Only such cold words as these could have kept him away from me and from danger. Crimson in the face he replied, “You could have taken leave of me in a kindlier way than that. But you were always headstrong, and I have always forgiven you your harshness. Go in peace, then, before I start to howl.”

When I came home, the janissaries still in attendance, it was not yet midday. The house was empty and silent and the slaves had fled. Only the Indian who tended the fish sat cross legged by the pool, seemingly plunged in
meditation. I walked quietly upstairs and to my astonishment found Mirmah busily engaged in pouring ink over page after page of my half-finished translation of the Koran. My most precious books she had torn in pieces so that the floor was white with their leaves. She started when she saw me, then put her hands behind her and stared at me in defiance. I had never struck her, and perhaps she thought I would not do so now. I asked, “Why have you done this, Mirmah? I don’t think I ever did you any harm.”

She stared at me with a strange leer. Then, unable to contain herself any longer, she screamed with laughter and cried, “Down on the landing stage you’ll find a present that someone has thrown to you. That’s why everyone has run away. Go down and look.”

Full of forebodings I hurried down to the quay with the delighted Mirmah at my heels. But the janissaries had already found the body and the onbash was just turning the head with his foot to see the face. The body was naked, and so completely covered with blood that I thought at first the flayed carcass of an animal lay before me on the ground. The face was hard to recognize, as ears and nose had been cut away, the eyes put out, and the tongue gone from the gaping mouth. I had seen much in my life but never so gruesome and appalling a sight as this. I have no wish to describe all that had been done to the body. It would serve no purpose but to chase sleep from my eyes, though some years have passed since it happened. Nevertheless I summoned up all my resolution and bent down, and bit by bit I seemed to recognize familiar lines in that mutilated face. I noted the henna color of those soft hands and their well-cared-for, polished nails. My heart stood still and the blood turned to ice in my veins, for I saw that this was Mustafa ben-Nakir returned from his visit to the Seraglio. The eunuchs of the harem had thrown him on to my landing stage, having dealt with him as with all who are caught in the forbidden rooms.

Mirmah bent down, stuck her finger in Mustafa ben-Nakir’s mouth and felt his pearly teeth. I snatched her up, thrust her into the arms of the onbash, and ordered him to take her out of my sight. Mirmah shrieked, scratched, and kicked, but the men took her away by force and locked her into Giulia’s room. For a time she screamed and kicked at the door and smashed her mother’s valuable ornaments to pieces; then I think she fell asleep on Giulia’s bed, for presently we heard no more.

I left the janissaries to bury the ravaged body of my friend Mustafa ben-Nakir, rewarding them with the last gold pieces in my purse. The sight had filled me with such nausea that I could not stay to help them, but was compelled to go in and lie upon my bed.

After lying there for some hours and staring motionless at the ceiling I broke the fast of Ramadan, drank a cup of wine, and tried to eat, but found I could not swallow a mouthful. Soon I saw a magnificently ornamented boat gliding in toward the shore, and feeling strengthened by the wine I went down to receive my guests. The grateful janissaries had scrubbed the marble clean of all the blood. I fancy Mustafa ben- Nakir had been alive when he was thrown there and had bled copiously before he died. But now all was clean and neat and fit to receive the Seraglio barge with its silken awning. So incurably vain is human nature that I could not help feeling flattered as I beheld, besides the three red-clad deaf-mutes, the Kislar-Aga himself comfortably
reclining
in the stern. This mark of honor was enough to make me feel a man of consequence in the Ottoman Empire.

With him was Giulia and her inseparable Alberto, but without so much as a glance at them I bowed low before the Kislar-Aga and touched brow and ground with my finger tips. Then I helped my distinguished guest from the boat. The deaf-mutes followed him on noiseless feet. When all were ashore I made a becoming speech of welcome and acknowledgment of the high honor he did me in coming to supervise the execution of the Sultan’s commands, and regretted that because of Ramadan I could not offer him so much as a cup of water.

In his gracious reply he begged me to bear him no malice for the melancholy task with which he had been entrusted, and to express any wishes I might have before this task was carried out. I replied that I would gladly speak with my wife in private on certain household affairs. To this he assented, and when I had quietly placed a bowl of sherbet and a dish of sweetmeats beside him—leaving it to him and Allah between them to determine his attitude to the fast—I walked upstairs. Giulia followed me hesitantly, and close behind her as a shadow came the yellow-clad Alberto, who narrowly watched my every movement. Having assured herself that Mirmah was safely sleeping she turned to me. Inquisitive even at the last I asked her, “Has anything unusual happened at the Seraglio?”

“The Sultan woke late,” she answered absently, “and after very many prayers he commanded that all gold and silver plate be taken to the treasury and turned into minted coin. Henceforth he means to eat from platters of copper and drink from earthenware mugs. The whole city is to live by the law of the Koran, he says. All the afternoon he has been studying Sinan the Builder’s plans for the greatest mosque ever designed. It is to have ten minarets and the Sultan will build his tomb there.”

She paused and looked at me with those eyes of different colors; then with an air of innocence she asked, “Have you not seen your friend Mustafa ben-Nakir? He could tell you more than I can of the secrets of the Seraglio.”

“So that was why they tore his tongue out,” I said coolly. “You may be easy about him, Giulia. He is at rest in his grave. Have you no more news?”

Giulia, enraged at my seeming indifference, sneered, “Are you so inquisitive? Well, it was to tell you everything that I returned. It may amuse you to know that your friend Mustafa ben-Nakir revealed Ibrahim’s plans to murder the Sultan and seize power by bribing the janissaries. Suleiman no longer dared be alone with his dear friend; the mutes stood hidden behind the curtain while Sultana Khurrem and I watched through a hidden opening in the wall. They had little to say to one another, those two old friends. The Grand Vizier played his violin with unusual fire, and immediately after the meal the Sultan took a strong sleeping draught. No sooner was he asleep than Sultana Khurrem began taunting Ibrahim from behind the lattice and telling him of what Mustafa ben-Nakir had done. The Grand Vizier flew into a passion and told her his innermost thoughts about her. To put an end to this she beckoned the mutes to do their work. But he was so strong that contrary to custom the mutes had to inflict many deep wounds before they could master him enough to get the noose about his neck. We both saw how the blood splashed the walls of the room. The Sultan was carried elsewhere to have his sleep out undisturbed. Sultana Khurrem took the square seal from Ibrahim’s neck and had his body carried out to the Gateway of Peace. But the door of that bloody room was sealed at Khurrem’s orders by the Sultan’s seal, to remain forever a reminder of what can happen to an overambitious man.”

“And Mustafa ben-Nakir?”

Giulia’s face flushed deeply; she quivered almost voluptuously and pressed against Alberto as she replied, “Sultana Khurrem is capricious and becomes much excited by the sight of blood. I may not speak of all that happened, but I fancy that Mustafa was not entirely disappointed. He remained long alone with her, but in the morning when a black thread could once more be distinguished from a white she sent him away lest he compromise her good name. But the trusty eunuchs found him in the forbidden garden and castrated him at once. They did a great deal more to him by means of short, keen knives, as is customary in the harem, and I believe that not even at Ibrahim’s death did Sultana Khurrem laugh so cooing a laugh as when she witnessed Mustafa’s fate. He heard it and raised his face to look upon her once more before they put out his eyes.”

“I know, I know. You need say no more of that. But dusk is falling and it is time to tell me of yourself, dear Giulia. Tell me what sort of woman you are and why I have never pleased you—why it is you bear me so bitter a hatred.”

Giulia’s voice sank to a whisper and her whole body shook as she replied, “Last night I learned something new, Michael, though I thought I knew it all. It is for that alone that I’ve returned, for I know now—though you can never understand—what exquisite pleasure I shall find in watching the silken noose drawn tight about your throat. I hope you will do me one last service and struggle hard against the mutes, weakling though you are. If sleep is death’s brother, then for a chosen few voluptuous pleasure is its twin! This the Sultana has taught me, and my only regret is that I did not know it sooner; though at times when Alberto thrashed me I seemed to guess at something of the kind.”

“What do I care about Alberto? I have long known that Mirmah is not my daughter, though I never cared to think of that too often. Also I loved you very dearly, desperately though I fought against my love when once I knew what you were. Answer me one question. Have you ever, even for a short time, truly loved me? That is all I want to hear from you now, Giulia—only that.”

Giulia hesitated and turned a frightened glance toward Alberto’s expressionless face. Then she said quickly, “No, I have never really loved you—never. At least not after I found the man who could master me. This you never understood, though often I angered you to make you behave like a man and beat me. Ah, Michael, as a husband you’ve been worse than a eunuch.”

She was now such a stranger to me that I did not even hate her. This strangeness terrified me more than all else, and I could not conceive how I had ever kissed her limbs and her false lips, and with tears. At last in a tremulous voice I said, “The sun is setting and soon the stars will come out. Forgive me then, Giulia, for having spoiled your life and wearied you so long. No doubt it is partly my fault that during our life together you have been turned into a witch—a wild beast incapable of mercy. In my madness I fancied that deep love meant warmth and kindness between two people, and some mutual solace in the hideous loneliness that is the lot of each one of us. I don’t blame you, Giulia. The mistake was mine and I blame only myself.”

Giulia stared at me without grasping a word of what I was saying. I might have been speaking an unknown language. As I had no wish to delight her by displaying my terror of death, I straightened my trembling body and with head erect descended the stairs without giving her a glance. I believe I never even stammered as in the name of the Merciful and Compassionate I begged the Kislar-Aga respectfully to be prompt in the execution of his task. He started from his pleasant snooze, regarded me benignly, and clapped his fat hands. The three mutes at once entered the room, the first of them bearing beneath his arm a bundle that I supposed to contain the necessary black kaftan. I could not but feel some curiosity as to the color of the silken noose. For the green I could not dare to hope, but even the red would have been a mark of high favor, for the salary I received entitled me to no more than the modest yellow cord.

But when the mute unfolded the bundle I was surprised to see only a large leather sack which he spread out upon the floor. At a sign from the Kislar-Aga he took out a hempen rope and while the other two seized Alberto firmly by the arms, he slipped the loop over die slave’s head from behind and strangled him so swiftly and deftly that he had no time to realize what was happening. Alberto had fallen lifeless with a swollen and distorted face before Giulia had taken it in. Then she sprang on the kneeling eunuch like a cat, but his comrades knew their business. They caught her arms and twisted them behind her, holding her fast. She kicked, howled, and tossed her head from side to side, her eyes bloodshot with fury. The Kislar-Aga surveyed her with his head on one side, as if deriving pleasure from her anguish.

To me he said courteously, “Forgive me, slave Michael. By command of my sovereign lady I am to see that your wife is strangled, after which she will be sewn into a leather sack and thrown into the Marmara. Sultana Khurrem is as you know a devout lady and abominates the indecencies of which your wife Giulia has so repeatedly been guilty. Only recently did she learn how criminally Giulia abused her confidence by disguising her lover as a eunuch so as to take him with her into the forbidden apartments of the Seraglio. Naturally you are guiltless of this and I share your deep sorrow, but so shameful an offense must be punished and I can assure you that in future the noble Sultana Khurrem will be more discriminating in her choice of company.”

Giulia had ceased her outcry and was now listening incredulously to his quiet speech. Froth appeared at the corners of her mouth as she screamed, “Are you out of your mind, Kislar-Aga? You shall pay for this with your head. I know too much about you and your secret dealings with the Seraglio physicians.”

“Quite so,” said the Kislar-Aga, and his fat, pale face was stony. “You know too much, you foolish woman. It is for that reason that

Sultana Khurrem has resolved to render you harmless. You should have understood that long ago—you should have seen it in the sand!”

With that he had had enough of words. Once more he gave a sign, the noose was slipped about Giulia’s throat and drawn tight, so that her wild shriek was cut short. Trembling all over I turned away my head, unwilling to see those eyes fade in death. Her body was then lashed to Alberto’s and both were pushed into the sack, which was quickly sewn up. When at last the mutes had departed with their burden I said in astonishment, “How dare they leave us alone together? I might have a weapon upon me and in my terror of death do you an injury. And why put off the inevitable any longer, for I suppose that my fate at your hands was preordained before my birth, noble Kislar- Aga.”

He stroked his bulging chin and his eyes were cold as steel as he replied, “I have executed the Sultana’s orders as confirmed by the Sultan. You also were to have been strangled, but here matters took an unexpected turn. The Sultan, noble man, greatly admires loyalty and daring, though he does not care to speak his mind to the Sultana. Perhaps too he stands just now in special need of acquiring merit. Therefore he commanded me secretly, without Sultana Khurrem’s knowledge, to spare you, because you risked your life to give Grand Vizier Ibrahim an honorable burial. The city was in so disturbed a state that you might have been torn in pieces for it. I may tell you in confidence that your action has greatly healed and solaced his heart. Yet, as you will understand, he is compelled to banish you from the city, that the Sultana may never learn of your reprieve. He is once more a prey to profound melancholy and needs the consolation of white arms and a soft embrace. But you have placed me in a grave dilemma, Michael el-Hakim. I am bound to obey the Sultan’s express command, yet I greatly fear the wrath of Sultana Khurrem. Whither will you go, Michael?”

“What do you say to Egypt, noble Kislar-Aga?” I asked meekly. “I fancy that that land is far enough away, and I believe I could find refuge there if you allow it.”

While I was speaking there entered on noiseless feet a little eunuch who was also a mute; he closely scrutinized my appearance and with a gesture invited me to be seated. He then began to shave me, and afterward set out many materials and pots of color.

“Egypt will do very well,” the Kislar-Aga assented. “You must forget your former life and assume a new name. You must also alter your appearance. My barber is now shaving you and will next dye your skin brown. Don’t be afraid at the wrinkles that will appear on your face as a result—they will disappear in a few weeks. Tomorrow the Sultan is to proclaim the dissolution of the brotherhood of whom Ibrahim was grand master. Countless dervishes will be fleeing for fear of the Mufti, and if you disguise yourself as one of them you need not fear detection. Remember only to talk as little as possible—and try in every way to behave yourself, or Sultana Khurrem will never forgive me.”

The queer tone in which he said this made me suddenly suspicious, and I leaned forward to look more closely at the inscrutable face of a man trained in the Seraglio.

“Noble Kislar-Aga! Only the mutes have seen us and the Sultan need know nothing of what happens. How comes it that you’re willing to spare me, when in general I know you to be a shrewd man?”

“I am a Moslem,” he replied piously, “and the Sultan is Allah’s shadow on earth. It is he alone whom I must obey, though it should cost me my head.” He stroked his fat chin, coughed, and added casually, “Of course I expect a present worthy of you, and I fancy I shall not be disappointed. No doubt you will allow me to glance into the sack that you’ll be taking with you to Egypt.”

“Alas, what are you saying? Through my wife’s extravagance I’m a poor man, as you must know. I own nothing but my house and furniture, and these I freely give you.”

He shook his head reproachfully.

“Remember you are dead. Your wife also is dead, therefore your fair daughter Mirmah is your only lawful heir. How can you be so base as to seek to deceive the man who has saved your life?”

“Mirmah!” I cried with a start. “What is to become of her?”

The Kislar-Aga, resentful of my ingratitude, nevertheless answered patiently, “Sultana Khurrem is a pious woman and out of compassion for your unprotected daughter will take her into the harem and give her a suitable upbringing. She will also take over the stewardship of her property. The Defterdar’s clerk will shortly appear here to make an inventory and to seal the house with the Sultana’s personal seal. It would be well for you to make haste and bring out your treasure chest, or I may be tempted to follow your good advice.”

I found myself in very great perplexity, for I knew that if I showed him Muley-Hassan’s diamonds I should never see a sign of them again, and he would certainly not allow me to dig up the bag alone.

While we were conversing the little barber had completely altered my appearance and now stood admiring the results of his work. He gave me a set of ragged garments, such as dervishes wear, and an evil-smelling goatskin to throw over my shoulders. He had even provided me with an old staff. I could not recognize myself when I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I was still anxiously debating with myself how to satisfy the rapacious Kislar-Aga when my own deaf-mute entered the room. With flickering fingers he begged my pardon for entering unsummoned, then signed to me to accompany him to the cellars. The Kislar-Aga would not let me out of his sight for an instant, so we took a lantern and went down together. I seldom went to the cellar save to fetch up a jar of wine, and the deaf-mute led us to a room whose existence I had never suspected, since Giulia alone had instructed Sinan how the house was to be built. Clothes belonging to Alberto lay scattered about, and there was also a richly covered bed where Giulia must often have been when I fancied her at the Seraglio. Remains of food, already moldy, a jar of wine, and a lithe cane showed how diligently they had refreshed and revived themselves. The deaf-mute raised one of the flagstones and from the hole thus exposed came the blaze of gold and precious stones. The Kislar-Aga, forgetful of his dignity, fell on his knees and buried his arms to the elbows in coin, then brought out some magnificent ornaments that he inspected with the air of a connoisseur. Only now did I understand what had become of my wealth during all these years.

“Michael el-Hakim,” said the Kislar-Aga, “your slave is more intelligent than you and deserves recompense. He will be raised to a position undreamed-of for one of his quality, for the mutes have chosen him to be their seventh man, now that his predecessor has disgraced himself by the wounds he inflicted on the Grand Vizier. They have already taught him how to handle the noose and he will soon be entirely competent for his merciful function. It was no doubt to win my favor that he showed us this hidden treasure.”

He glanced with benevolent condescension at the deaf-mute and even patted him on the back. But the slave fell upon his knees to me, kissed my feet, watered my hands with his tears, and looked at me with so intelligent and human an expression that with a flash of insight I realized that he knew more about me than I had ever suspected. My repugnance melted away and with my finger tips I touched his brow, eyes, and cheeks as a sign that I understood him. At the same time I felt greatly relieved not to be burdened with him on my journey to Egypt. The Kislar-Aga grew impatient and said, “Michael, you know me for an honest man. Take ten gold pieces from this heap; that’s a great sum for a poor dervish. You may also give a gold piece to your slave.”

Without further delay he took off his costly kaftan and spread it upon the ground, then with both hands heaped gold and jewels upon it. He had just tied sleeves and hem together to make a bundle when there was a fearful explosion. The floor shook, and plaster poured from the ceiling. The portly Kislar-Aga shook like a jelly and cried, “Allah means to punish the city! This is an earthquake. Let us hurry out before we’re trapped like rats beneath the tumbling walls.”

I too was frightened, but as I listened I could distinguish thunderous shots and understood that a cannon ball had struck the house. The janissaries in the garden were yelling at the tops of their voices and guessing at once what had happened I cursed Andy from the bottom of my heart because he would not even let me die in peace, but at the last moment must come meddling in my affairs. I ran swiftly upstairs and out into the garden, to see flames bursting from the janissaries’ muskets. The din of the shooting deafened me, and it was then that I became aware of a dozen wine- and opium-maddened dervishes howling and whirling and brandishing scimitars all over my flowerbeds. I roared to Andy to call off this nonsense, the Kislar-Aga standing behind me meanwhile, trembling and holding me convulsively by the sleeves. Like most eunuchs he was afraid of noise and shooting. Andy obeyed and staggered forward, yet his eyes passed me by and he said inquiringly, “The voice is Jacob’s, but where is Esau’s hairy breast? I seemed to hear my brother Michael’s bleating voice, though I came only to take charge of his corpse.”

The Kislar-Aga, much to the onbash’s relief, dismissed the janissaries, who had not dared fire directly on the holy men. These now whirled about the garden in their wild dances, calling on the name of Allah, reciting verses from the Koran, and gashing one another with their swords until their blood ran down in streams. To my delight not even the onbash had recognized me after my treatment at the barber’s hands.

It was long before I could persuade Andy of my identity, but at last? we attended the Kislar-Aga to his boat with all honor, and even helped him with his bundle, which was too heavy for a man of his years to carry alone. Then, when Andy and I were by ourselves, we dug up our buried diamonds, left the dervishes to their sacred dances, and slipped away in silence and without regret. That same night a fishing boat took us across the straits to Scutari, whence we were to embark upon our long voyage.

These nine books of my life I have written in the course of two years, at the dervish monastery near Cairo. For when after innumerable difficulties and sufferings I stood at last before Suleiman the eunuch he would not believe my story. He robbed me of my diamonds and locked me up in this cloister. The purpose of these books has been to prove to the noble Suleiman that after Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s death I did not steal his diamonds. Ill-natured persons have even declared that I arranged his funeral solely in order to come at the treasure he had amassed in the course of years, since as his confidential friend I alone knew of their secret hiding place in the palace. Yet it is not my fault if the incompetent Defterdar’s clerks have not been able to find that hiding place, and if they fancy I had time to conceal the treasure before the mutes strangled me in my house.

I wrote these nine books also to bring peace to my heart and to free myself from the oppressive memories of my former existence, for only thus can I begin a new life, having now—at least in my own eyes—matured as a human being. To attain this I have had to undergo many hard trials, of which my wife Giulia with her strange eyes was by no means the least. But now I believe I have found the right path, and I believe also that I am able to lead the life of an ordinary man, if only I may be given the opportunity to do so.

Openly and finally I mean to abstain from good resolutions, having found that where others are concerned they are apt to do more harm than good.

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