BOOK 3.
Giulia

I CAME to my senses in a soft bed, and was aware of a continuous din as of thunder that shook the room and caused cups and dishes to rattle together. At first I thought the noise came from my own aching head, and I wondered where I was. I seemed to see two angels, a white one on my right hand and a blade one on my left, both engaged in recording my good and evil deeds in their books. But the white angel had seemingly little to write, while the black one was so busy that his head wagged with the exertion. I besought them in piteous tones to bring water that I might wash myself and say my prayers. The room vibrated to renewed thunder, but just then my dear dog jumped up onto my chest and licked my face. With tears in my eyes I said,
“Bis- millah and inshallah!
Allah is merciful indeed to allow my dog to keep me company in hell. Rael is many times more deserving of Paradise than I am, but I know he would turn his back upon it to follow me into the abyss.”
The white angel lifted my head, causing such acute pain that the scales fell from my eyes and I saw that I lay in Giulia’s bed. Giulia herself was anxiously bending over me. To my left sat the deaf-mute, mixing eggs and honey together into a paste. Ashamed of my distracted fancies I said sharply, “Leave my head alone, Giulia. If it has not already split it soon will.” I pushed away the dog pettishly and asked what the noise was, and whether Giulia had hit me on the head the night before. Giulia wept and stroked my cheek.

“Ah, Michael, are you really alive? Although I was angry with you I don’t want you to die. The noise you hear is gunfire; the Moslems are besieging the Spanish fortress. And it was not I who struck you, but this faithful slave.”

I felt my head cautiously and found it still upon my shoulders, though because of the many bandages it felt twice its usual size. I sighed feebly and whispered, “Giulia, send at once for a cadi and four witnesses. Take the purse from my kaftan and pay them, and keep the remainder for yourself. My intentions weren’t so base as you supposed; I never wanted you as a slave, though I said so to tease you. I meant to send for a cadi and the necessary witnesses and give you your freedom; that was why I claimed you in reward for my services. It seemed the only way to set you free.”

I hardly know whether this was the truth. Perhaps it only came into my head when I regained consciousness. Yet I had toyed with the idea before, so it seemed natural to me. But Giulia, thunderstruck, stared at me blankly and stammered, “I don’t understand you, Michael. If you give me my freedom you can no longer force me to obey you. I thought you wanted to possess me, but now I’m at a loss to know what it is you do want.”

I was already repenting of my excessive benevolence, and retorted angrily, “Nonsense, Giulia! If I set you free, it’s to be rid of your incessant nagging. I always meant to let you choose whether to stay with me or go. I’m not such a fool as to try and force you to love me. And just now you seem to me about as seductive as an old shoe. Praise be to Allah, my love is quenched!”

Giulia stood weighing the purse in her hand and staring, shaken now and then by a sob. The deaf-mute made desperate attempts to feed me with the mixture of eggs and honey, and though it revolted me I forced myself to swallow it. In a gentler tone I said, “Why so doubtful, Giulia? Why are you sniveling? Aren’t you glad to be rid of me so easily? It has always been your dearest wish.”

She answered crossly, “I am not sniveling. My nose tickles.” But next moment she burst into wild weeping and cried, “You must still be delirious and I’m not so base as to take advantage of that, though you seem always to expect the worst from me. Where should I go in this heathen country, and who would protect my innocence? No, Michael, you may think to revenge yourself in this way, but you shan’t be rid of me so easily.”

I threw out my hands helplessly and said, “Whatever I propose seems wrong and I shall never please you. At least leave me alone now, for my head’s going round and round and this egg mess has made me queasy. Stay if you want to; go if it suits you better. I care nothing either way while my head aches so atrociously.”

With this Giulia was content, and to her credit be it said that she nursed me well and silently, and moved about the room as quietly as she could. Yet it was of little help to me, for the guns roared incessantly, sand sifted through the cracks in the roof into my eyes, and the whole room shook. After the noon prayer Abu el-Kasim and Sinan the Jew could no longer master their curiosity and they paid me a visit, bringing wedding presents with them. When Abu el-Kasim saw me lying pallid and bandaged in Giulia’s bed he struck his hands together and exclaimed, “What is this, Michael el-Hakim? Was it so hard to tame the woman? I could never have believed that one night in her company could reduce you to so pitiful a condition.”

Sinan the Jew remarked that with so fiery a creature beside me I should need no other wives, and life would be cheap for me. I had no strength to reply to their sallies, but lay there silent. When Abu el-Kasim learned what had really happened he was genuinely concerned. He examined me and mixed me a strengthening medicine, and I soon fell into a pleasant sleep, to awake later much refreshed.

My first thought was for Andy, and when I asked after him, Abu el-Kasim tore his beard and cried, “The curse of Allah on your stupidity, Michael el-Hakim! Why did you never so much as hint that your brother’s a trained artilleryman and can even cast cannon? This important fact was discovered quite by chance; for today when he heard the sound of firing he went down to the shore to cure his headache—so he said—with the wholesome smell of gunpowder. There Khaireddin saw him thrust aside our men and lay the guns himself, soon displaying his skill by shooting the Castilian flag from the tower, to the fury of the Spaniards. Khaireddin gave him the turban of a master gunner and ten gold pieces, and I fancy he’ll soon have sweated the poisons from his wine-sodden body.”

I was horrified to hear of Andy firing on his Christian brothers. Later, when the bombardment ceased for the noon prayer, he came to see me and his face was blackened with powder. I rebuked him for what he was doing, but he answered, “Guns are my music, and I ought never to have left them. You mustn’t scold me for returning to my proper trade like the shoemaker to his last, as they used to say in Rome.”

“But my dear Andy, how can you bring yourself to fire on men redeemed by the blood of Christ—men who are doing their utmost under extreme difficulties to serve the Emperor under whose colors you yourself have fought?”
Andy replied, “Remember I bear a grudge against the Spaniards. In Rome they behaved more like wild beasts than men, and I needn’t remind you of their treatment of women. Not even Moslems would do as they did.”
“But they’re Christians! How can you bear arms against them with Mussulmans, when in your heart you’re not a Moslem at all?”
Andy glared at me angrily and said, “I’m as good a Moslem as you are, Michael, even if I don’t know as much of the Koran by heart. But the whole matter was clear to me when I discovered that Islam means submission to the will of God, and that the God called Allah is the same as the Frenchmen’s sang dieu, the Germans’ Herrgott or Donnerwetter and the Latins’ Deus or Dominus.”
My reproaches rolled off him like water off a duck’s back. He insisted that guns were his music and that pay was pay whether the coins bore the Emperor’s head or an Arabic flourish. He sat in thought for a time with his head on his hand, and when he spoke again it was on a note of tenderness.
“I never knew how fond I was of guns until I smelled the hot metal again, and the stinging smoke. I couldn’t help stroking them—and believe me, not the most opulent woman can compare with the burning touch of a cannon after the fifth shot. When Mustafa ben-Nakir saw my eagerness he told me that the Sultan of Turkey had found a new way of transporting even the heaviest pieces; where the roads are bad he loads gun metal onto camels, so that the cannon can be cast at the place where they’re to be used. No one has ever thought of doing that before, and I should like to see for myself how they manage it. Mustafa couldn’t tell me, but his account made me long to visit Istanbul, the Sultan’s capital. And he has promised to recommend me to the artillery commander there.”
I was staggered by these wild projects, but he continued eagerly, “First we have to build a breakwater for Khaireddin, so that his ships can find shelter in the harbor. His only reason for attacking the fortress is to get ready-hewn stone for the breakwater, and cheap labor. Prisoners of war get no pay, and crusts and water suffice to feed them.”
So he babbled on until he became aware of his own garrulity and bent to stroke my dog in embarrassment.

After a few days my strength was fully restored, though I was prompt in taking to my bed again when I saw anyone coming. I felt not the smallest desire to become involved in the siege and perhaps be brought face to face with Captain de Varga, who would certainly have a bone to pick with me. Abu el-Kasim told me that immediately after my visit, de Varga had sent a fast-sailing sloop to Cartagena; therefore Khaireddin was making ready to storm the fortress at once, taking into his service all who could stand on their feet and who desired to win Paradise without delay by falling in battle against the unbeliever.

Nevertheless Khaireddin’s plans had been impeded by Captain de Varga who, despite the Dominican’s protests, hanged the two young Moors whom Khaireddin had smuggled in as spies. We learned this from a Spanish traitor who had had enough of the siege and came swimming across the bay one dark night to join Khaireddin’s men. He told us that there were many wounded in the fortress, that the walls were badly cracked, that the Spaniards lacked food, water, and powder, and that all except de Varga were willing to negotiate for permission to leave unmolested. But de Varga would not hear of this and when the Castilian standard was shot away he himself stood as a living flagstaff at the top of the tower, with the flag wound about his left arm, and proclaimed that anyone daring to whisper of submission should instantly be put in irons.

A few days later, however, a promising breach was made in the walls, and Khaireddin ordered his men to lash boats together into rafts, with gabions at their bows for cover. He then retired to pass the night in solitary prayer and fasting, in preparation for the decisive assault.

After the evening prayer, Andy, Abu el-Kasim, and Mustafa ben- Nakir assembled at my bedside. When we had conversed for a time on general topics they gently but firmly dragged me out of bed, set me on my feet, felt my head and limbs, and praised Allah for favoring me with so speedy a recovery. Mustafa ben-Nakir said, “Ah, Michael, how glad I am, for now you can take part in the attack and with us make yourself worthy of Paradise!”

My knees failed me and I should have fallen had it not been for Andy’s powerful arms.

“Alas!” I cried, “I’m dizzy—I can’t stand. But with the remnant of my strength I will crawl to the shore and tend the wounded. It would be deplorable indeed were the faithful to bleed to death because of Abu el-Kasim’s ineptitude. I won’t even claim a fee for my labor of mercy, but will content myself with what is offered me.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir looked at me with shining eyes and said, “You’re surely not afraid? Your brother Antar and I have resolved to board the leading craft; we shall be the first to scale the walls and tear the Castilian flag from Captain de Varga’s hands. For friendship’s sake we’ll take you with us, to share the glory and the reward of our exploit.”

I retorted testily, “Afraid? And what is that? An empty word. I’m a peaceable man, and a sick one, with no ambition to be hailed as a hero.”

Giulia had been standing behind a curtain, listening to the conversation in silence. Seeing me sway upon my feet, she stepped forward and helped me to lie down again upon the bed.

“Why do you pester him?” she demanded. “I’ll never let him go to that terrible island. He has been too weak even for love. I’d take a sword in my own hand rather than see him do it.”

This speech offended me for some reason, and I snapped, “Hold your tongue; you weren’t consulted. It’s easier to inflict wounds than to heal them, and perhaps after all I’ll join you tomorrow.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir’s jaw dropped and I saw he had only been teasing me, as his habit was, because he thought me a weakling. Nothing could have annoyed me more than such a notion. Caution is not cowardice and in the course of my life I had shown often enough that I could take as many and as desperate risks as anyone. But Giulia’s behavior had irritated me, and the blow on my head so clouded my judgment that in stubborn idiocy I vowed that I was quite recovered and fit to go into battle. When the others had gone it was evident that she wanted to make it up with me, but I hardened my heart to punish her, and once and for all to subdue her vanity. I feigned indifference to her pleading, so that at last she gave up the attempt and vented her anger on the pots and pans, assuring me that I was the greatest liar she had ever met and that she believed not one word I told her.

Yet she was frightened enough next morning when long before dawn I rose, washed myself in the courtyard, and with my face to the cast recited the prescribed prayers. In further token of my valor I grasped a sturdy cudgel before staggering on trembling legs into the street. Only then did she see that I was in earnest; she rushed after me, seized my sleeve and cried, “Ah, Michael! Perhaps I’ve been unkind, and proud, but I had reasons that my modesty forbade me to mention. If by a miracle you return from the battle I’ll tell you my secret, and you shall decide how to act. But if we should meet only in heaven—and even that seems unlikely, since you’re a Moslem and I’m a Christian—the secret will have little importance. So I won’t cry it aloud in the street for all to hear; it would only distress you at such a moment as this.”

I believed she had no such secret and was merely trying to arouse my curiosity and so detain me until I was too late to take part in the attack. So I tore myself free and hurried down to the harbor. But Giulia was not the only woman to beg her man to stay at home that day, and with sighs and sobs assure him that an honest, profitable trade was greatly to be preferred to the joys of Paradise.

I reached the harbor at sunrise when Khaireddin, surrounded by his officers, was giving his final orders.

“Today is Friday, a lucky day. May it bring joy and profit to Islam. Today the hundred gates of Paradise stand wide open; never has there been a better opportunity to enter those glorious realms where dark- eyed virgins wait upon the faithful amid rippling water brooks. Gird on my sword, for I mean as usual to be in the forefront, and by example encourage even the fearful to follow me boldly through the breach.”

As if by order his officers began to exclaim and wring their hands, among the most animated being Sinan the Jew and Abu el-Kasim. They strongly opposed Khaireddin in his resolve to expose himself to danger, reminding him of the irreparable loss his death would mean to Islam. But he stamped with fury and cried, “O disobedient and unnatural children! Would you deny me this honor? Why should I alone be forced to abstain from Paradise, which now stands open to the poorest Moslem?”

He rushed back and forth shouting for his sword, and the captains had to catch and hold him by the arms lest he tumble headlong into the water. By this time the enthusiasm among the people knew no bounds; they shouted his name and praised his valor, exhorting him at the same time not to imperil his priceless life. At length he was compelled to resign himself, and said with a deep sigh, “Well, I will stay here among you, since you beg me so importunately. But I shall watch the assault, and will afterward reward the valiant and punish the cowardly. It remains only to choose a leader. No doubt you will race one another to the island, yet custom requires that one shall be chosen beforehand to lead the force into the breach.”

The officers at once fell silent and looked askance at the fortress that rose from the water a bowshot from land; their eyes rested with distaste on the gap in the wall, black as the mouth of hell. They turned pale and whispered among themselves, saying, “The offer is indeed tempting, but I’m unfit for such an honor. You’re older than I am and I resign in your favor.”

While they were yet busied with these affectations, Andy stepped forward and said, “My lord Khaireddin, let me lead the assault and bring you back the Castilian flag!”

I limped forward to protest, but before I could explain to our commander that Andy must be out of his mind, Khaireddin stretched out his hand toward me and shouted, “See, good people! Take these men as your pattern! It is but a little time since they found the true path, yet all the keener is their longing for Paradise. I cannot deny you the honor you beg of me, el-Hakim; go with your brother. You shall be the first to set foot on the rock of Penjon, and I shall know how to reward you.”

I tried to tell him that he had quite misunderstood me, but my terrified stammer was drowned in the acclamations of the officers.

Meanwhile Khaireddin’s fleet had sailed from its anchorage further along the coast, and now began a bombardment to distract the garrison’s attention from what was happening on land. Soon the shore batteries also opened fire, and the thoughtful Andy urged me to put on armor. I reflected for a little and then said, “Nothing happens save by the will of Allah. A good sword is enough for me. Go first, Andy my brother; I will follow at your heels and do my best to protect you in the rear.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir looked at me dubiously and said, “You’re right, Michael el-Hakim; if we were to fall overboard in full armor we should sink like stones. I shall take off my lion skin lest I lose it in the struggle, and be the third man of your party, trusting that your brother’s massive body will protect us from the worst unpleasantness.”

We then stepped aboard the leading raft and took cover behind gabions stuffed with earth and wool. A crowd of stouthearted men followed us, and the rowers dipped their oars and began pulling for dear life toward the fortress, loudly invoking Allah’s help and cursing the Spaniards.

All went well, and few shots greeted us from the scarred embrasures of the fortress. Should I ever be suspected of exaggeration or boast- fulness, let me say here and now that no better opportunity than the present ever occurred; nevertheless I shall confine myself to relating what really happened, and must therefore admit that the capture of Penjon cannot be numbered among the heroic deeds of history. On this occasion virtue was its own reward, and I won a reputation for valor and audacity without being exposed to any particular danger.

A few roundshot sang over our heads and threw up fountains of water as they fell into the sea astern. Shortly afterward our bows grounded on the shore with a jar that knocked me backward. Andy hauled me up by the scruff of the neck and dragged me ashore, with Mustafa ben-Nakir close behind, and we made a mad dash for the breach. I had little time for reflection, and when at last I looked up we were already halfway through the gap; before us in bright armor and with the Castilian flag wound about his left arm stood Captain de Varga, brandishing a sword and ready to give the last drop of his blood in defense of the stronghold. He stood alone, for his men, to their undying shame, had deserted him. Hunger and despair cannot excuse them, though for my own part I had no complaint to make of their prudent behavior.

Captain de Varga, then, stood before us alone, a haggard, swarthy figure. He glared at us with burning eyes, and there was froth at his lips. Andy, astonished, lowered his sword and called to him to surrender. But Captain de Varga laughed and shouted back, “I won’t rehearse my lineage to you, for a de Varga does not boast; but I’ll show you what is meant by loyalty to God, king, and country.”

In our rear more boats and rafts were being beached, and when the brave Moslems saw that one man alone was defending the breach they rushed up in a dense mob and swept me along with them, so that I lost my footing. I believe it was Andy who struck the sword from de Varga’s hand, and the next moment the Captain was lying on his back with me on top of him. Notwithstanding his noble lineage, notwithstanding the protection my body afforded him against the wild Moslems who lay over me in a kicking, struggling heap, he so far forgot himself as to sink his long teeth in my cheek.

De Varga would certainly have lost his life then and there if he had not been clad from head to foot in iron, for pain and fury so maddened me that I would have seized the first opportunity to drive my sword into his throat. But gradually the pressure lightened; the Captain let go of my cheek, and we both sat up to see the Moslems pour in a howling flood through the breach. Andy braced himself with feet apart in front of de Varga, and Mustafa ben-Nakir also helped us to defend him. Blood was streaming down my cheek and I bitterly reproached the Captain for conduct so unbecoming to a nobleman, pointing out that I should most probably carry a disfiguring scar to my life’s end.

Seeing that further resistance was useless he collapsed in tears and begged me to bear no malice. In return I asked him to surrender the Castilian flag, for which he could have no further use. Sighing deeply he unwound it from his arm and laid it in my hands. To me, therefore, fell the honor for the capture of Penjon.

Meanwhile the Moslems had been streaming past us through the breach in such numbers that the courtyard was soon crammed, and in their frenzy they slew a number of Spaniards before Khaireddin’s officers and janissaries could intervene. Khaireddin had given strict orders that as many Spaniards as possible should be spared, for he stood in great need of labor for demolition and building works, and for repairs to buildings damaged in the street fighting and bombardment. The savage bloodlust of the Mussulmans so revolted me that I longed to get away, and Andy too was fidgeting. We therefore resolved to embark and bring Captain de Varga before Khaireddin.

Khaireddin, attended by a numerous suite, was waiting on the shore. Many foolish Moslems had hastened up to him and thrown the heads of unbelievers at his feet. At last he lost his temper and shouted, “A hundred lashes to the next man who dares bring me a Christian head. Spaniards are sturdy fellows and every head leaves me the poorer.”

But he soon forgot his wrath when Andy, Mustafa ben-Nakir, and I approached him, thrusting Captain de Varga before us. Blood was still running from the wound in my cheek as I threw the Castilian standard at the feet of Khaireddin. He trod it eagerly underfoot, exclaiming piously, “Allah is great, and marvelous is the might of Islam, that transforms a lamb into a ravening lion.”

Turning to Captain de Varga he said curtly, “Wicked and obstinate man, where is your king and the help you were expecting from Spain? Will you confess now, idolater, that Allah alone is mighty?”

Captain de Varga answered, “You have only my men’s treachery to thank for victory. Given the smallest support I would have driven you from the city and occupied the harbor.”

Khaireddin surveyed him for a time, stroking his beard. He could not but admire the inflexible spirit of his enemy, and said, “Ah, Captain de Varga! Had I such men as you beside me, I could certainly drive the Emperor from his throne. Tell me what I can do for you, for I desire your friendship.”

Captain de Varga replied, “Brave men always understand one another, and that is something that cowards can never grasp.”

“There are many mussel shells in the world,” remarked Khaireddin, “but few contain pearls. Even rarer is a truly brave man. Therefore I’m willing to bestow riches on you and even place you in command, on one condition—that you take the turban and acknowledge that the one God and his Prophet are worth more than Christian idolatry. You’d not be the first Spaniard to take this step, as you may see for yourself by glancing at my officers.”

Captain de Varga was outraged, and stared at his adversary for some time; his beard quivered and his eyes glowed when at last he replied, “Were I false to my faith I should be worse than the worst of my betrayers. Do not insult me with such proposals, and remember that I am a Spaniard and a gentleman.”

Khaireddin sighed. “I have no wish to coerce you, for Islam forbids forcible conversion. But you’re too dangerous a man to let loose among the other prisoners, and I shall be unhappily compelled to behead you if you refuse the turban.”

Captain de Varga crossed himself meekly and said, “I’m a de Varga; may my ancestors never have cause to be ashamed of their kinsman. Strike quickly, then, that I may show myself worthy of my God, my king, and my country.”

He said a few prayers, crossed himself, and knelt down upon the sand. The executioner took off his head at one stroke, and expressed admiration for his noble behavior. He then threaded a leather thong through the ears and suspended the head from the bridle of Khaireddin’s horse.

Thus the siege of Penjon was accomplished, long before the muezzin had called the faithful to the noon prayer. For my own part I could not sufficiently thank my lucky star for protecting me from all danger and covering me with glory.

Later, when I started to walk home, Mustafa ben-Nakir came with me, absently twirling the bells of his girdle. The deaf-mute was preparing food when we arrived, while Giulia sat on the bed painting her toenails. She paid us little attention, from which I concluded that she had been down to the harbor to spy upon us and had seen me there unhurt in Khaireddin’s company.

“Oh, is it you, Michael?” she exclaimed in feigned surprise. “I hardly expected you so soon. And where can you have been, I wonder? While the faithful were waging their holy war you were no doubt dallying in some harem, for you appear to have been somewhat passionately kissed.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir said, “Delilah, I appreciate that with a veil you. couldn’t perform your present important task. But remember that I find the temptation of your eyes very hard to withstand. I beg you to leave us. My friend Michael and I have much to talk of; if you have a spark of pity in your cruel heart, don’t allow that mad slave to poison us with the garbage he’s preparing, but cook something for us with your own fair hands.”

So he flattered Giulia and at the same time taught me how one should speak to women when one wants something from them. When Giulia had put away her toilet box and left us, Mustafa ben-Nakir drew forth his Persian book and began to read aloud. But I was weary of his whimsical ways and busied myself with dressing the wound in my cheek. At last he laid aside his book and said, “You surprise me, Michael el-Hakim. I hardly know what to make of you. I wonder whether after all you’re a little simple? I can find no other explanation of your foolhardy behavior.”

“Perhaps like you, Mustafa, I allow myself to be ruled by impulse at times. Ask me no questions about today’s doings. Truth to tell I hardly know why I acted as I did, unless it was to show Giulia that I take no orders from her.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir nodded. “We’ll talk of Giulia later. You need not part with her: she shall go with you. Perhaps you know that for years Khaireddin has been out of favor with the High Porte. He and his brother are thought to have made illicit use of the ships and janissaries sent by the Sultan to Baba Aroush. There may be some truth in this, but since then Khaireddin has thought better of it. This summer he means to strengthen and consolidate his power; but in the autumn his ambassador is to sail for Istanbul with rich presents for the Sultan, to claim confirmation of Khaireddin’s appointment as beylerbey of Algeria. After this Khaireddin will again place himself under the protection of the High Porte. Besides gifts, the envoy will take many slaves to the Sultan, including yourself, Michael el-Hakim, your brother Antar, and your own slave, Delilah, whom you call Giulia.”

“Allah is great,” I said bitterly. “Is this the recompense for all I have done—to be led once more by the nose into the unknown, like a ringed ox?”

Mustafa ben-Nakir was shocked. “How ungrateful you are, Michael el-Hakim! Another man would fall and kiss the ground at my feet in thankfulness. You cannot know that the most powerful men in the Ottoman Empire, from the Grand Vizier downward, are all slaves of the Sultan. Most of them were brought up in the Seraglio and have advanced, each according to his talents, to the most responsible positions. The very highest officials are subordinate to one or other of the Sultan’s slaves. To be a slave of his is therefore an aim worthy of the most ambitious; if he succeeds there is no limit to what he can do.”

“Many thanks!” I said with irony, though I had listened attentively to what he told me. “But I’m not in the least ambitious, and I feel that the higher a slave may climb toward the pinnacles of power, the more terrible will be his fall.”

“You’re right, Michael,” Mustafa admitted. “Yet even on a level floor a man may stumble. And climbing is difficult; it demands experience and practice. There’s more to it than merely scrambling upward. One must also shake off and kick away those who climb after—those who tug at one’s cloak and try in every way to drag one down. But climbing strengthens a man and forms part of that wise statecraft which the sultans inherited from the emperors of Byzantium. Remember that the Ottomans have always been ready to adopt whatever is useful and practical, from any nation. Only the shrewdest and most resourceful man can attain the heights of power in the Seraglio, where everyone spies on his neighbor and tries to trip him up. Yet the disadvantages of the system are outweighed by the element of chance. All advancement depends ultimately on the Sultan’s favor, which may be won as easily by the humblest woodcutter as by the most powerful vizier.”

A chill stole over me.

“Who and what are you, Mustafa ben-Nakir?” I asked.

an important part. The Grand Vizier has lost faith in the Sultan’s sea pashas; Khaireddin is the only true seaman. So the way is to be made smooth for him and only good is to be spoken of him in the Seraglio; his name and reputation must be exalted there, his victories painted in glowing colors, and any defeats explained away. Most important of all, Khaireddin must owe promotion solely to the Grand Vizier. You too must remember that in furthering Khaireddin’s cause with the cartographers, you serve Ibrahim. To him and to him only must you show gratitude, if ever you attain to a post of honor.”

“What you say is strange and disquieting,” I remarked. “Shall I not also be serving the Sultan?”

“Of course, of course,” returned Mustafa impatiently. “The Grand Vizier’s power derives from the Sultan, and anything that serves to strengthen
Ibrahim’s position must ultimately be of profit to the Sultan. But the Grand Vizier can’t fill the Seraglio with slaves of his own choosing, as this might give rise to base suspicions. Whereas if Khaireddin sends you and your brother and other useful slaves to the Seraglio, no one can suspect them of being secretly at Ibrahim’s orders. His power exposes him to envy, as you can understand, and for his own sake he must weave a stout net to catch him were he to fall, and toss him up again to even greater eminence.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir was silent for a little before continuing, “We’re weavers, Michael el-Hakim, weaving a huge carpet. Each of us has his own thread and his own part in the great pattern. The whole pattern—the world-picture—we do not see; but it is there. Single threads may snap, colors may be clouded, and the individual weaver may fail in his task; yet the great overseer has the great pattern ever before his eyes and corrects the petty errors. You, too, Michael, shall be a weaver; then all your thoughts and actions will have purpose. You’ll be fulfilling your task within the great framework, and your life, hitherto so empty, will be filled with meaning.”

“If you allude to Allah’s carpet of eternity,” I said, “then I’m already a weaver, whether I like it or not. But if you mean Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s carpet, woven on the Sultan’s behalf, then I fear it’s too bloodstained to appeal to a sensitive heart. I also fear that it will be very clumsily cobbled together, and prove useless.”

“Allah’s will be done,” returned Mustafa suavely. “Remember you’re a slave, Michael el-Hakim, and must weave, with or without your good will. Life is a game—a strange one—and once we realize this our task is easier to fulfill; for all games come to an end. The fairest flowers fade, the most melodious song must sooner or later die away. What matter, my friend, whether your beard grows long in the service of the Seraglio, or whether in the flower of youth you’ie gathered into the arms of eternal night?”

Giulia who had been listening patiently, now rose and said, “At the baths I’ve heard women all shrieking at once until I couldn’t hear myself speak, but even their cackle had more sense in it than the big, empty words of men. Here you sit spinning phrases about weavers and rulers and Michael’s beard, while all the time the fowls are stewing to rags in the pot.”

She brought us the good food and filled Abu el-Kasim’s most valuable goblet with spiced wine, saying, “Your religion of course forbids you to drink, but after all the soul-shaking talk I need something reviving.”

The sight of her white arms made me quite limp, and the wound in my cheek was very painful, and so I begged her earnestly to pour wine for me, too, as I was not yet circumcised and therefore not wholly bound by the law. Mustafa ben-Nakir smiled mysteriously and declared that his sect also was untrammeled by the letter of the Koran.

When we had finished the sweetmeats and fruit that brought the meal to an end, we went on drinking until Giulia became slightly affected. A deeper red colored her cheeks, and as if by chance she laid an arm about my neck and stroked me with her soft finger tips.

“Mustafa ben-Nakir,” she said. “You know the art of poetry and perhaps also the secrets of women’s hearts better than Michael does. Tell me what I must do, for Michael has long desired me and I’m his defenseless slave. Hitherto I’ve resisted him because of a secret which I would not divulge. But wine has softened my heart and I beg you, Mustafa ben-Nakir, not to leave us alone together, but tell me what I must do to protect my innocence.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir replied, “I’ve not the least regard for your virtue, false Delilah, and feel only pity for poor, sick Michael; for you would never ask my advice unless you’d already made up your mind.”

He rose to leave us, but Giulia, genuinely troubled, caught him by the girdle and said, “Don’t go, Mustafa ben-Nakir! Help us to a reconciliation. My purpose was to make Michael too drunk even to see me, far less discover my secret. But it would have been better if he’d whipped me long ago, for then I might have given way to him even though I bore him ill will.”

With this she threw herself at my feet, crying aloud and weeping and imploring forgiveness. I suspected mischief, but I tried to lift her up and calm her. She wept the more bitterly until Mustafa ben-Nakir said impatiently, “Cease your howling, Delilah, for you have nothing in your heart but falsehood and deceit. What is more painful and pointless than these intimate revelations? The relationship between men and women would be incomparably happier if each party kept his own mistakes and secrets to himself.”

Giulia dried her eyes, raised her tear-stained face, and said, “Michael prefers it so, though perhaps he won’t admit it. And for some unknown reason I can’t lie to him with my body. Perhaps it is that I really love him; if so I love for the first time in my life, and so passionately that I’m afraid. What devil’s spell is it that has bound me to this foolish, credulous man, so that even to look into his trusting face makes me loathe myself? It’s like snatching a pretty toy from a child.”

I could hardly believe my ears; yet of all her words I heeded only those which told of her love for me, and I could not understand why she had always treated me so badly. I cried out to her to hold her peace. Ah, would that she had! But wine had clouded her judgment, and she said, “Michael, beloved Michael! Forgive me, but I’m not the innocent you suppose and I cannot think how you got such an idea into your head.”

“Oh, God help me! How came you to lose your virtue? Haven’t I always tried to shield you from assaults upon it?”

I felt as if I had been kicked on the jaw. Giulia twisted her slender fingers together and went on, “I’m not even as young as you think me; I was twenty-five some time ago—nearly as old as you. I’ve been married twice, though each time to an old man. The first time was by my mother’s wish; I was only fourteen, but my eyes so horrified my husband that he died of a stroke on our wedding night. My second husband also died so suddenly that I was compelled to sail for the Holy Land, meaning to take refuge with a distant relative in Acre and escape from the foul suspicions that were cast upon me. It was on that voyage that you met me, for I had bribed the captain to take me aboard without the knowledge of the Venetian authorities.”

All this came upon me so suddenly that I could not at first grasp the full implications of what she said, and I stammered, “But when we met you gave me to understand that you were still innocent. Why?”

“Never, never did I claim to be a virgin. But when on the island of Cerigo you first saw my eyes you were so shocked that you dared not touch me. No deeper insult can be offered to a woman than this, and I tried to persuade my wounded vanity that you were only sparing my virtue. And so I began to see myself with your eyes, Michael, and since then I’ve been as chaste as a virgin—” Here she faltered, looked away, and added, “Almost.”

Enraged I seized her by the hair, shook her head and hissed, “Why do you stammer and look away ? Have you deceived me with Moslems, too, you false and shameless woman?”

She raised her hands and declared, “As God sees me, no Moslem has touched me save Captain Torgut and Sinan the Jew, into whose hands I fell as a helpless slave. But here in Algiers I’ve lived almost chastely for your sake, dearest Michael. If a few wanton women have caressed me a little at the baths, it was only to please them and comply with the customs of the country. I took no pleasure in it myself.”

As it dawned upon me how shamelessly she had deceived me my grasp slackened and tears ran down my cheeks. She put out her hand as if to wipe them away, but she dared not touch me, and looked appealingly at Mustafa ben-Nakir for help. But even Mustafa, who paid little heed to moral laws, had been startled by her confession. It was some time before he hit upon the right words.

“Remember that Allah is merciful and gracious, Michael el-Hakim! This woman undoubtedly loves you with a strong and passionate love, or she would never have laid bare to you her worthlessness. For your peace of mind it would have been better if she’d made you drunk, so that next morning you would have had no notion of what had taken place. But Allah willed it otherwise. All you can do now is to resign yourself and look upon Giulia as a young and undeniably beautiful widow; the main thing is that at last she surrenders herself to you.”

His clear thinking helped me to recover my own scattered wits and I realized that it would be petty to make too much of Giulia’s former life. I myself had committed the most grievous sin in denying my Christian faith and taking the turban. Giulia, whatever her faults, had at least remained a Christian and so was less guilty than I. The consciousness of this caused me bitter pangs and I had not felt so contemptible since the day when in mortal terror I first called upon the name of Allah the Compassionate. My own rottenness forbade me to condemn Giulia, and it was but just that for my sins I should be saddled with this false and depraved woman. I said, “Be it so, then. I am not without sin; how should I cast a stone? But I still cannot understand why you feigned innocence.”

Giulia, seeing my rage melt into resigned dejection, summoned fresh courage and her eyes glistened with tears as she replied, “It was for your own sake, beloved Michael. And then people believed in my for- tunetelling only because I was, as they thought, a virgin. If I’d betrayed my secret earlier you would have seduced me and then wearied of me, as others have done. I wanted to make sure; and now that you’ve grown accustomed to my eyes you must admit that from now on you could find no delight in ordinary women and their cheap love. Henceforth we will trust one another and have no secrets. And God help you if you so much as glance at another woman, now that I’ve consented to be yours.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir burst into loud laughter, though I could not imagine why, for Giulia’s eyes rested tenderly on me. I had never hoped that she could look upon me with such desire. And so I humbled my heart and said, “I forgive you, Giulia, and I shall strive to see you as you really are. It’s true that for me you’ve been transformed from a golden chalice to a cracked earthenware pot, but the hard crust of truth is more wholesome than the freshest wheaten loaf. Let us share this crust together.”

Giulia answered readily, “Ah, Michael, how deeply I love you when you speak and feel like this! But you have yet to learn how sweet a drink may be contained in a cracked earthenware pot. I think we need no further help from Mustafa ben-Nakir, who must have a great deal to attend to at the palace, so let us detain him no longer.”

She tried to thrust him forth, but he drew out his Persian book with the intention, no doubt, of declaiming an edifying nuptial poem. But Giulia drove him out at last, slammed the grille, locked it, and drew the heavy curtain. Her face glowed with passion as she turned to me, her eyes shone like contrasting jewels, and she was so breathtaking in her beauty that I could not but recall the disappointments she had caused me. I clenched my teeth and slapped her hard upon the cheek. She was so staggered at my action that she sank down powerless at my feet. Overwhelmed, I caught her head in my hands and kissed her—kissed her passionately and without ceasing—and we lay and loved all night.

When at length I lay resting, my swollen cheek on her breast, reason twoke and I said, “Giulia, we must think of the future. If you want ne as I want you, it will be best for me to free you from slavery and narry you according to the law of Islam. Thereafter you’ll be a free voman and at no one’s orders, even should I become the Sultan’s lave.”
Giulia sighed deeply, and this sigh was even more enchanting to ny ears than the quick, passionate breaths of approaching ecstasy. She cissed my cheek with her soft lips and said, “Ah, Michael, in my heart. always meant to make you marry me, at least according to the law of Islam. But you can’t know what joy you give me by saying this of ‘our own free will. Beloved Michael, my whole heart flows out to wu. Yes, I will be your wife—as good a wife as I can, though I’m a leceitful woman with a poisonous tongue at times. Let us be married :arly tomorrow, before anyone can stop us.”

She went on talking, but I slept, with her soft hair over my face. Next morning all went as planned. In the presence of the cadi and bur approved witnesses I first gave Giulia her freedom and then declared that I took her to wife, repeating the first surah to confirm both tcts. Cadi and witnesses received lavish gifts, and Abu el-Kasim gave banquet to which both known and unknown guests were bidden—is many as could find room in house and courtyard.

“Eat till you choke,” was Abu’s constant exhortation. “Eat till you just, and take no thought for a poor old man without even a child to ;are for him in his old age.”

I ignored this customary lamentation, knowing that he could well ifford the entertainment and spare something for the poor as well, ind in my overflowing joy I sent some of the good food to the Spanish prisoners toiling at the demolition of Penjon fortress. Giulia received any presents; Khaireddin himself sent her a golden comb with ivory teeth and Andy gave her ten gold pieces. Looking at me doubtfully with his round gray eyes he said, “I wonder whether you’ve been wise marrying this wayward woman? Her eyes alone are a warning, and should be afraid lest my son inherit them.”

I thought he was envious of my happiness and perhaps even jealous of Giulia, so I clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Have no fear, ny dear brother Andy. I’ve made my bed and will lie on it, and you mustn’t think that my marriage will part us. We shall be brothers as jefore. My house shall be your home always and I shall never be ashamed of having a simple fellow like yourself for a friend, even should my intelligence and learning raise me to a loftier position than you can ever reach.”

In my present gentle mood I was moved to tears by my own speech, and putting my arms about his broad shoulders I assured him of my friendship, until Giulia found me and caught me by the elbow. To the sound of drums and tambourines we walked together into the bridal chamber. But when I would have caught her in my arms she pushed me away telling me not to crush her lovely wedding dress. She then began to finger all the presents and count the givers until I was thoroughly weary, and only then did she let me kiss her and help her to undress. But her body was now known to me and could no longer give me the same joy. My head ached from the heavy incense, and once we were in bed I was content to lie with my hand on her breast and listen silently to her endless chatter.

It seemed to me that all this had happened before, and half in a dream I began wondering who she really was, and what it was that linked me to her. She came of an alien race whose language and way of thinking were different from mine. So immersed was I in my somber mood that I failed to notice when she ceased talking. But suddenly she raised herself in bed and stared at me with a look of fear.

“What are you thinking of, Michael?” she asked in a low voice. “Something unpleasant about me, no doubt.”

I could not lie to her, and answered with a shudder, “Giulia, I was remembering my first wife, Barbara—remembering how even dead stones came to life when we were together. And then she was burned as a witch, and so I feel very lonely in the world in spite of lying here beside you with your lovely breast under my hand.”

Giulia was not angry as I had expected; she stared at me curiously and her face took on an unfamiliar look. With a faint sigh she said, “Look into my eyes, Michael!”

If I had wanted to I could not have freed myself from those eyes, gazing at me under their lowered lids. She spoke in a low voice, and although I hardly listened to her I knew what she said, “You’ve doubted my ability to see things in sand, Michael, but as a child I could do the same with water. Perhaps I hardly know myself how much of it is genuine and how much pretense and imagination. But now look deep into my eyes as if into a bottomless well. Then answer me. Which lives in you now, your dead wife or I?”

I gazed and could no longer turn away my head. Giulia’s strange eyes seemed to grow to the size and depth of pools; I could feel my inner self open out and flow into their darkness. Time seemed to halt and then roll backward until all was one engulfing vortex. I seemed to be looking into the green eyes of my wife Barbara and to see her face full of ineffable, mournful tenderness. So real did she appear that I felt I might have touched her cheek. But I would not try.

I stared long at this face, while yet aware that Barbara had been dead many years and that her body had been burned to ashes in the market place of a German city. I was aware of pain—a pain so intense as to seem an ecstasy surpassing any bodily joy. For in seeing again one who had been reft from me by force and whom I had long mourned and missed, I perceived with agonized clarity that her face had nothing more to say to me—that it belonged to another world and another existence—and that I was no longer the man who had shared those two short years with her. My experiences and mistakes, my good and evil actions had raised an insurmountable wall between us, and she would not even have recognized me now. It was useless to recall her among the living. In my heart I had lost her, and forever.

I neither spoke her name nor put out my hand to touch her, and after a little time her yearning face faded into the grave countenance of Giulia. At this singular point in time something happened in my heart that made me feel I understood Giulia better than before, and I believed I really knew her. Then the mist faded; I lay once more in the familiar room and raised my hand to stroke her face. She closed her eyes and drew her brows together with a sigh.

“Where were you, Michael?” she whispered, but I could not answer her. Without a word I took her in my arms and in the warmth of her I knew the boundless solitude of the human heart. My anguish of soul was too keen for me to feel tenderness or desire. I shivered, comfortless. Passing my hand over that lovely body I thought how one day it would grow old, how the soft smooth skin would wither, the round neck shrivel, and the perfumed hair turn dull and gray. So also my desire would fade and dissolve into nothingness. If I loved her, I must love her simply for being the only creature in the world who was near to me, though even this might be a cruel illusion.

As summer neared its end, Khaireddin was satisfied that he had at last consolidated his position in Algeria, and he began to prepare the long-planned embassy to Sultan Suleiman. For as long as confirmation from the High Porte was lacking, the title of beylerbey, which he had already assumed, was worthless; he was shrewd enough to see that he could not found a kingdom of his own on the Algerian coast without becoming the Sultan’s vassal.

When the ships were taking the last of the cargo aboard, Khaireddin ordered me and the other slaves to make ready. He presented me with a kaftan of honor and a copper pen case, and explained to me the maps, charts, and notes that I was to offer as a gift from him to the cartographers of the Seraglio. He gave me also two hundred and fifty gold pieces to distribute among minor court officials who, though without great influence, were able from time to time to gain the ear of their masters. He advised me to squander rather than hoard this money, and promised to replenish my funds should the seed I sowed fall on good soil. But if I stole more than fifty gold pieces of it, he vowed, he would flay me alive with his own hands.

Not more than a fortnight after our wedding I began to notice that Giulia could not bear my dog Rael. She forbade him to sleep by me and chased him into the courtyard, saying that he had fleas and left hairs on the rugs. I was astonished at her fickleness, for before our marriage she enjoyed feeding the dog and talking to him, and never drove him out. Rael, however, had always treated her with reserve, and on her approach would withdraw to a corner with his hackles up, ready to snap, though he never attacked anyone else.

After our marriage he began to grow thin and his coat became rusty. Often he would sit whining softly in the yard, and I noticed his unwillingness to eat the good food which Giulia threw so impatiently into his bowl, though from my hand he eagerly took the hardest bone or the driest crust. I was really sad on poor Rael’s account and took to feeding him myself in secret, and keeping him company in the yard. I continued to confide my troubles to him as of old, but now I had no joys to share.

Giulia’s behavior to Andy too was very arrogant. She respected his physical strength and his skill in the casting of cannon, but for the rest she regarded him as a simpleton with a bad influence on me, for she had noticed that when in his company I was often irritable with her. She did all she could to bring about a rift between us.

Her loveliness and our shared delights could always dispel my ill humor and my doubts, however, and I had only to gaze into her strange eyes, shining like blue and brown jewels in her beautifully painted face, to forget all else; I would think myself a fool to trouble about a poor soulless wretch of a dog, or the simple Andy. At other times as I sat dejectedly in the courtyard with my faithful Rael’s head in my arms, I saw with startling clarity the emptiness of sensual pleasure, and was aware of Giulia as a stranger doing her utmost to part me from my one true friend.

It was already October when, with straining oars and spread sails, we glided upstream through the fortified straits leading into the Sea of Marmara. The hazy yellow heights to the eastward rose fom the Asiatic mainland, while to the west lay that part of Europe which in bygone days had belonged to Greece, but which the Ottomans afterward conquered. Somewhere in this region lay the ruins of Troy, the city of which Homer sang, and here, too, Alexander the Great was buried. I stood on deck and surveyed the gliding shores, thinking of old tales and of the many peoples who had sailed through this channel between the two halves of the world, in search of fortune.

Giulia complained of the hardships of the voyage, and expressed a longing for fresh water and fruit and a proper bath. And indeed after our long period at sea a most abominable stench prevailed aboard our handsomely painted vessel. We put in at a little place near the mouth of the straits and lay there for two days and nights, while we cleansed ourselves and our ship. Long pennants floated in the wind and rich carpets hung over the rail as, to the sound of drums and tambourines, we weighed anchor and with long oar strokes headed toward Turkish Istanbul—once Constantinople, the fabled city of Byzantium.

The weather next day was glorious. The blue hills of the Prince’s Islands rose from the embrace of the sea, while far in the distance the city of the emperors shone toward us like a dream of white and gold. As oars and sails brought us ever nearer to our goal, more prosaic details emerged. We saw the high, gray walls lining the shore, and the colorful houses seemingly fused together in masses on the slopes. When we had passed the Fort of the Seven Towers our eyes fell upon the Sophia mosque, once the most wonderful church in Christendom, whose mighty dome and minarets still dominated the great city. Behind it on the point, surrounded by the lush green of gardens, lay the numberless dazzling buildings of the Seraglio, marked by the towers that flanked the Gateway of Peace. Opposite the Seraglio, on the other side of the Golden Horn, were the slopes of Pera and the foreigners’ quarter beneath the tower of Galata, with its floating standard—the Lion of St. Mark.

As we glided past Seraglio Point and the Sultan’s marble quay we fired a salute, but the din of it was borne away by the wind. We had sent word of our coming, however, and our salvo was acknowledged by three shots from the cannon on the point. A French vessel anchored in the roads also fired hastily in reply, from which we concluded that King Francis must indeed be in trouble, or his ships would not have deigned to salute a vessel belonging to the pirate king Khaireddin. Our reception was nevertheless devoid of ceremony, and I think that all of us, whatever our rank, were oppressed by a sense of our own insignificance here in the Sultan’s capital.

The turbaned dock laborers cursed and swore at their toil. Only very slowly could we ease our way through the dense shipping to our own berth, where we hove out the anchor astern and made fast by the bows. Before us rose countless warehouses, and beyond them the high, crenelated walls of the harbor quarter. No one heeded us or bade us welcome, and I felt like a rustic come to town for the first time. Captain Torgut evidently felt as I did, for when he had donned his best clothes and a jeweled sword, and had waited for a long time on the quarterdeck, his face darkened and without a word he retired into his cabin.

To my regret Khaireddin had chosen Torgut-reis as his emissary to the High Porte, for Torgut was the youngest and handsomest of his officers; his proud manhood and his taciturnity made a strong impression on those who met him for the first time and knew nothing of his limitations. He was the son of an Anatolian robber and therefore of purely Turkish origin. Khaireddin knew he could trust him, for there was no room in his head for anything but ships and seafaring, fighting and fine clothes. To advise him in matters connected with court intrigue Khaireddin had sent with him an experienced eunuch who had belonged to Selim ben-Hafs. The fellow was corrupt and untrustworthy, but Torgut had been authorized to behead him if necessary, and in these circumstances Khaireddin considered he might be useful; he hoped he might gather information from the eunuchs of the Seraglio, since these persons readily make one another’s acquaintance and confide in one another more freely than they do in uncastrated men.

We had been waiting impatiently all day when one of the white slaves of the Seraglio suddenly appeared, riding a mule and attended by a large party of janissaries. He bade us welcome, promised to leave us some janissaries as guards, and told us that the Divan might attend to Khaireddin’s letters within the next few weeks, if Allah so permitted.

Torgut-reis was incensed by the messenger’s discourtesy and replied sharply that if such were the case he would cast off at once and return with all the rich presents to Algeria. His face crimsoned with anger as he cried that Khaireddin owed the Sultan nothing, and that on the contrary the Sultan was greatly in Khaireddin’s debt for the conquest of a new province and the harassing of the Emperor. Torgut did not mean to wait like a beggar at the rich man’s door, and nothing need prevent Khaireddin from omitting the Sultan’s name from the Friday prayers in the mosques.

The eunuch no doubt marveled in his own mind at Torgut’s uncontrolled behavior. However, he bowed repeatedly, declaring that it was a great honor to appear before the Divan at all, and that ambassadors from the Emperor and from the Emperor’s brother, the King of Vienna, had sometimes to wait for months before gaining an audience. They might even be locked up and have to spend their time of waiting in the cells of the Fort of the Seven Towers. But as for us, the eunuch promised—rubbing finger and thumb together abstractedly—he would put at our disposal a house befitting our dignity and a grant for our maintenance while in Istanbul.

There was nothing for it but to give him a little foretaste of the treasure that Khaireddin had sent. When he had gone, the janissaries settled down on deck and on the quay. Taking off their tall felt caps they began to plait their lock of hair, keeping a sharp lookout to see that no unauthorized person came aboard and that none of us went ashore. These blue-clad warriors, with their long mustaches and sharp chins, kept their heads shaven save for one long lock on top of their heads, so that if the worst befell them their victors need not pierce their ears but could conveniently carry their severed heads by the hair. We realized that we were prisoners, and Torgut perceived too late the mistake he had made in not sending a trustworthy man to call secretly on the Grand Vizier. To prevent bloodshed in the Sultan’s capital, the carrying of arms was forbidden, and the janissaries were armed only with rods of Indian bamboo; nevertheless Torgut believed our situation would hardly be improved by offering violence to the people of the Seraglio.

When from the balconies of the minarets the muezzins proclaimed the hour of evening prayer, we were sitting together dejectedly in Torgut’s cabin and did not even raise our heads from our hands. Dusk erased the yellow, red, gray, and purple colors of the buildings in which countless tiny flames were kindled so that one could appreciate even more clearly the vast extent of this city. Beyond the Golden Horn blazed the foundry fires in the Sultan’s arsenal, whence came the ceaseless sound of hammering. The eunuch told us that this noise usually boded war, and it might therefore be surmised that the Sultan had more important matters to think of than ourselves and our gifts.

But Abu el-Kasim said, “Even though the Mohammedan part of the city is closed to us, the Venetian quarter is open and there should be no difficulty in finding a boatman willing to ferry us across. From what I know of the Venetians they keep late hours, and an astute man could gather useful information about the customs of this city by searching the taverns for a sufficiently exalted—and inebriated—personage. Michael el-Hakim can still pass for a Christian, and if Antar will only promise to keep sober he may go with him as bodyguard.”

Hardly had he finished speaking when we felt the slight shock of a rowing boat against our hull and heard a man whining for alms. For two aspers this fellow promised to row anyone to the opposite shore and its wonderful pleasure haunts, where the commandments of the Koran did not obtain and where women, kinder than the houris of Paradise, entertained the guests so long as their money lasted. Night in the harbor quarter was not made for sleep, the eloquent boatman assured us in a whisper. It was not long before Andy and I found ourselves gliding over the dim waters of the Golden Horn, unable in the darkness to make out the features of our ferryman.

As we approached the farther shore the waters reflected the glow of torches and we heard the gay music of stringed instruments. We drew alongside a stone quay and I gave the ragged boatman the fee he demanded, though it was an extortionate one for so short a journey. The watchman paid us no heed and we passed straight through the harbor gates into the brightly lit street, where unveiled women addressed us without embarrassment in a number of different languages. Suddenly Andy opened his eyes wide, seized me by the arm, and exclaimed, “As I live, there’s a cask of honest ale standing by that door, with a bundle of straw above it!”

He carried me through the doorway as if I had been a feather and when our eyes had grown accustomed to the light we beheld a number of rough fellows sitting at tables and drinking. A fat, gray-haired man was busy at a cask, filling tankard after tankard with foaming ale, and on seeing us he said, “By Allah, you’re not the first Moslems to enter this respectable tavern, for the Prophet never forbade his followers to drink ale. The holy book mentions only wine, and so with a clear conscience you may drain a tankard here.”

As he spoke he surveyed us suspiciously, as if wondering where he had seen us before. 1 stared back, and suddenly recognizing those bristly eyebrows and that purple nose I exclaimed in astonishment, “Jesus, Mary! Is it not Master EimerP How in the world did you get here?”

The man turned deadly pale and crossed himself repeatedly. Then, snatching up a carving knife, he hurled himself upon me and shrieked, “And you’re that accursed Michael Pelzfuss, Madame Genevieve’s confederate! Now at last I can make mincemeat of you.”

But Andy snatched away the knife and hugged him to his breast to stifle his wrath; as he struggled and stormed in Andy’s arms I thumped him heartily on the back and Andy spoke kindly to him, saying, “How pleasant to meet an old friend on our first evening in the Sultan’s capital! May it prove a good omen for our task here. Don’t abuse Michael, dear Master Eimer; was it not you who lured Madame Genevieve from him and so found yourself supping with the devil? It’s no fault of his that Madame Genevieve cheated you of your money and then sold you to the galleys. It’s the result of your own sins. Madame Genevieve is now proprietress of a highly esteemed brothel in Lyons, founded with your money.”

Master Eimar was purple in the face.

“Burn me if I’ll bandy words with curs like you! You both helped to rob me and I was mad to trust such devil-ridden heretics. That you should have trodden the Cross underfoot and taken the turban is no more than I might have expected. It’s but a step from Luther’s abominable heresies to the Prophet and his teaching.”

But when Andy seized him by the throat and threatened to pull the house down about his ears, Master Eimer’s tone grew milder; he asked us to pardon him for losing his wits in the surprise of meeting us, and to give him our opinion of his ale, as he was not altogether satisfied with the Hungarian hops of which it was brewed. Andy at once swallowed a mugful, licked his lips, and agreed that there was something a little strange about the taste, though it was long since he had so much as seen a drop of honest ale. After a further draught he nodded and said, “Now I taste it. It’s as it used to be, and tickles the nose pleasantly. Surely no better ale is brewed this side of Vienna.”

By the time we had drunk a few stoups of this really excellent strong ale, the three of us were friends and it was cheering to meet with a good Christian again after all these Moslems. I begged Master Eimer to tell me his adventures, but he was unwilling to say anything of his sufferings as a galley slave aboard the Venetian warship. Yet, after some further drinking, he displayed to us his fat back with its network of scars—a perpetual reminder of the overseer’s whip. He held himself askew when walking and believed he would never lose this habit, which resulted from two years spent chained to the same oar. Master Eimer was over fifty and he thought he must have perished but for the powerful brewer’s heart he inherited from his father and grandfather, further strengthened by good ale of his own drinking.

In the course of a battle with the Imperial fleet, the Venetian war galley had been so badly damaged that in the confusion Master Eimer was able to hammer out the bolt to which he was fettered and swim ashore. Soon afterward he was taken prisoner by Moslems and sold in the Cairo slave market. A compassionate Jew who had embraced the faith of Islam bought him his freedom; then took him to Istanbul and financed a brewery for him. The tavern had paid well, for ale was rare enough among Mussulmans for the price to be kept high. (This last was to our address, for he had noted how smoothly the good drink was slipping down our throats.) With a jingle of my purse I asked coldly what we owed him, and he named a figure that made my hair stand on end. After that I could not wonder that he had laid the foundations of a substantial fortune is so short a time.

I asked him to advise me how an insignificant person like myself could obtain audience of the Grand Vizier, as I had matters of great weight to impart. To my boundless amazement Master Eimer answered, “Nothing easier! All you need do is go up the hill here and have a word with Master Aloisio Gritti. You can be sure he’ll further your business if it’s of real importance. Try him. At the worst, his servants can only throw you out.”

I asked who Master Aloisio Gritti might be. Eimer replied, “In all the Pera quarter there’s no one with a worse reputation. But he’s rich—a natural son of the Doge of Venice and a Greek slave woman. They say he’s a close friend of the Grand Vizier and directs the secret negotiations between the Christian states and the High Porte.”

I doubted very much whether I should be doing Khaireddin a service by dragging the Venetians into his affairs. But these misgivings came too late, for just then a man in the dress of a Christian clerk rose and approached me to ask if I sought Master Aloisio Gritti. He declared himself willing to guide me to his house as he was bound thither himself. I was averse from keeping company with strangers in a seaport town such as this, but Master Eimer rebuked me for my suspicions, saying, “The Sultan’s city is the safest and most peaceable of all cities in the world, especially at night, for the Sultan allows no brawling or thieving. During the hours of darkness his janissaries patrol the streets, maintaining good order everywhere. You may accompany this man with an easy mind, Michael Pelzfuss, for I know his face and believe him to be one of Master Gritti’s servants.”

We took cordial leave of Master Eimer and went out with the clerk. As soon as we were in the street he said, “You’re two of the pirate king’s party and arrived today from Algeria. But I didn’t want to disturb you until you had emptied your tankards.”

I asked him how in Allah’s name he could know who we were, and he replied smoothly, “When Master Gritti learned that janissaries were guarding your vessel he sent a boatman to fetch you. He’s already waiting to learn whether you have anything of importance to tell him.”

I was struck dumb with amazement, but Andy said, “We are indeed sheep, led hither and thither at the bidding of the shepherd. But perhaps this too is the will of Allah, and if so there’s nothing to be done.”

Stumbling over heaps of garbage in the narrow, twisting street we made our way toward the top of the hill; then as we walked up some broad, easy steps, I saw the mighty Galata tower outlined like a dark shadow against the starry sky. The young moon gave little light, but the crescent is the symbol of Ottoman power, and as I now beheld it I was filled with a strange conviction that a turning point in my fate had come.

At last we reached a wall in which was a small door. Our companion unlocked this and we passed through. The house beyond lay in darkness and I began to suspect that we had fallen into a trap. But as soon as we stepped into the entrance hall we saw light issuing from the inner rooms, by which we could see that the house was gor- gcously furnished in the Venetian style. I could hear also the notes of a gay air played on a violin.

Our companion passed along a dark corridor and into a lighted room to announce our arrival. When out of curiosity I began to follow him, a black hand shot from the shadows and seized me so hard by the arm that I cried aloud in fear. Two Negroes stepped silently forward out of the darkness and barred the way with crossed scimitars. I now had no doubt but that the Venetians for some reason wanted to kidnap me. We had left our vessel without permission and no one would investigate our disappearance. But Andy said in his usual blunt fashion, “Think nothing of it, Michael. We’ll manage these two, if I can get a proper grip of one and kick the other where it hurts most.”

He smiled engagingly at the Negroes and began to tease them by pinching their arms, so that it was all I could do to control him. Fortunately the clerk returned and bade us step into the lighted room at once, whereupon he disappeared behind a curtain.

We stepped boldly in and bowed low, touching forehead and floor with our finger tips, for politeness could not come amiss in the presence of so important a man as Master Gritti. When I looked up I saw a table resplendent with gold and silver and lit by numberless candles in a candelabrum of Venetian glass. Two men had recently finished their meal; one, wearing the gorgeous dress of a Venetian nobleman, was lying back in his chair. Raising his goblet he bade me welcome in the Italian tongue. Only from the many fine wrinkles in his face could it be seen that he was considerably older than myself, for his figure was as slender as mine. I also observed that his eyes were red and swollen with drink. Beside him stood a man dressed in a Turkish kaftan of silk and a plumed and jeweled turban, holding a violin in his hand. He was the most magnificent-looking man I had ever seen, and gave forth a sort of radiance which made it difficult to take one’s eyes from him. His skin was smooth and milk white as a boy’s, though he was certainly more than thirty. His bright dark eyes rested on Andy and me with a mocking smile, as if he were conscious that no one could look upon him unmoved; yet his assurance had nothing in it of conceit. He was not even very splendidly dressed, and except for the jeweled buttons of his kaftan and the fine diamonds on his fingers and in his ears, his attire was of so quiet a distinction that an inexperienced eye might have found it plain. But when I looked into his eyes I trembled; I fell on my knees before him and pressed my forehead to the ground. Andy hesitated for a moment and then followed my example. Master Gritti burst into forced laughter and said as he spun the wine cup between his fingers, “Why do you show such veneration for a common fiddler, rather than for me who am master in this house?”

I answered humbly, “Fiddler he may be, yet the whole world is his violin and the nations of the earth are the strings. His proud gaze speaks the prince, whereas your puffy eyes, Master Gritti, tell of one lost to decency through gluttony and drink. While he stands you loll in your chair, nor do you treat me with fitting respect, though as Khaireddin’s representative I consider myself in every way your equal.”

Master Gritti, offended, demanded scornfully, “How can you, the slave of a pirate, consider yourself equal to a distinguished Venetian? If you want anything from me you must adopt a humbler tone.”

Knowledge of his illegitimate birth gave me courage, for in that respect at least we were equals. And so I replied, “I want anything from you? You’re mistaken. You wouldn’t have sent for me in this clandestine fashion unless you hoped to gain something by it. You may represent the most illustrious Republic, but I am the envoy extraordinary of Khaireddin, lord of the sea. Which of us, do you think, takes precedence before the Divan—you, an idolatrous Christian, or I who am of the Faith?”

The violinist laid aside his instrument, sat down, and addressed me in faultless Italian, “So you are Michael el-Hakim and this is your brother Antar, the wrestler and gun founder. I’ve heard of you and you do right to defend your master’s honor. But you must not quarrel with this man, who is my personal friend and an excellent musician. Tell me rather why you showed me such marked deference. Did you know who I was? If so, Master Gritti has performed his task imperfectly.”

I looked at him in unfeigned admiration, for he was indeed more worthy of it than any man I had seen. And I answered, “I don’t know who you are, but I suspect that the wanderer Mustafa ben-Nakir, whom I met in Algeria, has often spoken of you. If you are that man, then indeed reality surpasses his account as the sun surpasses the moon in splendor, and I can only praise the bright star that brought me to your presence. Praise be to you, most fortunate Ibrahim, pillar of the Ottoman Empire—you on whom the Sultan has bestowed greater power than ever subject held before!”

He inclined his proud head and answered with easy modesty, “I am but my lord’s slave.”

Then his animated mood prevailed again and he went on, “As you may realize, I arranged this meeting so as to gain certain necessary information from you regarding Khaireddin’s intentions. If you’re surprised that the meeting should take place in the foreigners’ quarter and in the house of a Venetian, you must understand that it’s to our advantage to let the illustrious Republic know what may be expected from your master, Venice also is at war with the Emperor. If Khaireddin receives the horsetail switch of a beylerbey he must obey the Sultan only, and cease harrying the vessels of our French and Venetian allies. Do you think he can control his pillaging officers, and one day join the allied fleets of France and Venice in a great naval attack on the Emperor?”

I replied, “Khaireddin is an unusual man, and very shrewd. Since his brother’s death he has encountered difficulties enough to show him that in the long run he can’t hold his kingdom without the Sultan’s powerful support. His ambition is limitless, his officers trust him implicitly, and he calls them his children. The richness of the presents he has now sent best proves his sincerity, and I know he venerates you and the Sultan so highly as to feel like a humble disciple beside you. It would flatter his vanity to receive the horsetail, a kaftan of honor, and a personal letter from the Sultan. And to my mind such a mark of favor would be a modest price to pay for Khaireddin’s mighty fleet and fine seamen.”

Beneath Ibrahim’s dark gaze I felt no wish to resort to fulsome flattery or exaggeration, and believed I could best serve Khaireddin’s cause by giving my honest opinion of him. Yet with my whole heart I longed to win the Grand Vizier’s confidence. So strong was his charm that I desired his favor for its own sake, without thought of the advantages it could bring me. He questioned me very thoroughly, and with practical knowledge, on the subject of Khaireddin’s building works and other activities, until Master Gritti interrupted him, and turning to me asked, “Can this Khaireddin sail oceans as well as seas, to crush the Portuguese spice trade and hinder Spanish traffic with the New World?”

Ibrahim said, “The Sultan of sultans and lord of all peoples is no spice dealer. In furthering the interests of the illustrious Republic, Aloisio Gritti, you see no further than your own nose and your immediate advantage. The shortest way to the control of the spice trade is over the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf. When once we have conquered Persia, the Ottoman fleet can sail unmolested to destroy the Portuguese trading posts in India. Nothing can then prevent us from digging a canal between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, thus rendering pointless the Portuguese discovery of the passage round the southern tip of Africa. But there’s a time for everything, and first the Emperor must be defeated.”

Master Gritti, discomfited, was silent. The Grand Vizier turned to me and went on, “No, we’re not spice dealers, and the Sultan has no real enemy but the Emperor, Charles V, for we’re now allied with Venice and the French King, and even to some extent with the Pope. The King of France is once more in difficulties, and to relieve him the Sultan must oppose the Emperor, or at least obtain from him fair terms of peace for France. It will be for Khaireddin to block the Imperial sea power when our army opens its campaign in the spring. If Allah wills we shall defeat Ferdinand, the Emperor’s brother, and take possession of his domains, for so long as the war with France continues Charles can send him no help. It’s true that the Emperor is negotiating secretly with Tahmasp, the Shah of Persia, and sooner or later the Sultan must fight the Emperor on Persian soil as well, at the same time liberating the holy tombs of Islam from the hands of the red-haired Shiites. But the cornerstone of Ottoman policy is neither more nor less than the blocking of Imperial world dominion which, were it to continue, would destroy the freedom of all peoples. Anything therefore which harms the Emperor helps the Sultan, and vice versa. Grasp this and you grasp all.”

Master Gritti, who was evidently bored, emptied another cup of wine and said, “Master Michael Carvajal—you’ll allow me to address you thus, for I happen to know that Master Venier of Venice made out your pass in that name. Well, Master Michael, the Ottoman emblem is the bald-necked vulture that appeared to Osman in a dream. Clearly, in order to survey wider expanses than come within the range of ordinary mortals, the vulture must mount high in the heavens. I, poor earthbound man, am more interested in the spice trade and the best way to protect Venetian merchant shipping against the pirates of Islam. For these are matter-of-fact, everyday problems, and their solution will bring many benefits. Our violinist should content himself with capturing Vienna and bestowing the crown of Hungary on my friend Zapolya, who has humbly sought the aid of the High Porte. For he is the lawfully elected king of the downtrodden Hungarian people, whose arrogant lords have accepted King Ferdinand as their ruler. By law, only a native of Hungary may wear the sacred crown of St. Stephen, yet the Viennese King’s German men-at-arms are still roistering in Buda. The forces of the Crescent ought to have freed Hungary from the German yoke as long ago as last summer.”

The Grand Vizier only smiled and drew a few pleasing notes from his violin.

“Last summer Allah sent heavy rains and floods in our path,” he said, “but next summer Vienna shall be captured and the faithful Zapolya shall receive his well-earned reward. For as you may know, the Sultan has sworn by the Prophet and by his sword to be Zapolya’s true friend and shield him from all his enemies.”

Aloisio Gritti made a wry face and said, “And King Zapolya swore, too, through his ambassador. He swore by the living God and Jesus our Saviour, who is God also, that he would ever remain a friend to the friends of Sultan Suleiman and an enemy to his enemies. But while you were playing your fiddle the greedy landowners and the Germans oppressed the people and left them destitute.”

“Allah’s will be done,” returned the Grand Vizier. To me he said, “You may apply with full confidence to Master Gritti for any information regarding the Christian states. Through him we learn not only the secrets of the illustrious Republic, but also news from King Zapolya of matters great and small in Germany and the Viennese court.”

His face darkened, and springing up he cried, “Crowns and coronations are but a mirage to delude the foolish. Not the crown but the sword confers sovereignty. Lands trodden by the Sultan’s chargers are forever united with his realms. Therefore I, too, burn with impatience to open the greatest campaign in the history of the Ottoman Empire. If afterward Zapolya reigns as king of Hungary, it will be by the Sultan’s favor, to ensure free passage through his domains at all times.”

Although I well understood that these preparations for a campaign which indirectly threatened the whole of Christendom greatly exceeded in importance the affairs I had on hand, yet I strove like Master Gritti to keep my feet firmly on the ground; I asked what reception was to be given to Khaireddin’s envoy. The Grand Vizier replied, “The Sultan still regards Khaireddin as a common pirate who, with his brother, betrayed the trust placed in him by the Sultan’s father, Selim. Khaireddin also has the second and third viziers against him, and I advise you to provide handsome presents for these men. But foremost among his opponents are the Sultan’s sea pashas who fear and envy him. He has a trustworthy supporter in the Chief Pilot, the learned navigator Piri-reis. Piri-reis has drawn a chart by whose help anyone may sail the Mediterranean with safety; when you meet him, praise this work. Since a few copies of it fell into the hands of Christians it has ceased to be a secret. Piri-reis is an elderly man who lives among papers and feels no resentment for Khaireddin. The only gifts that please him are Christian charts which he likes to compare with his own. Tomorrow I intend to take up the question of Khaireddin with the Divan; I shall mention the magnificent gifts he has sent, and stress his firm intention of turning Algiers into an impregnable naval base. If Allah wills it, the Sultan himself shall receive the deputation in person, and the other viziers must accept the position with what grace they may.”

After giving me further instructions and addressing a kind word or two to Andy, he dismissed us. Master Gritti escorted us past the Negro guards to a side door, and before we left him he said, “If you’re indeed a man of education, Master Michael, and find time hanging heavily on your hands, come and visit me without fear of intruding; I enjoy listening to Seraglio gossip. The Seraglio is if possible a worse hotbed of gossip and intrigue than even the Vatican or the Emperor’s Court. I can offer you some unusual enjoyments, too, and acquaint you with vices with which because of your youth you’re perhaps still unfamiliar. I regret that this evening I was unable to offer you some young slave girl, for I have a number of these in my service, of different races and color and all expert in the erotic arts of their own countries. Indeed, I believe you’ll be astonished.”

I thanked him politely for his great kindness and promised to call upon him as soon as I had news from the West, when we could exchange useful information. But in my heart I resolved to keep as far as possible from this false man whose masterly intrigues made him dangerous company for me, while for Giulia’s sake I dared not even consider his hospitable offers. The silent clerk escorted us back to the shore, spoke to the guards and led us onto the quay where our boatman was dozing, half-naked though the autumn night was chilly.

The crescent moon shone like a drawn scimitar above the great dome of the mosque as we glided over the Golden Horn to our ship. We were unmolested, though a couple of janissaries on the shore stared at us as we climbed aboard.

Next morning I told Torgut-reis and the eunuch all that had happened and urged them to await the summons to the Seraglio in all confidence, since by diplomacy I had succeeded in winning over the Grand Vizier to Khaireddin’s cause. At first the eunuch would not believe that I had met the Grand Vizier in person, but while we were yet talking a horseman arrived to bid us make ready to appear before the Sultan. Soon afterward cooks and scullions arrived in great numbers, bearing with them in Chinese bowls an abundant meal from the Divan kitchen. After the noon prayer a hundred mounted spahis clad in purple suddenly appeared. Their jeweled weapons flashed in the sun, and their saddle cloths were adorned with heavy turquoises. Their Aga presented Torgut with a gift from the Sultan—a magnificent horse whose bridle and saddle were ornamented with silver, pearls, and precious stones.

Overjoyed at this splendid present, Torgut-reis gave me thirty ducats and the eunuch added a somewhat smaller sum. We then set forth in ceremonial procession to the Seraglio. Huge crowds hailed us as we passed, and called down blessings upon our heads. Slaves, black and white, carried Khaireddin’s presents, of which the most gorgeous had been uncovered for all the people to behold. Ten beautiful girls and boys carried coins and gold dust in baskets of plaited palm leaves, so that we felt deeply thankful for the protection of our mounted escort. In my arms I held a white-cheeked monkey that had grown so much attached to me on the voyage that it allowed no one else to carry it. It put its arms about my neck, chattering and grimacing at the bystanders until I had a flock of laughing, shouting children at my heels.

We were led past the great mosque and through the Gate of Happiness to the forecourt of the Seraglio, which was surrounded by the barracks of the janissaries, the Sultan’s stables, the library, and the soldiers’ bathhouse. In the forked branches of ancient plane trees hung numberless iron cooking pots, and on the lawns groups of janissaries were taking their ease. The Aga of our escort handed us over to the guards at the Gateway of Peace, and here the merchandise, slaves, and seamen were left while Torgut-reis, the eunuch, and myself were shown into a waiting room within the archway. We sat down on hard and dirty cushions, whence we could see into another room on the opposite side of the arch. Broad-bladed headsman’s axes hung there on iron hooks fixed to the wall, and on the floor was a pyramid of some thirty human heads. The stench was unbearable, for many of the heads were no longer quite fresh, having been brought from different parts of the Ottoman Empire for the viziers to see, as conclusive proof that sentence had been carried out.

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

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

Hardly had he ended when two gigantic men stepped up to me, grasped me firmly by the arms and led me between them into the Courtyard of Peace. Torgut-reis and the eunuch were treated in the same manner. I struggled and protested loudly that I had done no wrong, but one of the chamberlains hastened forward to me with his staff of office in his hand, and exhorted me in a whisper to hold my tongue.

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

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

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