BOOK 5.
The Siege of Vienna

I SHALL say little of the hardships I underwent on that journey. Bad weather set in again, and every night I lay drenched and shivering in the janissaries’ tent. Columns of infantry, troops of cavalry, and strings of camels struggled along all the roads toward Philippopolis; at night every farm was packed to overflowing so that neither by hook nor by crook were sleeping quarters to be had. I never understood how I was able to endure these discomforts without falling sick, accustomed as I now was to a life of relative comfort.

In justice to the onbash I must mention that he ordered his men to take the very greatest care of me. They cooked my food and dried my clothes, and I soon came to admire the excellent discipline prevailing in our little troop. Each of the ten men seemed to have his own task to perform whenever we camped for the night. One collected firewood, another cooked, a third cleaned the weapons and accouterments. While a fourth fed the camels, others would be pitching the tents, and so smoothly and speedily were all things done that very soon a cheerful fire would be crackling beneath the pot, while a tent offered a comparatively dry sleeping place. These toil-toughened men cared little for the ceaseless downpour, and indeed made it a point of honor to endure uncomplainingly every sort of hardship, even performing regularly the five daily acts of devotion, though it meant kneeling and prostrating themselves in the mud.

What most surprised me, however, was their consideration for the peasants. They neither struck them nor stole their cattle nor tore down their dwellings for firewood. They never set fire to their ricks or molested their women, as was the custom among Christian soldiery. In the civilized states of Europe the right to do these things was considered the lawful perquisite of every mercenary, and bitterly though the victims complained, they accepted it as they accepted floods, earthquakes, or any other scourge of nature. But my onbash paid for all food and forage in pure silver at rates laid down by the Seraskier, and told me that any janissary who stole so much as a chicken or trampled the smallest patch of corn within the Ottoman borders would be hanged. So lovingly did the Sultan care for his subjects.

The reader must not wonder at my asking what satisfaction a poor soldier could find in an expedition where these innocent and well- deserved enjoyments were forbidden. But the onbash reassured me, explaining that all would change as soon as we set foot in the countries of the unbeliever. There a man could rob and pillage to his heart’s content and commit what deeds of violence he chose, for such was pleasing to Allah. The onbash hoped that he and his men would richly compensate themselves for the privations of the march through the Sultan’s domains.

The swollen rivers were very difficult to ford, and peasants told me that no man living remembered a rainier spring. Floods submerged their fields, prevented spring sowing, and threatened the whole land with famine. Their words depressed me, but the onbash smiled sourly and said he had never known a peasant to appear satisfied with the weather. It was too hot, too cold, it rained too much or too little, and not even Allah could gratify his every wish, though by this the onbash would not be thought to cast doubts upon Allah’s omnipotence.

When at last we drew near Philippopolis and I saw the plain by the brimming river covered with a huge encampment, I cried out in amazement and said, “I’ve beheld many wonders in this world, but never so vast a camp as this. I could wager there are at least a hundred thousand men gathered here, and as many animals.”

The onbash replied that there might well be a hundred and fifty thousand armed men on the plain. To these would be added about twenty thousand janissaries under the Sultan’s own command, besides the Tartar auxiliaries and the akindshas who would join us at the frontier. I was greatly consoled, and with real pleasure alighted from my spiteful and untrustworthy camel at the gates of Philippopolis. Once or twice the treacherous beast had flung me basket and all into the mud. Camels were meant for the scorching desert and are distressed by cold air and constant rain. Marshy ground gives them no proper foothold, and my mount stumbled so often and so badly that her gangling legs straddled in all directions and it was a marvel that she was not torn in two. I resolved at any cost to find myself a horse in Philippopolis.

This huddle of narrow streets may once have been a pleasant riverside town, but when I arrived there it was packed with troops. The damp houses and miry streets emitted a terrible stench and the place seethed with angry men. After a great deal of trouble I was shown at last to the house of a Greek merchant where I found a mob of clerks, map makers, officers, messengers, idlers, peddlers, Jews, gypsies, and even a runaway monk who had wandered barefoot through Hungary that winter to serve the Sultan’s cause.

When I reported to the Aga of the Scouts, this much-tried man cursed and declared he could not find a crib for every donkey that the Sultan was pleased to send him. Nevertheless he bade me study the maps of Hungary and make a list of the wells and grazing grounds marked upon them, so that if need arose I could gather more detailed information by interrogating prisoners. I might billet myself where I could find room, for—as he added drily—he could always reach me through the paymaster, whom I would be sure to visit.

This unfriendly reception sobered me, but after my all too rosy expectations it was wholesome, and inclined me to humility and patience. I put a good face on it, therefore, and returned to my janissaries who had pitched their tents on the riverbank. I could not even be rid of my camel, since no one was so foolish as to give me a horse in exchange.

We were now in the month of May, and one night as I lay shivering in my wet clothes the river burst its banks. The wildest confusion arose in the rainy darkness, and I had only the alertness of my janissaries to thank for being still alive at dawn when I found myself high up in a tree, lashed to a sturdy bough. Below us the yellow waters eddied and swirled, carrying with them drowned men and beasts and all manner of stores. I was still dazed with sleep, my teeth chattered, and my stomach cried out for food. At first I felt no gratitude for my rescue, but mourned the loss of my tent, my clothes and weapons, and even my unserviceable camel, which had perished. But at dawn the onbash and the six janissaries whom his presence of mind had saved praised Allah and performed their devotions as best they might in so comfortless a situation. The onbash assured us that our wetting in the floods equaled a complete ablution and that Allah, taking our plight into account, would pardon our imperfect prostrations. The prayers of these men, so singularly performed in the tree top, gave true expression to their thankfulness, yet I, weighed down by my losses, could not feel reverence at so fantastic a sight. As the light grew, however, and revealed the desolation of that flooded plain where lately so huge a camp had stood, I realized the wonder of my preservation and the good reason I had to send up a sigh of thanksgiving.

Here and there clumps of trees rose out of the waters, with survivors hanging in them like clusters of grapes. Other men, shrieking in terror, clung to drifting roofs, to troughs, and even to the carcasses of drowned animals, and besought us in Allah’s name to throw them a rope’s end. But our tree could carry no more, and we needed all the ropes to keep us from falling in ourselves. Three days and nights we stayed there and would no doubt have succumbed had we not been able to cut pieces of flesh from the carcass of a donkey that lodged among the lower boughs.

I had begun to lose all hope of rescue when a flat-bottomed river boat came in sight, punted along by several men and constantly running aground on its voyage from tree to tree to pick up survivors. As it drew near we shouted and waved until the man in command brought it alongside and ordered us to jump down. My fingers were too stiff to loosen the knots in my rope and so I cut it, and tumbled headfirst into the boat; no doubt I should have broken my neck had not the man in charge caught me in his arms. His broad face and indeed the whole of him was plastered with yellow mud, and as he looked at me he cried in astonishment, “Is it you, brother Michael? What can you be doing here? Has Piri-reis sent you to chart these new Turkish waters?”

“Dear heaven, it’s Andy!” I exclaimed. “But where are your guns?”

“Safe under these swirling waters; and as the powder has become somewhat damp they’d be of little use to me just now. From this we see how equitably fate orders our affairs. But you’re in luck, for I’ve orders to bring you straight to the Sultan who will pay you compensation for your wetting. Others wiser and more prudent than you, who ran uphill in good time out of reach of the floods, win no prizes.

I wonder what can be the object of rewarding stupidity and punishing good sense?”

When we had taken so many men aboard that our gunwale was almost level with the water, he began to punt his way back, and was by now so familiar with the channels that he was able to avoid shipwreck on the ruins of houses, and other reefs. Soon we reached the foot of a slope where helpful hands dragged us ashore, rubbed our numbed limbs, and poured warm milk down our throats. We were then led to the top of the hill where stood Sultan Suleiman and Ser- askier Ibrahim, gorgeously arrayed and surrounded by bowmen. At their command the Defterdar paid immediate compensation to every man saved. Janissaries received nine aspers each, onbashes eighteen, and I, having produced my written orders from the Aga of Janissaries, was given no less than ninety aspers. I hardly knew if I was awake or dreaming, for how had we deserved thanks by being caught in the floods ? But the onbash loudly praised the Sultan and explained, “Janissaries have a traditional right to compensation for a wetting. If while marching with the Sultan we wade through water to the knees we’re given an extra day’s pay. If it reaches the waist, double. And if we’re lucky enough to go in up to the neck in his service we get three days’ pay. Therefore the Sultan does his best to avoid pools and streams, but he could hardly be expected to allow for the flooding of the Maritsa. I hope not too many were rescued, however, or funds will give out before we reach even Buda.”

The sun shone. After the three days’ fast the milk felt warm in my stomach and the good silver coins were agreeably heavy. Neither the Sultan nor the Grand Vizier appeared discouraged at the losses sustained by the army; on the contrary they laughed aloud and gaily welcomed the groups of survivors that were still coming ashore. Yet their seeming cheerfulness was but a custom, to encourage the troops after any reverse; and a good custom it was, for no sooner had I taken my money than I too began to make little of the sufferings I had undergone. Three pillars had been set up on the hillside, on each of which a head had been placed. Some of the rescued men amused themselves by pulling the beards of these; for they were the heads of three pashas whom the Seraskier held responsible for choosing the camping place and whom he beheaded, to propitiate the Sultan and to keep his favor.

My guide brushed the mud from his kaftan and told me to fetch the new clothes that the Sultan had promised me, and then go to the road builders’ tent to await further orders from the Grand Vizier. But Andy turned his steps resolutely toward the field kitchens and I was compelled to go with him, for he had me by the arm. The cooks were easily identified by their white aprons and caps, and Andy addressed them respectfully, saying that he felt a little hungry; but they bade him join his father in the nethermost pit. Resenting this, Andy first assured himself that the broth in one of the cauldrons was not yet scalding, then seized the nearest cook by the ears and plunged his head into it. Next, lifting him out and holding him high in the air he said mildly, “Perhaps another time you’ll treat a grown man like a man and not like a naughty boy.”

The cooks raised a great outcry and brandished their carving knifes, but as Andy still stood firm and massive as a block of granite, pointing first to his mouth and then to his belly, they came like wise men to the conclusion that they would most easily be rid of him by giving him the food he asked for.

We sat down to eat, and Andy so gorged himself that afterward he could hardly move. He made a few feeble attempts and then stretched himself on his back; I, exhausted by three days and nights of exposure, laid my head on his stomach and fell into the deepest sleep of my whole life.

I fancy I must have slept the clock round, for when aroused at last by a great need to make water, I had no idea where I was and thought I had been carried on board a rolling vessel. But on raising my head I found myself comfortably reclining in a litter borne by four horses. Beside me on a down cushion sat a youngish, thoughtful-looking man who, seeing me awake, laid aside the book he was studying and greeted me kindly, saying, “Guardian angels have watched over you and shielded you from evil. Have no fear, for you’re in good hands. I am Sinan the Builder, one of those in charge of the Sultan’s road makers. You’re appointed to be my interpreter in the Christian lands, which, if Allah so wills, we are to conquer.”

I noted that I had been dressed in new clothes, but having hurriedly assured myself that I still had my purse I could think of nothing but my immediate need, and said, “Let us leave all phrase making, O Sinan the Builder, and order your men to rein in the horses, lest I wet your valuable cushions.”

Sinan the Builder, who had been brought up in the Seraglio, was not at all offended. Raising the cover of a round hole in the floor he said, “In such matters slave and monarch are equal. May it remind us that on the Last Day the Compassionate will make no distinction between high and low.”

In other circumstances I might better have appreciated this tactful speech, but now I could not spare the time to listen. Having eased myself, however, I turned to him again to find him regarding me with a frown, and I begged him to forgive my unseemly conduct. He said, “I don’t complain of your conduct, but because of your great haste I had no time to turn away my head and so observed to my horror that you’re uncircumcised. Can you be a Christian spy?”

Dismayed at the result of my negligence I greeted him hurriedly in the name of the Compassionate, professed my faith in Allah the one God and in Mohammed his Prophet, and recited the first sura to prove myself a true believer. I added, “I have submitted to the will of Allah and taken the turban, but a strange destiny has tossed me hither and thither and allowed me neither time nor opportunity to undergo that unpleasant operation. I will gladly tell you my story and so convince you of my sincerity, but must beg you not to betray the omission to others, for it may be the will of Allah that I should serve the Sultan and the Grand Vizier as I am.”

He answered smiling, “We have a long journey before us, and I enjoy instructive stories, but your words are too glib to be true. However, if the Grand Vizier knows your secret I have no reason to mistrust you.”

Slightly more composed I replied, “The Grand Vizier knows me and all about me, though he must have more important things to think of than the circumcision of a slave.”

“I’m no bigot,” he rejoined, “and won’t conceal from you that I too have a secret sin; then neither of us need feel superior to the other.”

He brought out a beautifully painted little keg and filled two mugs, handing one to me. I gladly swallowed the wine, believing that the burden of my sin would not be gravely increased thereby. I had often broken this rule before, and many interpreters of the law were of the opinion that repetition of a sin was no aggravation—that on the Last Day a hardened toper would receive no worse punishment than he who drank for the first time, knowing it to be sinful. We preserved polite silence in that swaying litter, and in the shade of its awning enjoyed the glow that coursed through our veins and to our eyes enhanced the colors of the landscape. At length I said, “I feel no concern for the morrow. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof and everything that comes to pass is in accordance with the will of Allah. It’s from mere human curiosity that I now ask you whither we’re bound?”

Sinan the Builder answered readily, “We’re to cross the rivers of Serbia, my native land, and must hasten, for tomorrow the janissaries will march and after them the spahis, and for every day’s delay on the timetable my chief, the road makers’ pasha, must lose an inch of his beard. When his beard has gone, his head must follow. Therefore he is liberal with punishments among his subordinates. Pray that the sun may shine and the wind may dry the roads, for a single shower might shorten many men by a head.”

I now had nothing to complain of. We traveled in swift comfort by night and day, and at fixed stages along our route fresh horses were in readiness, and food, and relays of akindshas to guide us. When any hitch occurred, Sinan the Builder had the culprits flogged without mercy. I pitied these poor men and chided Sinan for his sternness, but he replied, “I myself am an unassuming man, but an important task has been assigned to me and it would be foolish to tire myself needlessly or go hungry. I must conserve all my strength for work which I alone among all these men can do. Our greatest obstacle will be the river Drava, which now lies straight ahead of us. Hitherto, whenever spring floods have swept away the bridges there, not the devil himself has been able to build new ones until late in the summer. Yet I must build one now.”

We did not make straight for our goal, however, but in obedience to orders brought by express messengers made one detour after another. Sinan the Builder marked the altered routes on his maps and sent his men ahead to mark the fords and throw booms across them as a measure of safety for those who lost their footing in the current. His courage was beyond question, for he never relied entirely on the scouts’ reports, but waded out into the icy water himself, staff in hand, to test the bottom and direct the placing of stones where it was soft. Several times the current swept him off his feet and he had to be hauled ashore by a lifeline.

On reaching the Sava River he sent his men in their thousands to the woods to fell trees, or to the riverside to saw planks; wherever he appeared order and discipline took the place of chaos. But once again the heavens opened and floodwaters scoured away his works as if they had been spiders’ webs. Rain fell in torrents from leaden skies, and when Sinan the Builder saw the river grow to a thundering cataract he calmed himself, sent his men to shelter, and ordered the slaughter of many sheep and heifers, saying, “Eat, drink, and rest until the rain stops, for nothing happens contrary to the will of Allah and the Sultan can hardly be in a greater hurry than the Merciful and Compassionate. Though the delay should cost me my head, I rejoice, for that head aches with figures and plans, and I cannot sleep at night for thinking of the bridge I must throw across the river Drava when we reach it.”

Sinan the resolute, who had spared neither himself nor his men, now burst into tears of exhaustion. I put him to bed in the ferryman’s hut and gave him hot wine to drink, so that he slept at last. In his sleep he babbled of a great mosque that he would build, whose like the world had never seen.

For five days the rain came down in sheets, and with my friend Sinan I suffered all the agonies of delay, pacing back and forth over the floor of the little hut. At any moment the army might march up to the riverbank, when the Grand Vizier would have our heads cut off and thrown into the river. Yet my fears were groundless, for not even Khosref, the road makers’ pasha, appeared. At last a soaked and mud- bespattered messenger reached us through the downpour to report that the whole army was fast in a bog and that the Sultan had called a halt until the rain stopped. The messenger was so exhausted that he had thrown away his ax. His bell was choked with mud and he lacked strength even to sprinkle perfume from his flask, but sank to the ground proclaiming that Allah was one and indivisible and Mohammed was his Prophet. Blood then poured from his mouth, for he had run for many days and nights through drenching rain and along slippery bypaths, and his strength was at an end, although under normal conditions these runners could cover the distance between Istanbul and Adrianople in a single day.

Suleiman and Ibrahim submitted to the will of Allah and no one was punished for the delay caused by the rain. As the army marched slowly onward, many perished in the swollen rivers despite all precautions. Numberless pack camels, having had enough of the miry roads, closed their eyes and nostrils and sank down beneath their load, never to rise again.

The summer was already far advanced, bright poppies flowered on the plains of Hungary, and I had had more than my fill of the willow thickets and bogs of our route, when at last at the head of the army we reached the banks of the still flooded Drava, by the town of Esseki. The Turkish garrison had long since given up hope of crossing it and had paid for their feeble efforts at bridge building with scores of drowned men, for the current tore away the mightiest timbers as if they were straws.

In the town of Esseki we met at last our great chief, Khosref-pasha. He stroked his beard and surveyed the swirling Drava thoughtfully. At length he said in submissive tones, “Allah is great. Allah is the one God and Mohammed is his Prophet, peace be with him. The Sultan can scarcely demand the impossible of me, since I married his cousin and am thus related to him by blood. But Ibrahim, Grand Vizier and Seraskier, is a ruthless man. I must therefore bid farewell to my gray beard. You, my dear children and sturdy builders, would be wise to make your peace with Allah.”

His men had formerly accompanied Selim the implacable on his many campaigns; they had built bridges over numberless rivers from Hungary to Egypt and by means of skillful sapping had reduced many fortified cities, including Belgrade and Rhodes. But even these veterans began weeping and tearing their beards as they cursed the Drava, the treacherous land of Hungary, King Ferdinand, and especially his brother, the Emperor of the unbelievers. But Sinan, having silently waited until the eldest among them had said their say, stepped forward and began, “Why, think you, did I cause thousands of camels and oxen to drag huge balks of timber from the hillsides of five countries to the banks of the Drava? Why have I sent the best smiths and carpenters to this miserable hole Esseki, on forced marches along unspeakable roads? As long ago as last winter detailed information was sent me at the Seraglio about the breadth of the Drava, the nature of its banks, and the strength of its current. Night and day I’ve wrestled with figures, that I might build a mighty bridge across this river. Shall all this have been in vain? No! I will not throw away my rule, compasses, and tables without at least attempting the great task.”

The master builders, who had a lifetime’s experience behind them, looked pityingly at the younger man and said, “Who is this Sinan, who gained his knowledge sitting on silken cushions in the Seraglio? The profoundest wisdom consists in submission to the will of Allah, and surely in this matter Allah has made his meaning plain.”

Sinan glanced at the broad river, at the timbers stacked on the bank, and at the rafts already built. Then falling on his knees he kissed the ground before Khosref-pasha and said, “I’m young, but I’ve listened to the wisdom of the foremost bridge builders of our time. I have read the works of the Greek strategists and studied the description of the bridge that Iskender the Great threw across the river Indus. Give me your hammer, noble Khosref-pasha, and in the sight of all raise me to the rank of your son. Then, despite all obstacles, I will bridge the Drava. Ride meanwhile to the Sultan and beg him for three days’ grace. He will need those three days himself to rest his troops. But I must ask for the help of all the thirty thousand janissaries.”

Khosref-pasha shook his head and for a long time he demurred. Yet there was something so persuasive in Sinan the Builder’s assurance that at length he gave in.

“Well, I will be a father to you,” he assented, “and share your disgrace if you fail. But I mean to share the honor also, if by the help of Allah and his angels you achieve the impossible. Take my hammer—and let all of you, my sons, obey young Sinan!”

He handed his jeweled and gold-hafted hammer to Sinan, laid a hand upon his shoulder and declared in the presence of many witnesses, “You are flesh of my flesh, my son Sinan the Builder.”

He then rapidly recited the first sura in confirmation, sent for his horse, and set forth with his suite to meet the Sultan.

I hardly know how to account for Sinan’s bold behavior unless it was that having been born in this region he knew the ways of Serbian rivers, or perhaps had reason to believe that the rainy spell was now at an end. Be that as it may, by next day the level of the water had fallen and Sinan sent thousands of men into the river to sink caissons and fill them with rocks, and to drive massive piles into the river bed at points carefully calculated and marked in his plans.

Each end of the bridge was strengthened by sturdy abutments to withstand any further floods, and work did not cease even at nightfall. Swarms of naked men waded through the dark waters by the light of torches and flares. Above the rushing of the torrent, the din of hammering and sawing could be heard in Esseki itself. Sinan the Builder took further advantage of his new authority by promising unheard-of sums to every man who hastened the work, and ordered the Marabouts to proclaim that all who drowned or were crushed by falling timbers or in any other way lost their lives should win direct to Paradise exactly as if they had fallen in battle against idolatrous unbelievers. Even the janissaries caught something of his dauntless energy, for unlike the experienced engineers they could form no clear idea of the magnitude of the task.

Sinan could not indeed complete the bridge by the third day, when the Sultan and Grand Vizier arrived with the main army, but he explained ingeniously that the three days he asked for were to be reckoned from the time the Sultan reached the banks of the Drava. And when the Sultan saw that despite seemingly insuperable difficulties the work was really going forward, he did not question this new interpretation. He and the Grand Vizier, plainly dressed and with pointed helmets on their heads, made their way to the scene of operations attended by a few green-clad tsaushes.

In this way they could judge for themselves which men worked hardest and behaved most creditably in moments of danger. And although Khosref-pasha, who now began to suspect that Sinan might succeed, hastened to sit in the younger man’s tent, study his plans, and issue orders right and left as if he were the true leader of the enterprise, the Sultan was not deceived. It was Sinan alone whom he watched, with an expressionless face, though never once during the work did he speak to him.

At the last moment the camels came up and also a number of trained elephants, which so far as I could see were of great service. Between their great ears sat the Indian mahouts looking like little monkeys, and the clever, ponderous beasts obeyed their every sign, walking in single file into the river, groping for foothold, and catching one another by the tail to form a living breakwater for the laborers. On their gilded tusks they lifted timbers that not ten men could move, and carried them easily to the place where they were needed. But Sinan the Builder said, “Those animals are more trouble than they’re worth; they splash about and get in everybody’s way. However, they amuse the Sultan and the janissaries and keep my workmen in a good humor. But your brawny brother Andy is worth ten elephants to me.”

I noticed that Andy had risen high in rank among the builders and was wearing the turban of a bimbash. But unable to sustain his new dignity he toiled away ax in hand, ever ready to raise and bear on his shoulders a log that the efforts of many men had not availed to shift. His feats inspired awe and fear, yet he seemed to me to lack the qualities needful for a bimbash, or captain of a thousand. He found it difficult to direct the work of others and preferred to tackle all awkward tasks himself, to demonstrate how he thought they should be done. Having watched his foolish behavior for some time I could no longer keep silence, and for the sake of our long-standing friendship I went up to him and said, “It’s unseemly for a bimbash to behave like a peasant in front of his subordinates, and you shame others of your rank by appearing with a sooty face and tarry hands. You’ve broken your line plume, and no bimbash ought to roll up his sleeves until he draws his sword in battle.”

But Andy answered, “This work is only temporary, and it really hurt me to watch how these fumbling Moslems handle an ax. And then Sinan begged me on his knees to help, and he’s a good fellow, whose only fault is to let you loiter about and make silly remarks.”

On the sixth day the bridge was finished, and for four days and nights the army crossed it in an unbroken stream, while the cautious Sinan watched to see that no excessive strain was placed upon it. Sultan Suleiman called Khosref-pasha and Sinan to his tent on the first evening of that march, together with their immediate assistants. Andy had therefore to wash his hands and don a red kaftan that Khosref- pasha had given him. But at this moment of triumph Sinan lost all his self-assurance, and was disconcerted when the janissaries ran at his heels loudly singing his praises and clashing their ladles against their cooking pots. When we reached the gorgeous awning that shaded the entrance to the Sultan’s tent, Sinan turned in his agony to Khosref- pasha and asked him point blank, “Dear father! An adoptive son has the same right of inheritance as other sons, has he not? And you acknowledged me as your son before all the builders, confirming it with the first sura?”

Khosref-pasha, beside himself with delight, tenderly embraced Sinan and assured him that a foster son inherited from the foster father and vice versa. We then entered the tent and Khosref-pasha kept his arm fondly about Sinan’s shoulders, to show that he was ready to share the honors of the undertaking with his dear son. At Suleiman’s right hand, in garments sparkling with precious stones, stood the Grand Vizier. He praised our achievement with eloquence, and the Sultan himself addressed a few words to Khosref-pasha and Sinan the Builder, assuring them of his special favor. But outside the tent the janissaries beat ever more enthusiastically upon their cooking pots, and at last Sinan could contain himself no longer. Drawing a paper from his bosom he unfolded it with trembling hands and began to read aloud the rewards that he had promised the janissaries and builders. When he had finished he looked the Sultan straight in the eye and said, “Lord, as you hear, the bridge will cost two million, two hundred thousand aspers in gifts alone, but in this I do not include the cost of materials, transport, and manufacture, nor that of forging, stone cutting, and other minor expenses. But my dear father Khosref has pledged his fortune that my word may be kept, and for my part I gladly sacrifice the inheritance he has promised me, for lack of other property. If I may judge from the noise outside I fancy the janissaries are impatiently awaiting their reward, and I beseech you to pay them at once the two million, two hundred thousand aspers. My father and I will then make out a joint receipt for the sum. I shall do my utmost to redeem my share of this, provided you will entrust me with profitable building works in the future.”

Khosref-pasha, crimson in the face, thrust Sinan the Builder violently from him and shrieked, “It is true that I recited the first sura when I adopted him as my son, but he wormed himself into my confidence with false pretenses and I cannot answer with my whole fortune for a madman’s promise. On the contrary I shall have him beheaded immediately.”

He raised his hand to smite his son Sinan, in the very presence of the Sultan, but fortunately he could not accomplish this disgraceful act, for at that moment a blood vessel burst in his brain and he sank powerless to the ground.

This lamentable incident was certainly our salvation, for it gave the Sultan time to recover from his amazement; the smoke-colored face regained its customary composure. Ibrahim had been anxiously watching his expression, but Suleiman lived up to his reputation for nobility and said only, “My small change seems likely to be exhausted before we reach even Buda. But we must give thanks to Allah that Sinan did not promise the janissaries the moon from heaven.”

Grand Vizier Ibrahim laughed quickly, and we all joined in as heartily as we might until even the Sultan smiled. Only Sinan the Builder was grave. The Sultan then ordered the Defterdar to distribute the rewards according to Sinan’s memorandum. He bestowed upon Sinan a splendid purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, while lesser sums were given to his assistants. I contrived to stand in so prominent a position as to receive ten gold pieces for my services as bridge builder, while Andy was given a new plume set in a jeweled clasp to replace his broken one, also a hundred gold pieces.

The highest reward went however to Khosref-pasha, for his discrimination—as the Sultan rightly said—in choosing the best man for the work. And Sinan was content that it should be so. But for a long time afterward, Khosref spoke thickly and gave orders by nods and signs, which Sinan interpreted as best suited him.

Once over the bridge the army divided and marched away by different routes toward the great plains of Mohacs, where Janos Zapolya, the ruler-elect of the Hungarian people, was to bring his forces to swell the Sultan’s army. Sinan and I traveled in our horse litter along the Danube, above whose rapids nearly eight hundred vessels had been assembled to carry guns, ammunition, forage, and provisions up the river; we moved level with these transports.

After many days’ journeying through thicket and swamp we came at last to that melancholy battlefield where three years ago the fate of Hungary had been sealed. But in fact it had been determined long before, when the King of France begged the Sultan’s help against the Emperor. The Most Christian King’s alliance with the Moslem ruler was a more decisive factor than any battle. Poppies were already waving above the burial mounds: a reminder—to me, at least—of the vain sacrifices resulting from Christian disunity.

As Sinan and I were borne over these ghosdy plains we were overwhelmed by a sense of the pettiness of human life and the vanity of statecraft. Beneath our feet lay bones washed bare by torrential rains. Nothing distinguished Hungarian skulls from Turkish. Both gazed with blank eye sockets at a blank universe. The warriors lay among cannon balls and battered shields, their broken swords still in their skeleton hands, their only visible memorial the alien, Oriental flowers that blossomed about them. The seeds of these had fallen from Turkish wagons or mingled with the blood-soaked soil in the droppings of horses and camels, and at the sight of the thorny, broad-leaved plants with their blue flowers I was overcome with melancholy and cried, “Hail, field of Mohacs! Europe’s grave, memorial to Western statesmanship! Your bleached skulls bear witness of a continent that tore itself to tatters, as a maniac rends his own body. Bitterly do they tell of the princes of the West, who wrought one another’s destruction by treachery while night fell over Europe, and the crescent of Islam shone in menace from the East. Mohacs! Dark token of the decline of the West; bright promise also of a future when men shall not be required to give their lives for other men’s blind lust for power, and when East and West shall be ruled by the same just ruler, in the name of the Compassionate! His law will bind rich and poor alike and none shall persecute, strangle, burn, or torture another for his faith. People will live in concord within the pale of wise government and be free to practice their religion without making war. This is what we must achieve, and quickly, or there is no meaning in the world and no reason for living.”

In this highflown manner did I apostrophize the whitened bones of Mohacs. But then an unspeakable anguish seized me as I remembered the glorious cathedrals and smiling cities of Christendom, from whose steeples the hoarse voice of the muezzins might soon be calling the faithful to prayer. My blood, the faith in which I had been bred, and the memory of my forefathers bound me to the nations of the West which by their divisions had dug their own grave. Yet I was severed from the fallen Mohacs by my desire to live, even in changed conditions; I felt no urge to die for a faith that had doomed itself.

At that moment we heard the thunder of many hoofs, and the wind bore to us the clashing music of the janissaries’ drums and cymbals; life itself seemed on the march toward this field of death. Sultan Suleiman was proceeding to the scene of his greatest victory, and though in general his troops marched as silently as shadows, on this day the Sultan allowed the bands to play and the banners to fly before he called a halt for the night. With this martial music ringing in our ears we perceived the futility of our reflections, and hurried to our tent on the banks of the river.

Like magic the mighty camp sprang up on the desolate plain. Each man knew what he had to do, and soon the janissaries were seated in their groups of ten about the cooking pots and crackling fires. The Sultan’s pavilion with its awning stood on the highest knoll whose slopes were covered, as with a living carpet, by the bodyguard. The duty of these men was to sleep on the bare ground about Suleiman’s tent, with their bows beside them. While herdsmen watered the camels and oxen at the river and mowers cut hay for the spahis’ horses, Grand Vizier Ibrahim, attended by a brilliant retinue, rode forward to meet King Zapolya.

Next morning when we had washed ourselves and said the morning prayer, I met Master Gritti, who was evidently suffering from the effects of a carouse. He hastened to embrace me and said, “For the love of God, Master Carvajal, tell me where in this accursed camp a keg of refreshing wine may be had! Later today I have to accompany King Janos to the Sultan, lest he forget the Hungarian bishopric he promised me.”

I was far from pleased to see this licentious and scheming man, but common humanity required me to help him. Just then Andy, who had spent the night inspecting his cannon aboard the newly arrived rafts, came up to us and I asked his advice. After some deliberation he went to borrow a couple of horses for Master Gritti and myself to ride, and walked beside us to the camp of the Christian akindshas half a mile away. Unlike the Moslems they were filthy in their habits, and had befouled a lovely grove of beeches with their garbage and ordure. Janissary patrols, far from inspecting this camp, kept as far away as possible. In return for Master Gritti’s gold the ruffianly akindshas dug up a cask of excellent Tokay that they had buried and eagerly invited him to quench his thirst.

Like the experienced toper he was, Master Gritti drank only enough to bring the blood back to his head and put him in a good humor, for important tasks awaited him. Then we left the camp and he hastened to his tent to change his clothes and prepare to join King Zapolya’s suite. In order to receive the King in a worthy manner, the Sultan paraded his great army on either side of the reception tent, so that when after the noon prayer the lawful King of Hungary approached with his following he seemed like a drop that at any moment might be swallowed up by the ocean. I was not admitted to this ceremony, but afterward Master Gritti gave me a detailed account of what had passed. It seemed that the Sultan was pleased to walk three steps to meet Zapolya and to extend his hand to be kissed, and that he then invited him to take his seat beside him on the throne. I fancied that in thus honoring Zapolya the Sultan but honored himself, but Master Gritti had a better explanation to give.

“The cause goes deeper, for although Janos Zapolya is a man of no consequence and brings only six thousand horsemen, yet he has in his possession a magic talisman of far greater importance than an army, and it was this object that the Sultan by his flattering reception was able to secure. Zapolya is better as a scout than as a soldier and his partisans have by cunning caught and held the keeper of St. Stephen’s crown. I was compelled to confide this secret to my brother Ibrahim, or the Sultan would scarcely have troubled to receive the fellow.”

I answered politely that I failed to grasp his meaning, since a mere crown made no man king. To win a kingdom a powerful army was needed. But Master Gritti said, “Holy Stephen’s crown is unlike any other. The Hungarians are still a barbarous and superstitious people and recognize no one as king of Hungary until he has been crowned with this crown. Therefore it is their greatest treasure and the Voivod Zapolya removed at least half the obstacles in his path when he discovered its secret hiding place. And now this credulous man has sold it to the Sultan, for a matter of four horses and three kaftans, and five hundred trustworthy spahis are on their way to fetch it before King Zapolya repents of his bargain.”

It seemed that Master Gritti was right, for during our continued march to Buda I observed that no one took much notice of King Zapolya. He and his followers brought up the rear of the column, and the janissaries referred to him disrespectfully as Janushka. Three days after leaving Mohacs, we pitched camp in the vineyards about Buda. The walls of the city appeared exceedingly massive and the German garrison kept up so lively a fire that I hastened to visit the warm springs of the region, while Sinan the Builder set his men to sapping and mining in preparation for the siege.

The Sultan and the Grand Vizier, wearing plain kaftans and helmets and attended by a few of the bodyguard, made a tour of inspection to hearten their men before the assault. I had the good fortune to meet them as I was bringing food to Sinan, who was so engrossed in his work that he often forgot to eat. When the Sultan, no doubt to display his excellent memory, addressed me kindly by name, some unexplained impulse made me mention a dream I had had.

“I’ve been told that your wife also has dreams,” the Sultan remarked, “and that she can see coming events in a bowl of sand. Tell me then what you saw in your dream.”

I was taken aback, and stammered, and glanced at the handsome Ibrahim, who seemed not altogether pleased at the Sultan’s words. It was a mystery to me how Suleiman could know anything of Giulia, but now I had begun there was nothing for it but to continue.

“Yesterday I bathed in the marvelous springs of this region, and was afterward so weary that I fell asleep. I dreamed, and saw the fortress of Buda and a vulture flying heavily over it, bearing in his beak a strange crown. The gates of the citadel opened and the defenders prostrated themselves before the vulture. Then the Son of the Compassionate stepped forward and the vulture set the crown upon his head. This I saw, but a wiser man than I must interpret the vision.”

I had indeed had this dream, which was no doubt suggested by Master Gritti’s account of St. Stephen’s crown, though in fact I had seen the crown fall from the vulture’s talons, crushing all Buda beneath its weight. My vision of the opened gates was no doubt born of a lively desire to see the city fall as rapidly as possible into the Sultan’s hands, that I might escape the perils of an assault.

So, as is usual, I improved the dream a little, yet not too transparently, I thought, since neither the Sultan nor the Grand Vizier could know what Master Gritti had blabbed to me of St. Stephen’s crown. Nor did they seem to suspect any deceit; they looked at one another in the greatest astonishment, and the Sultan exclaimed, “Allah’s will be done!” Even Ibrahim’s handsome face brightened. Later I received from the Sultan a new coat and a well-filled purse in reward for my dream.

It is hard to assess the value of dreams as omens, yet this one was fulfilled, in as much as Buda fell after six days’ siege, before even a breach had been shot in the walls. No one was more astonished than myself, for I had been far from expecting so speedy a conclusion.

When the two captains of the garrison saw the mighty forces of the Sultan and the large numbers of cannon that had been brought ashore from the rafts, they opened negotiations and consented to leave the city provided they might retain their arms and personal possessions. The Sultan gladly agreed to these moderate terms, for summer was far advanced and the main object of the expedition still lay a great way off.

To the beat of drums and clash of cymbals the janissaries paraded smartly on either side of the city gates to allow the German garrison to march out, and to show with words and gestures what they thought of them. At first the Germans walked humbly, exhorting one another to remember the suffering and scorn to which our Lord Jesus Christ had submitted; but when the janissaries vied with one another in treading the Cross underfoot and in subjecting the vanquished to every sort of mockery they could contain themselves no longer. Their faces darkened as they cursed their officers and reminded one another that they were German lands\nechts, before whom the whole world trembled. Some paused to reply to those janissaries who spoke in German; the adversaries stood screeching nose to nose with outstretched necks, like fighting cocks. This gave me an opportunity to see and even handle the new light muskets, fitted with wheel locks, which many o£ the Germans treasured as their most precious possession. The janissaries who had come of! worst in the battle of words could no longer master their thievish desires, and now tried to wrench these weapons by force from the Germans’ hands. Struggles ensued; the conflict spread with ever increasing savagery, and it was not long before most of the Germans were slain and their weapons and stores were in Turkish hands.

I believe no more than five or six of the garrison escaped the massacre and hid in the willow thickets. All the ground between the city gates and the riverbank was strewn with heads, arms, legs, and other portions of dead lands\nechts. The janissaries returned to their camp well pleased, to try their new weapons, or fight one another for them. The episode did great harm to the Sultan’s reputation in the world. Both the Emperor Charles and his brother of Vienna made haste to proclaim the Sultan’s treachery, though the noble Suleiman was so deeply stricken by the conduct of his janissaries that he retired into his tent and would not show himself for three days.

Shortly after this I was summoned to Ibrahim’s tent by Master Gritti, who escorted me thither. The Grand Vizier was sitting cross legged on a cushion studying a map. He invited us cordially to sit down beside him, then with a smile of mockery in his dark, sparkling eyes he said, “I am obliged to you for your dream, Michael el-Hakim, but I forbid you to have any more—or at least to tell the Sultan about them without my permission.”

Somewhat hurt I replied, “I can’t help my dreams, and my intentions were of the best. Moreover my dream came true, for Buda fell without a blow struck.”

Ibrahim gave me a searching glance and said, “In this instance your dream did indeed come true, and that is why I’ve sent for you. How could you guess what would happen? What was your object? Who put the words into your mouth? Was it to make the Sultan suspect me, his slave, of coveting the crown of Hungary?”

I froze at these words, but he went on relentlessly, “How can I trust you? Do you think I don’t know how you’ve curried favor at the Seraglio and entered the service of Sultana Khurrem? As a sign of your loyalty you even gave your dog to her son, though she is a false woman and hopes to injure me. Confess that it was she who paid you to follow me on the campaign and dream these noxious dreams!”

I was too stunned to take in a word of what he was saying. Master Gritti looked at me through narrowed eyes and shook his head. Suddenly the Grand Vizier took out a great silken purse from under his cushion and flung it into my lap. A second and a third followed until my knees sagged beneath their weight. Then he cried, almost in fear, “Weigh that gold in your hands and think carefully—which of us is the richer, I or the Sultan, and which of us can reward you most liberally? I must admit that hitherto you’ve had no great profit from me. But that gold is yours if you will only confess that Khurrem the Russian has won you over and set you against me, for it’s hard to lay hold of an adversary in the dark and I must know what her intentions are.”

Nothwithstanding my agitation I could estimate that each of the three money bags contained at least five hundred gold pieces—a vast fortune for a man in my position. With this money I could buy a beautiful house and garden on the Bosphorus as well as slaves and boats and all that my heart could desire. I saw before me the plump face of Sultana Khurrem, the cold blue eyes, the irregular features, the perpetually smiling mouth and dimpled cheeks. I owed her nothing and was in no way bound to her, yet I hesitated to reply—not for her sake but because I found it difficult to lie to the Grand Vizier. Ibrahim watched my face closely and said, “Fear nothing, but speak openly. You need never regret it, for I alone require certainty on this point. This is my secret and the Sultan shall never learn of it.”

At last I said, “You have led me into cruel temptation, but I cannot lie to you—not even for all this gold.”

Tears of indignation rose to my eyes as I thrust the bags aside, and I told him how I had entered the harem and how I came to give my dog to Prince Jehangir. I ended bitterly, “I’m a fool to tell you this when a lie would make me a rich man. But I’ve never been able to work solely for my own advantage—a fault that my wife continually complains of.”

The senseless loss of the money caused me to burst into tears and curse my own weakness. Master Gritti and Seraskier Ibrahim looked at each other in wonder. Then Ibrahim stroked my shoulder soothingly and asked, “How then can the Kislar-Aga have made your wife known to the Sultana, so that she now pays almost daily visits to the harem to gaze into sand and to sell all kinds of lotions and ointments for the complexion?”

I struck my hands together in astonishment and replied, “Of this I had not the least idea, though it’s true that I spoke a word to the Kislar-Aga on my wife’s behalf and extolled her talent.”

Giulia’s great good fortune encouraged me to prattle on about her until the last shadow of the Seraskier’s suspicions melted away and he said with a smile, “I believe you. I cannot doubt your sincerity, though I’ve not yet made up my mind as to whether you’re a simpleton or a man of excessive cunning.”

To my sorrow he took back the money bags and hid them again under the cushions. But then he clapped his hands and dismissed the mute who had been standing hidden behind a curtain with a skein of colored silken cords over his shoulder. The sight of this man sent cold shivers down my spine and the Grand Vizier said, “If you had confessed to plotting against me you would have been given the gold, but little time to enjoy it, for I could not have allowed you to live. But your honesty deserves recognition, so ask of me what you will, within reason.”

Quaking with both fear and gratitude I threw myself to the ground before him and cried, “I will ever be your faithful servant, as hitherto—but tell me what you mean by ‘reason,’ for I would not insult your munificence by requesting too petty a token of your favor.”

At this the Grand Vizier laughed aloud, but gave me no help. I was indeed in a dilemma, for though I was loath to ask too little I feared to anger him by too bold a request. I rubbed my moist palms together in an agony of indecision, until at last I summoned up my courage and said, “I am a man of small pretensions, but my wife has long desired a dwelling that we might regard as our own home. A little house, however modest, with its own garden somewhere on the shores of the Bosphorus, not too far from the Seraglio, would be the most wonderful gift you could make me. I would bless you all my life long. You own large properties on the outskirts of the city—countless gardens, palaces, and summer villas—and would never notice the lack of one little corner on the shore.”

No request could have been more acceptable to the Grand Vizier. A smile overspread his handsome face as he stretched fqrth his hand to be kissed and said, “Your request is the best proof of your sincerity, for if you had meditated treachery you would certainly not have asked for a house near the capital, but rather such reward as could be carried abroad. And there is no lovelier city than Istanbul. Allah himself designed it to be the capital of the world, and if he wills it I mean to beautify it further with fine buildings and mosques. I will make over to you a spacious plot of ground next to my own summer palace on the Bosphorus, and Sinan shall build for you and your family a roomy wooden house to harmonize with the landscape and gladden the heart and the eyes. He may draw the necessary funds from my treasury and employ azamoghlans to help in the building. In confirmation of which I now repeat the first sura.”

Master Gritti shook his head at my stupidity, but my own joy knew no bounds and I saw that fate after all had been kind in sending me to this war.

But we wasted many valuable days at Buda, and when at last the army moved off the heavens opened once more, so that even the toughest of the janissaries began to fear that Hungary was infested with raging jinn, while the shivering dervishes foretold another deluge. Yet the Sultan’s army was too big for anyone to doubt its ultimate success. Not even the Hungarians doubted it, for when on our way up the Danube valley we came to the strong fortress of Gran, Bishop Varday surrendered at once and so far sacrificed himself as to join the Sultan’s suite, in order to save what could be saved of the property of the Hungarian church.

We pursued our way under great difficulties, and it was pitiful to see the camels in that icy rain, slipping and stumbling along the swampy roads and tearing the pads of their feet, until they lay down to die. By the time we reached Vienna we had hardly twenty thousand camels left, though we had started with over ninety thousand, and it will be understood how hard it became to carry supplies for so vast an army.

September was drawing to an end when at last our forces took up their positions before Vienna, and in his gorgeous pavilion the Sultan sat shivering before a charcoal brazier. The gold-embroidered lining of the tent gave little protection against the cold and was not even rainproof.

But from the hills of Semmering, the rich and populous city, with its cathedral spire soaring into the sky, seemed almost within reach. The walls looked as slender as threads while the hastily thrown up breastworks and palisades held no menace. Truly, I cannot think how we failed to capture Vienna with its slender fortifications and relatively small garrison, though this indeed was stiffened with a few veterans whom King Ferdinand had been able to install there before prudently taking flight into Bohemia.

But in all fairness I must mention that the defenders lived up to their reputation and did all they could to increase the homesickness of the besieger. They were supported by a firm and well-justified belief that time and the forces of nature were on their side, and I fancy also that they regarded themselves as the guardians of the last Christian stronghold. If this fell, nothing could hold back the tide of a victorious Islam from flooding in over Germany and all Europe. I felt this strongly as I looked out over Vienna from the Semmering heights, and renegade though I was I could not be sure for which side I desired victory. And when I saw the incredible valor of the besieged I felt very painfully my apostasy, though the understanding reader will appreciate my sincerity and singleness of heart in matters of faith.

I had little time for profitless brooding, for Sinan the Builder soon set me to work in earnest. As his interpreter I had to interrogate every prisoner we had taken at the capitulation of Buda; he even sent me to the prison camp to question fugitives whom the akindshas had captured, and learn from them details of streets, houses, walls, towers, and new fortifications in Vienna. He gave me no rest. Panting, I dashed from one informant to another and noted on my map which houses were stone built and which were of timber, which had lost their roofs and which had been torn down to make room for artillery, where trenches had been dug, which streets were closed to horse traffic and who had command of the various gates, towers, and bastions. I became really exasperated at last and cried, “Allah preserve me, what trouble you give yourself! Make a breach in the walls, no matter where, and the janissaries will do the rest—if only for the sake of warming themselves at last in front of a good fire.”

But Sinan the Builder replied, “No, no. First I must note the slope of the ground and discover any subterranean springs, establish the water table, and note the depth of soil, lest my saps become flooded or brought up short by a wall of rock. I must know all there is to know about Vienna.”

I was already so familiar with the plan of the city that I could almost have found my way about it blindfold. Thousands of its inhabitants who were unfit to bear arms had been driven forth most mercilessly, and fell an easy prey to the savage akindshas. Their numbers so increased that there was scarcely room for them in the slave pens; nor was it possible to maintain an effective guard. Thus it was that many of them succeeded in escaping and carrying back useful information to the defenders.

If these defenders had been mindful of their small numbers and had followed the rules of war by waiting quietly behind their walls for our attack, life in our camp might have been bearable, despite the weather and the shortage of provisions. But these reckless Germans and Bohemians hindered us in every possible way. When after much reflection and calculation Sinan began at last to dig toward the Carin- thian Gate, the German gunners in the city descended into the underground galleries beneath the walls. There they sat with ears pricked and eyes fixed upon the surface of water in a bucket and upon a handful of peas scattered on a drum. When the peas began to dance and the water to quiver with the vibration of our works, these godless men at once embarked on countermeasures. So, when at last we had tunneled right under the wall and there stacked our powder until such time as we could explode all the mines at once, these impudent and thievish Germans dug through to our saps from inside, stole all our powder, and carried it back into the city, having first blown up and destroyed all that we had achieved in the course of weeks of hard and dangerous labor.

One evening the Seraskier, impatient at the slowness of the sappers, brought his light fieldpieces into position before the Carinthian Gate and bombarded its towers throughout a night of torrential rain. There could have been no better demonstration of the incomparable skill of the Turkish artillery, for they kept up an unbroken fire, loading and discharging their pieces almost as rapidly as in dry weather and by daylight. The constant thunder of these guns greatly stiffened my courage, but Andy thought it useless to expose the gunners to the drenching rain and so worsen their chills. The coughing of a hundred thousand Moslems was more alarming than a cannonade, he said, and alone would shatter the walls of Vienna.

I felt no desire to leave my comparatively dry quarters, for which Sinan the Builder had procured a brazier. I spent a cheerful evening with him there over a flask or two of wine, and as a result we fell into a deep sleep. Suddenly we were roused by a terrific explosion.

Certain picked troops of the garrison—Germans, Spaniards, and Hungarians—had made a surprise sortie through the Salt Gate and hurled themselves upon our unsuspecting men. They set fire to all the brushwood we had so painfully collected, to Sinan’s store sheds, the slave pens, and all the tents they could reach. It would have gone ill with the whole camp had not everything been too wet to burn properly.

The worst panic was caused by the grenades that the assailants flung into the tents and whose smoking, hissing fuses glowed in the darkness like the tails of comets. Their shells of earthenware or glass were filled with stones, nails, and other rubbish which at the moment of explosion flew in all directions, inflicting many wounds.

Sinan and I were in a daze of sleep when the storm broke and would certainly have come to a melancholy end if we had not managed to creep into an attack trench and so along to a tunnel whose mouth was concealed by a bush. The roar of the battle overhead was so terrifying that I lay there quaking, but Sinan the Builder wrapped his cloak about his head and fell at once into profound slumber.

When at dawn the janissaries began marching down the hillsides in close order for the counterattack, the enemy, as might have been expected, were panic stricken and at least five hundred of them were cut down. The janissaries, furious at losing their night’s sleep, pursued so closely on the heels of the rest that they would have followed the fugitives into the city had not the Germans hurriedly closed the gates, thereby leaving a number of their officers outside.

Heads by the hundred were borne on poles to the Sultan’s tent, while the janissaries played their music and the agas boasted of their great victory. But the destruction in the camp was many times greater than the German losses, and the agas allowed no one to count the Turkish dead, whose bodies were hastily thrown into the Danube. Preparations for our assault were delayed and the powder—stacked in readiness beneath the walls—became damp. Time was on the side of the defenders. The everlasting coughing of the Turks resounded through the camp night and day, disturbing the Sultan’s sleep and exasperating him, for he read it as a sign of rebellion. Who knows but that he had some grounds for his suspicion?

We were now nearing the middle of October, and supplies were running very short when at last we succeeded in exploding two mines and bringing down part of the wall near the Carinthian Gate. Almost before the flying debris had reached the ground the agas with swords and whips drove their men to the assault. For three days these attacks were repeated, but the men no longer believed in victory; the fighting spirit was out of them and many confessed that they would rather be killed by the scimitars of their own leaders than by the frightful two- handed swords of the Germans which at one stroke could cleave a man in half.

Even Sinan the Builder was threatened by the Seraskier’s displeasure, for too many mines had exploded ineffectually. However, further frantic efforts resulted in the widening of the breach, and the final decisive assault began. Company after company was flogged and goaded into the thick of the struggle until the ground before the Car- inthian Gate was strewn with fallen Turks. Fog lay over the ground and through it the tips of the Turkish tents stood up like the white columns of tombs. All noise was curiously muffled in this spectral sea, and it was as if legions of spirits were in conflict before the walls. No wonder that the janissaries had no heart for the enterprise. When at dusk their last attack failed, they streamed back in full retreat and began to strike their tents, that they might depart without delay from the neighborhood of this uncanny city.

When the Germans became aware of this they rang all the church bells and fired salvos in celebration of their joyful and unlooked-for victory. But when darkness fell, bonfires of a different sort blazed up in our camp. The infuriated janissaries were burning all that came to hand—enclosures, store sheds, grain sacks, and a great part of the plunder that the roving akindshas had brought in from sixty miles around and which, because of the lack of pack animals, could not be carried away. They slew the prisoners, impaled them or threw them into the flames, and although scores escaped in the confusion and were hauled up into the city by ropes, yet hundreds of Christians were burned alive in revenge, that their shrieks might reach the city and subdue the unseemly jubilation of the defenders.

Thus ended our triumphal march into the German states. The hideous menace that had brooded over Christendom melted away, and instead I was fated to witness Sultan Suleiman’s first and sharpest defeat. It was not the will of God, it seemed, that Christendom should fall.

Hitherto, experience had seemed to show that God concerned Himself but little with warlike operations, but recent events made me alter my opinion. On leaving Rome I had thought of Christendom as a plague-ridden and already doomed carcass, but now I understood that some good must have remained in it since God in His patience granted it a short period of grace, as He would have been willing to do for Sodom and Gomorrah had ten righteous men been found in them.

I shared these solemn thoughts with Andy as we wandered quietly among the heaped-up bodies of the dead, emptying purses and collecting the jeweled daggers of officers. The superstitious Moslems dared not seek out the bodies of even their own dead after dark, but Andy and I had no such scruples, and even though our business might appear to some people a little unbecoming, it would have been worse to behave like Turks and burn Christian prisoners alive. We also tended the wounded as well as we could, and ended our work of mercy by helping a moaning subashi into camp.

Having thus come safely past the guards we returned to Sinan the Builder’s quarters—and only just in time, for he was already preparing to leave, and one of the Sultan’s bodyguard had come thither to bring Andy and me before the Seraskier. So startled was I at this unexpected summons that the burden I bore beneath my kaftan fell to the ground with a crash. With or without reason my conscience pricked me; I feared that the Grand Vizier might have heard of our little excursion to the battlefield and would have us hanged for looting the dead.

A moment’s reflection showed me that this was not possible, however, and having stowed away my booty in a chest I entrusted this to Sinan, who alone had porters at his disposal. Yet I might have saved myself the trouble, for before we reached even Buda on our homeward way all our baggage was lost in a bog. We had no time to remove our bloodstained garments, for the hour was late and the Grand Vizier was pacing impatiently up and down his tent. Seeing us he halted in surprise and cried bitterly, “By Allah, are there still men who do not fear to bloody their clothes in their sovereign’s service? Are renegades to restore my faith in Islam?”

It was clear that he put a wrong construction on our appearance, yet I would not venture to correct so exalted a lord. With almost unseemly haste he dismissed his servants from the tent, made us sit beside him and began speaking in a whisper. As he spoke he glanced about him continually, as if afraid of eavesdroppers.

“Michael el-Hakim and Antar! Sultan Suleiman has come to the conclusion that Allah will not yet permit us to capture Vienna. Tomorrow therefore he will strike camp and start for Buda with the main army, leaving me with the five thousand spahis to follow as rear guard.”

“Allah is Allah and so forth,” I said, with unfeigned relief. “May his angels Gabriel and Michael protect our flight. The decision is indeed wise and I cannot sufficiently praise the Sultan’s prudence.”

But the Grand Vizier ground his teeth and said, “How dare you talk of flight! Not even in error must you pronounce so loathsome a word, and any man who dares distort the truth about our great victory over the unbeliever shall receive a hundred strokes of the rod on the soles of his feet. But the game is not yet over, Michael el-Hakim; if Allah permits I will yet lay Vienna at the feet of the Sultan.”

“And how in God’s name is this to be done?”

“I shall send you and your brother Antar into the city!” His brilliant gaze transfixed me as he went on threateningly, “If life is dear to you you’ll not return with your mission unfulfilled. I am giving you a unique opportunity to serve the cause of Islam.”

Believing that adversity had bereft him of his wits I answered soothingly, “Noble Seraskier, I know what faith you have in my talents and Antar’s valor, but how are we two to capture a city that two hundred thousand men and a hundred thousand camels have failed to take?”

Andy too looked doubtful, and said, “It’s true that I’ve been compared to Samson—though far be it from me to vie with any holy man of Scripture—and Samson, they say, brought down the walls of Jericho by blowing a horn. But I have no such horn and humbly beg you to find some worthier man for the task.”

But Grand Vizier Ibrahim said, “You shall not be alone in Vienna, for I’ve chosen and bribed a dozen men from among the German prisoners, and I shall send them two at a time into the city on the same errand as yourselves. You too must dress like German lands- hnechts and mingle with the others. On the third night from now you must set fire to the city as a signal to me that you’ve succeeded in your task, and then open the Carinthian Gate so that in the confusion of the fire my spahis may ride in. If I should see no fire I must submit to the will of Allah and ride after the Sultan, hoping one day to meet you and your bold brother Antar in Paradise.”

He paused for breath, but presently continued, “I’ve litde confidence in the Germans I have bribed, but you I trust and I shall ask a certain loyal Jew named Aaron to help you. You will find him in a quarter called by Christians the City of Affliction, where the Jewish inhabitants of Vienna are penned up behind boards and barricades. Embittered by Christian persecution Aaron pins his faith on the Sultan whom he regards as his deliverer. Therefore he will certainly help you if you show him this ring.”

The Seraskier raised his shapely hand and spread out his fingers to choose one of the splendid rings upon them. From his little finger he drew a diamond no larger than the tip of a child’s finger, but so pure and brilliant as to emit blue fires as he turned and twisted it in the light.

“Aaron knows this stone. He can give you no active help for fear of injuring his fellows, for Christians commonly visit the fault of a single Jew on all others in the city and sometimes on those of other cities as well. But he will advise you and if need be hide you. Tell him I will gladly redeem the ring for two thousand ducats. You shall wear German clothes and be escorted with blows to the prisoners’ enclosure. Go in peace, then, and be assured of my favor if you succeed and I find you alive among the charred ruins of Vienna.”

But now both Andy and I spoke with firmness, and I told Ibrahim that if he were so anxious to be rid of a faithful servant he would do better to strike off my head at once. Ibrahim saw he would gain nothing by that, and after vain attempts at persuasion he said, “Very well, let it be as you wish. But why do you think I spared you circumcision if not to send you on just such an errand as this? Since you refuse, I can no longer delay the fulfillment of my religious obligations and must have the matter attended to at once.”

So saying he clapped his hands for the guard and sent him to fetch a surgeon. He then expressed satisfaction that Sinan the Builder had drawn his attention to a circumstance which his many duties and cares had caused him to forget. Andy and I had barely time to exchange a despairing glance before the surgeon appeared with a tube and a knife, which he began to sharpen, assuring us meanwhile that all would be over in a moment and that we should find it no more painful than the extraction of a tooth. Yet I felt the most intense repugnance to the operation and to the loss of my last link with Christendom, where I might yet seek refuge were disaster to overtake me in the Sultan’s domains. Andy also fidgeted and at last said, “I think I prefer to serve Islam by going into Vienna, so long as there may be no further talk of mutilation if I survive. Good Moslem though I am, I cannot believe that on the Last Day Allah will have nothing better to look at than—”

I said quickly that as ever I would share my foster brother’s fate for good or ill, and as for circumcision, I would defer it until I felt it a matter of conscience, and then submit to it of my own free will.

The Grand Vizier dismissed the disappointed surgeon and said smiling that he relied upon us and was persuaded that we should do our best like honest men. He then handed each of us one hundred German and Hungarian gold ducats, in the worn leather purses common among mercenaries. In his presence we changed into clothes taken from fallen Germans, and as soon as Andy had drawn on the familiar striped breeches the old German oaths rose unbidden to his lips and he was aware once more of the unassuageable thirst of the mercenary. The wine that the Grand Vizier then offered us sustained us under the blows and buffets with which we were driven into the pen of captives, though our escort seemed to me overconscientious in obeying Ibrahim’s order to treat us like the rest and thus allay suspicion.

So it was that I had a black eye and a swollen lip when in the raw morning mist we broke out and stumbled over the familiar battlefield to the Carinthian Gate, and there cried piteously in the name of God to be admitted. Many of our fellow prisoners had been almost too weak to stand, far less escape, but at least a dozen women pressed through the gap that Andy had made in the fence and followed us, screaming. Hearing the noise of these poor women, who seemed to imagine that the louder they shrieked the faster they could run, the sentinels on the walls made ready for us and lowered ropes and ladders, at the same time discharging a swarm of arrows at our pursuers, whom the mist concealed.

Trembling and dizzy we crawled up the walls, and friendly hands helped us over the top. We were thumped on the back and offered bread and wine, and as we ate we helped to haul up the women who with screams and flapping petticoats emerged like distracted hens from the sea of mist.

These women were fairly young and handsome, for the akindshas on their raids chose always the best for the slave market and slew the rest. Both Germans and Bohemians yelled with delight at the sight of them and welcomed them as a gift from heaven. Having helped them from the wall they at once threw them down on the bare ground, all breathless as they were from their flight, and raped them so quickly that they hardly understood what was happening.

This lively scene was interrupted by a red-haired ensign who came dashing from the guardhouse to beat his men on their hinder parts with the flat of his sword and revile them shrilly for being worse whoremongers than the Turks. He then ordered them back to their posts lest the enemy should gain possession of the gate by a surprise attack.

The seasoned veterans, with their bloodstained bandages, singed beards, and blackened cheeks, laughed in the stripling’s face and invited him to kiss this and that. But they let the women go and hauling up their breeches returned to the watch tower. The ensign now addressed us in harsh tones and threatened to hang us with his own hands if we proved to be Turkish spies. He pointed to a number of German-clad bodies dangling from gallows at the top of the wall, and declared we should suffer the same fate unless we at once made full confession.

But Andy knew how to handle such young cockerels as this. He stepped up to him, belched wine fumes in his face and said he would teach him how to treat the Emperor’s loyal servants, who escaped in peril of their lives and rescued a flock of Christian women from the fate awaiting them in Turkish harems. So convincing was his eloquence that the young man blenched, addressed him as sir, and assured us that for his own part he had no suspicions, but that his duty required him to be strict. He begged us therefore to comply with regulations by making water before him and giving our names, and the names of our regiment and commanding officer. When he had entered these particulars in his guard book we could obtain passes from the town hall.

We could not refuse so moderate a request, and when we had given him the visible proof he asked for that we were not Moslems, Andy explained that we belonged to the advance guard of the lands\nechts who had been sent to Vienna’s relief from Italy and that our leader was the Emperor’s famous general Bock von Teufelsburg. It seemed best not to mention any well-known man for fear of detection, but I hastened to emphasize that the name spoke for itself, having won honor and glory in seventeen years’ campaigning, and it was not our leader’s fault if our troop had been surprised by the akindshas and dragged away for questioning. We two, I said, were the only survivors.

The ensign listened open mouthed and protested eagerly that the name of Bock von Teufelsburg was familiar to him. He repeated his instructions to report at once to the town hall for further interrogation. Then he seemed to hesitate; he bit his lip in some embarrassment and said, “The prosecutor and provost marshal are somewhat severe, as is natural, in view of Turkish cunning. They would rather hang ten innocent men than allow one suspect to escape. Nor are deserters kindly received, and as a good Christian I warn you that you’ll be imprisoned in any case until you can find someone to vouch for you. Failing this you will be hanged.”

Then in a burst of candor he went on, “You and your comrade would be wise to shun the town hall and the provost marshal’s men like the plague until the Turks have withdrawn. You’ll have no difficulty, for there are many other deserters hiding in taverns and in the lodgings of softhearted women. Go in peace and fortune go with you. Drink a cup now and then to my health and success.”

With that the good-natured boy threw us a silver schilling and left us. Andy and I slipped away into the October mist.

I was for seeking out Aaron at once, but Andy, holding my arm negligently between finger and thumb, trudged along the filthy streets under the blank gaze of charred, roofless houses, and as he went he sniffed the air. Just as a compass needle quivers to the north, so Andy amid the desolation of this city made unerringly for a tavern, whither a mob of drunken, quarrelsome, boastful, dicing Germans, Spaniards, and Bohemians had preceded us. When we had setded ourselves on two empty barrels with a stoup of wine before us Andy said contentedly, “I feel a better Christian every moment, and can hardly believe that only yesterday I wore a turban and washed my head and neck five times a day.”

“I’ve nothing against a morning draught,” I said with some reserve, “but the task we’ve been set weighs on my mind. No doubt we should be wise to buy up straw, wood, and pitch in good time, so as to make a fine blaze of this sour and squalid city.”

But Andy with a rattle of his purse called for more wine and said, “The hairs of our head are numbered and not a sparrow falls to the ground unless shot, so it’s needless to take thought for the morrow today.”

He was soon chatting with a couple of scoundrels who peered greedily into his purse, embraced him, and swore he was their best friend. Andy flung down three Hungarian gulden and ordered the innkeeper to serve drink to both these brave defenders of Vienna. But a pock-marked, villainous fellow with a bloodstained Turkish kaftan thrown over his shoulders resented Andy’s openhandedness and in his turn poured a heap of gold onto the slimy, bespewed table, coughed hoarsely, and cried, “In the name of Christ, the Virgin, and all the saints! I will pay, for I’ve escaped from Turkish imprisonment, killed one of their pashas, and performed such feats as no one would believe were I to relate them. Let these Turkish coins speak for me; I take it as unfriendly that anyone should seek to forestall me.”

Andy quietly swept his coins back into his purse, declaring that he had no wish to insult so great a hero.

In time all were thoroughly fuddled, and the ruffian with the gold ordered the tavern keeper to bar the door. He then delivered the following speech.

“Are we not all brave men? Have we not all done deeds that for a thousand years will be praised by Christians everywhere? But who thanks us ? We’ve had neither pay nor the smallest chance of plunder—yet is not the town ours, since we preserved it from destruction? It is but fair that the inhabitants should pay us what we’re owed, and as soon as the cavalry have set off in pursuit of the Turks we shall have our chance.”

The topers roared that this was the most sensible talk they had heard since the siege began. But, said they, we’re few and the provost marshal is a ruthless man. Rope and stake await everyone who seeks justice.

The pock-marked man lowered his voice and his eyes glowed as he said, “Let us bring the good news to all trustworthy comrades, and tomorrow evening after vespers set fire to the city! The marshal’s men will be too busy quenching the flames to hinder us in our good work.”

The soberest of the company fell silent and began looking about them for a way of escape. But others reflected, and admitted that the plan was a good one. The speaker went on, “We’re not alone in this. We’re many! I have comrades who will speak of this elsewhere, and certain bold warriors are at work even now recruiting for the cause.” He drew forth another purse and emptied it upon the table. “I’ll pay five gulden at once to anyone who will promise to set fire to some house he knows of.”

At this point the tavern keeper abandoned the wine cask to its fate and slunk out, followed by one or two of the less inebriated. But Andy, to my great dismay, turned crimson in the face and roared, “This man is a spy and a traitor and offers Turkish gold to brave men! Strike him on the mouth and hand him over to the provost marshal!”

In vain I tugged at Andy’s sleeve and sought to silence him. When the pock-marked man dashed at him with drawn sword, Andy overturned the table, hurled an empty barrel at his head, snatched his weapon, and began roaring for the marshal. In the ensuing confusion the drunken soldiers rapidly grabbed at the spilled coins that were rolling all over the floor, and then with savage imprecations hurled themselves upon the agitator to seize and bind him. Outside could be heard the drum of the marshal’s men and soon we were following the unhappy traitor, with oaths and clenched fists, to testify against him at the town hall.

It was not only in our tavern that such incidents took place, and the provost marshal’s men, reinforced by a few armed troopers, marched through all the streets of Vienna, raiding every alehouse and arresting all who scattered money in too ostentatious a manner. When we reached the town hall we found a crowd there already, bawling death and destruction to all traitors. We yelled as loudly as the rest. Andy said, “It was a pity to break up the party so soon, but the fellow was too talkative and would have been caught anyway. There are enough witnesses without us, but let us stay here in the background, for no one would dream of seeking us in this place.”

I said bitterly, “You should have let him talk on, for then we might have waited with folded arms till all was ready. Now there’s no time to be lost and we must quickly buy our fuel, or incur the Grand Vizier’s displeasure.”

Andy stared at me goggle eyed and said, “Are you out of your wits, Michael? This man has disclosed the whole plot and we’ve no chance of taking the authorities by surprise. All that’s left to do is to save our own skins. The Grand Vizier should have remembered that too many cooks spoil the broth.”

Meanwhile the questioning went on, and to the people’s great delight two deserters found skulking in a tavern were hanged at once. Five suspects who had been too free with their money were put to the torture. Their howling penetrated the massive stone walls and could be heard out in the market place. It was not long before proclamation was made from the doors of the town hall that these five had confessed to having been bribed by the Aga of Janissaries to return and fire the city, and in the confusion open the gates to the Turks.

To pacify the people the five men were dragged into the market place—for they could no longer walk—to be broken on the wheel and then quartered; their dismembered bodies were then impaled on stakes in the sight of all. When these stakes were set up I felt very cold and spewed up my wine, and in a faint voice I pleaded with Andy to take me away.

But the crowd was now in an ugly mood. Men looked askance at one another and soldiers began shouting that the Jews must be in league with the Sultan since they had crucified our Lord. They set upon a terrified Jew who had strayed by chance into the market place, stoning him and hurling him to the ground to kick his yellow face,. before streaming away toward the ghetto.

Heedless of my pitiable state Andy gripped my arm and soon we found ourselves before the barred gate of the City of Affliction, which from what we could see well deserved its name. Sunlight could never penetrate the stinking alleyways, all doors and windows were shut, and not a living soul was to be seen. As soon as the soldiers began breaking into the houses the rabbis and elders who had fled to the cellars sent a swift messenger by secret ways to the Christian duke, to offer him the customary protection money.

When the officers had allowed their men to wreck the houses, throw out and smash the furniture, and violate two luckless Jewesses, they sent mounted men to put an end to the tumult and drive the excited mob back into the city. The horsemen took their time over this and addressed the pillagers in a friendly tone, explaining that while they would not seem to defend the butchers of Christ, yet it was wise to let them survive because they were useful, and a Christian could always squeeze a few coins from them at need. Meanwhile Andy and I hid ourselves under some straw in a stable, and having emptied the last drops from a little Hungarian keg he had brought with him from camp, we sank into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

It was night when we woke, but the Jews were still singing songs of lamentation and strewing ashes in their hair as they examined their ravaged dwellings. So mournful and eerie was the sound in the darkness of night that cold shudders ran down my spine, but Andy said, “That’s an old song. I’ve heard it in every Christian city where Imperial troops have been quartered. Let us seek out Aaron, for hunger rumbles in my belly.”

I went with him to the house whence came the terrible lamentation, but the singing died away when we appeared among the crouching figures and asked for Aaron. I believe they were accustomed to the sudden arrival of strangers in their midst at night, for they were not at all alarmed. Having assured themselves that we were to be trusted they opened a secret trap door and took us down into a cellar, from which through evil-smelling underground passages we came to Aaron’s house.

Aaron was an emaciated man with an expression of suffering. He seemed unsurprised at the sight of Ibrahim’s ring, but kissed it reverently. Bowing deeply before us, he said, “We hoped for a miracle from Jehovah and believed that the new Solomon would ride into the city on a white horse; we would have welcomed him with green boughs, as a conqueror. But Jehovah would not have it so.”

He rubbed the diamond against the sleeve of his black kaftan and admired its brilliance in the light of a smoking oil lamp. Then he sighed, “Keep the ring, if you think it safer with you than with me. I should only send it back to the Grand Vizier, for I can do nothing in this matter.”

We spent the night in Aaron’s house and the following day also, for we did not know what else to do. But with the approach of night—the night which the Grand Vizier had appointed for the fire—Andy said, “I should like to do at least something to deserve the ring that Aaron refuses to take, and am weary of being cooped up in this miserable house. Let us go back into the city, brother Michael, and inspect the King’s powder magazine and grain store. Perhaps we could manage at least a small fire, though the Grand Vizier can have little use for it now.”

To avoid the soldiers posted at the gates of the ghetto, we crept out of the place through the sewers, according to Aaron’s directions. I should mention that this honest Jew refused to take a penny for his help and protection, and merely begged us to speak a good word for him to the Grand Vizier. We found that the powder magazine and the duke’s stables were guarded by numerous sentries; we had no chance, therefore, of starting even the most innocent little fire and so fulfilling in part our promise to the Seraskier.

In the market place a great crowd of women had assembled about the cooking pots from which compassionate monks were distributing food to the fugitives, who would otherwise have perished from hunger. But on the doorstep of a deserted house I saw a young girl; she had thrown her petticoat over her head and was rocking silently to and fro. Her mute distress so moved me that I spoke to her and offered alms; but she looked up and retorted sharply that she was no trollop to be bought with money. I was startled to see how beautiful she was and to learn that she was one of those who thanks to Andy had escaped from the Turkish camp. She recognized us too, and with a cry of surprise asked how we had come off with our lives, when all other escaped prisoners had been hanged for deserters.

I begged her to be silent for the love of God, and not attract the attention of the guards, for our lives were now in her hands. She was very lovely, though her hair was soaked with rain and her clothes tattered and muddy. We learned that she and her parents had fled from Hungary—where her father owned an estate near the Transil- vanian border—to join King Ferdinand, but during their flight to Vienna the akindshas slew all the household save herself, whom they led away into slavery.

When she told her name and sought protection with the military authorities in Vienna, she was received with scorn and her dead father reviled as a rebellious Hungarian. Every Hungarian herd maid, they told her, who escaped from the Turks became a nobleman’s daughter as soon as she entered Vienna. However, for her beauty’s sake one of the court gentlemen promised to take pity on her and sleep with her regularly, provided she would enroll herself among the prostitutes and earn her bread honestly like other fugitives. Twice, because of her hunger, she had spoken to soldiers in the street and begged them for the love of God to give her food and shelter. But these men, having eagerly promised their help, merely led her into some side alley to debauch her, and then left her lying in the mire. She said, “I would give anything to return to my home and seek the protection of the Turks and King Zapolya. Perhaps he would let me keep my father’s estate since I am the only survivor, and then marry me to one of his followers. Not even Turks could treat me as badly as Christians do.”

Just then heavy raindrops began falling. Andy looked up at the murky clouds and said, “We’re in for a sharp storm, so let’s seek shelter. There we can discuss the matter further, my fair young lady, for your youth and your distress have cut me to the heart.”

But the poor girl crossed herself and vowed that never again would she go with strange men into alleyways, but would rather perish of cold and hunger where she sat. But we reassured her so earnestly and the rain came down so hard that after anguished hesitation she agreed to go with us. With lowered eyes she told us in a faint voice that her name was Eva, and gave her family name also, but it was one of those heathen Hungarian words that no one can pronounce. We knocked at the doors of many houses but no one would let us in. Fortunately we met one of the hucksters who supplied the landsfaechts, pushing his handcart along the street and looking about for shelter. He sold us bread, meat, and cheese and told us of a respectable brothel—the only place where we could be safe from the provost marshal’s men, as the mistress of it paid the marshal a substantial sum to be allowed to carry on her business in peace.

The brothel keeper received us cordially as soon as she saw that we were well supplied with money, nor did she try to foist her own girls upon us. Judging by the noise, they were busy enough already. She gave us a clean attic room with the assurance that no one would disturb us before the morning; she even lit the fire so that we might dry our clothes. In return, and to ensure that she would not inform against us, we bought a pitcher of wine from her at an exorbitant price. Brothel keepers are as trustworthy in business matters as Jews, and for the same reason—their lives depend upon it. Not that fools cannot lose their money there as easily as anywhere else, and even be thrown into the street in their underclothes with a chamber pot over them for good measure. Such things must happen when one fails to observe the customs of the house.

We ate, drank, and warmed ourselves, and when Andy and I had removed our clothes to dry them at the stove, our companion ventured to do the same, retaining only one of her petticoats. Although her clothes were torn I saw that they were of durable and costly stuff, which went far to strengthen my belief in her story. I lent her my comb, and now that wine had brought color to her cheeks I saw that she was an unusually charming, bright-eyed, and clear-skinned beauty. Andy, too, when he had eaten, gazed long at her while the rain drummed on the roof above our heads. At length he said, “Your other petticoats will be dry by now, and you’d better put them on. The Scriptures tell us not to lead one another into temptation, and I should be loath for my thoughts to go astray because of your bare shoulders.”

Yet he gazed with ever increasing rapture at the lovely girl, who had evidently been well brought up, for she kept her long-lashed eyes modestly lowered and ate very delicately. As he gazed his eyes grew rounder and he began to fidget and breathe heavily. I had never seen Andy so discomposed in the presence of a woman. He drummed on his knees, clawed at his neck, or scratched his back; for a time he strove to keep his hands demurely folded and when all else failed he thrust them resolutely beneath him and sat upon them with all his weight. Feeling that he had eaten and rested enough I said, “I fancy I hear the vesper bell, so now is our last chance to carry out our plans.”

At that moment a violent thunderclap resounded above our heads; heaven’s sluice gates were opened and hailstones the size of pigeons’ eggs clattered upon the dripping roofs and flooded streets. After listening to this din for a while Andy said with a sigh of relief, “It was not Allah’s will. This deluge would quench the fiercest fire in a moment and had we foreseen it we need never have come to this devil-ridden city.”

The storm showed no sign of abating, and indeed grew more violent. For some reason I was beginning to feel much irked by Andy’s presence, and I said, “Perhaps it would be well if you stood guard outside the door, for this shy and charming girl would no doubt like to discuss with me in private how best we may help in her great need.”

I believe my intentions were of the best, but the girl misunderstood me, and catching Andy by the arm with both hands she cried in a fright, “Dear Master Andrew, I beg you not to leave me alone with your brother, for he glares at me like a wolf and I trust no one any more.”

Andy reddened, shook his fist at me, and then lifting the girl gently on to his knee he put his forefinger under her chin and said, “Have no fear, noble Mistress Eva. Trust me, and if Allah wills it I will take you safely back to your homeland. I should tell you that my brother and I are in the Turkish service and we too are trying to get away from this vile city.”

The girl did not struggle in his embrace, but looked straight into his round gray eyes and said, “Though you were kalmucks, devils, or sorcerers I would go with you rather than stay here. The Turks have treated me more mercifully than the Christians, and in these few days I’ve conceived such a loathing of Christendom that I can well understand how a brave man might rather serve the Sultan than King Ferdinand. I’ve admired you since I first saw you among the prisoners, for your strength and chivalry and kind heart. You’re no doubt of noble German birth, since you speak that hateful language so well.”

Drops of sweat stood on Andy’s brow as he replied, “I learned the language on my campaigns, and only your kindness could call my camp talk good German. I was born in the wilds, in a land of fir trees and wolves and bears, and no prince ever had the wit to bestow on me the spurs of knighthood. Yet in the Sultan’s army I wear the heron’s feather plume of the master gunner, which surely more than equals a pair of gilded spurs.”

Mistress Eva, gladdened by these words, leaned her dark head trustfully on Andy’s shoulder. Presently he lifted her from his knee and laid her gently on the edge of the bed, where he stood for a time bending over her and sighing.

“Ah, how warm you were in my arms, Mistress Eva! Your rosy cheeks are smooth and downy as peaches and to me you’re fairer than the moon.”

Mistress Eva lowered her eyes and said in deprecation, “No, I’m not beautiful. I’m but a helpless orphan, and not even at King Zapolya’s court have I any protector to win back for me my father’s estates.”

Andy pressed both hands to his chest and quivered like a tree about to fall.

“Allah be gracious to me!” he whispered. “This must have been written in the book of fate long before my birth. Tell me, how big are your estates? How many horses and cattle have you? Are the buildings in good repair? And what is the soil?”

Horrified at the turn things were taking I prepared to leave them, beseeching Andy in our own language to have his way with her at once rather than commit himself with such rash talk. But he implored me to remain, saying that he had known nothing like this before and was at a loss what to say to her, and that I must be his spokesman. Mistress Eva looked at us in bewilderment, but meekly replied to Andy’s questions. “My father told me little of his affairs, but our estates were big enough for modest landed gentry like ourselves to live upon. We had wet and dry soil, clay and sand. We had forests, and game in plenty. It took a day and a night to travel from end to end of our land, though my father was constantly going to law with his neighbors whom he accused of shifting the boundary stones and allowing their flocks to graze on his pastures. I suppose we had some hundred thousand sheep, a thousand horses, and a few cattle. At any rate my father’s Jewish intendant gave him money whenever he asked for it.”

Andy sighed, cleared his throat, and said pleadingly, “Michael, I may be possessed of the devil, but I really am deeply in love with this girl and want to marry her, so that I may watch over her interests and restore to her her father’s property. Speak for me, Michael, for you can choose your words better than I. If you won’t, I must—but then if I fail and she refuses me I’ll break every bone in your body!”

Deeply though I deplored his conduct I had no choice but to address the girl in well-chosen words and say, “I think my brother may be out of his mind, but he wants to marry you. As a wedding gift he offers to speak to King Zapolya and regain your estates. He has a chance of succeeding, being in favor with the Grand Vizier, whose best friend is King Zapolya’s adviser, Master Gritti. My brother is of undistinguished birth, though with a good conscience he may call himself a von Wolfenland zu Fichtenbaum, or a de Wolf of Spruce, and he swears his heart has been on fire from the moment he first saw you.”

Mistress Eva’s cherry lips parted in mute astonishment and her face was suffused with a blush. It was now her turn to tremble and wring her hands. Then she abandoned all womanly hesitation, and throwing herself on the floor at Andy’s feet she clasped his knees and sobbed, “With all my heart I will be your wife, noble Master Andrew, and could dream of nothing better. For I’m a poor orphan, robbed of goods and virtue. If you’ll have me for your wedded wife I will share both good and ill fortune with you, and submit to you in all things. All I ask is that you will let me keep my Christian faith and pay some good priest to unite us in the sacrament of marriage.”

With the sweat pouring down his face, Andy turned to me and said, “Do me one last service, Michael, and find me a priest. If you haven’t brought one within the hour I shall take this girl under my arm and fly with her from Vienna, leaving you to shift for yourself.”

He spoke so desperately that I feared he might do as he threatened. I set my teeth grimly, therefore, and went in search of our hostess. This vigilant woman was still up, selling wine to her customers and emptying the purses of those who slept. She told me of a trustworthy priest who was ready at any hour of the day or night to perform his sacred office without indiscreet questions, so long as he was liberally paid. It was not the first time he had been summoned to the house, and twice that week he had administered the Viaticum and Extreme Unction to customers who had come to blows over questions of religion. I gave her a gold piece and she sent a pot boy for the priest, in the belief that somehow or other I had got the better of Andy in a struggle for the girl and that he now lay at the point of death. When I returned to our room Andy snatched his hand from Eva’s neck with a scowl at me. But he quickly regained his good humor and said, “Forgive me for speaking to you so sharply just now, my dear Michael. This is the happiest moment of my life, and I could never have dared to hope that such a lovely and well-born girl could grow fond of me.”

Just then we heard the ringing of the priest’s bell outside. What was my amazement when I opened the door to admit him to find that I knew that bluish, puffy face with its crimson beak of a nose. There in a cassock, tonsured and with a stubble of beard, stood the man who during my student years in Paris had given me my first dearly bought lesson in the falsehood and treachery of the world.

“In the name of the Compassionate!” I cried. “May all the saints protect us, Reverend Father, but are you not Master Julien d’Avril, the blackguard from Paris? Where did you steal that cassock and how comes it that you were never hanged? Surely there is some justice in the world?”

It was indeed Julien d’Avril, though greatly aged and more drink sodden than ever. At first he turned ashy pale. Then, like the fox he was, he quickly recovered himself, enfolded me in his malodorous embrace and with tears of emotion exclaimed, “Ah, my dear boy, my dear Michael de Finlandia! What happiness to see again your open, honest face. Blessed be the hour that unites us once more. How is it with you, and why do you need the services of Holy Church so urgently as to drag an old man out of bed?”
With this unlooked-for meeting I may fitly end the story of the siege of Vienna, and having conscientiously told all and hidden nothing of my share in this unhappy campaign, I will begin a new book about my subsequent adventures.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11