BOOK 8.
Roxelana

THERE is but little to tell of the Sultan’s next campaign. It lasted from spring to autumn of the Christian year 1532, and came to nothing. Yet the march was eased by wise planning and perfect weather; strict discipline was maintained among the troops, and the three hundred pieces of artillery followed the marching columns without mishap. No general could have hoped for better conditions. But those who followed the progress on their maps noted with surprise that it slackened more and more as summer advanced. From midsummer onward, it became clear to the least experienced observer that indecision was delaying the march, until at last the whole of that gigantic army slowed to a halt and camped during August and September before the insignificant fortress of Guns.

Advocates of peace in the West made the most of this period of delay and doubt. Envoys from the Persian governor of Bagdad and from the Prince of Basra brought conciliatory messages to the Sultan, and their arrival seemed timed to show that at the most favorable moment for energetic action in the East the Seraskier had sent the army away to make needless and unprofitable war on the Emperor. Little wonder then that the Sultan paused so hesitantly before Guns, embittered by its stubborn resistance, yet for appearances’ sake he was compelled to persevere. “Instead of proceeding to Vienna, however, he marched from Guns toward imperial Carinthia, and his vanguard had reached the gates of Graz before he felt justified by the lateness of the season in beginning his homeward march. And though the grisly trail of slaughter left by his forces struck terror to the hearts of Christians everywhere, yet this great enterprise turned out to be nothing but a disorderly, planless raid, bringing Suleiman no honor and causing trouble in his empire that was out of all proportion to the result.

The only people to profit by this campaign were the Protestant princes of Germany, whom it enabled to make a pact with the Emperor at Augsburg. This for the time being ensured their religious freedom. Thanks to the pact Charles was even able to induce Luther to preach in favor of a united crusade against the Turks. Thus Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s hopes fell to the ground, and it became clear that yet again the Christians had made shameless use of their secret commerce with the Porte to secure concessions from the Emperor for their own ends.

But I have not yet mentioned the hidden but decisive reason for the Sultan’s strange hesitation before the walls of Guns. At the opening of the spring offensive, a fleet of seventy sail had put to sea to defend the coasts of Greece. Early in August, on almost the very day that Ibrahim pitched his pavilion before Guns, this fleet was sighted by the combined navies of the Emperor, the Pope, and the Knights of St. John, as they lay at anchor in Preveza Bay. At the same moment a Venetian fleet of forty war galleys was seen rapidly approaching; these neutral vessels anchored at a convenient distance to await developments. It is my belief that the hot, windless days of August, 1532, decided the fate of the world for centuries to come. The Emperor’s navy was commanded by Andrea Doria, undoubtedly the greatest admiral of all time, whom Charles had made Prince of Malfi. The commander of the Venetian fleet was Vincenzo Capello, who was strictly bound by the secret instructions of the Signoria. But the names of the Turkish sea pashas I shall not mention. I was informed of their shameful conduct by Mustafa ben-Nakir, who was eyewitness to these events.

Like his sovereign, Doria was a cautious man who would never give battle unless he were certain of winning. Perhaps he considered the Turkish war galleys too dangerous, although he numbered among his vessels the terrible carrack, that marvel of the seas—a floating fortress so lofty that her serried cannon could fire over the War galleys that commonly preceded her. Doria, then, did not attack, but secretly boarded the Venetian flagship to beg the commander to unite his force with the rest. No Mussulman fleet in the world could withstand them then, he said; they could proceed unhindered over the Aegean to the

Dardanelles and destroy the fortresses there in the twinkling of an eye. Then Istanbul itself, its ancient walls denuded of defenders by the Hungarian campaign, would fall an easy prey to the Christian navies.

But it was by no means to the Signoria’s advantage that the Emperor should by this single stroke attain to world dominion, nor was it desirable to put a spoke in the Sultan’s wheel. As the only well- matched opponent to the Emperor, he kept the nations of the world in healthy equipoise. Capello, therefore, as an obedient son of the illustrious Republic, politely declined on the grounds of the secret instructions he had received, though no one knows what these were. Then, mindful of the bonds of friendship uniting Venice with the Porte, Capello informed the two Turkish sea pashas of Doria’s intentions. As a result these valiant men quite lost their heads, weighed anchor that night, and rowed back with might and main to the shelter of the Dardanelles, leaving the Greek coasts to their fate.

The return of the Moslem fleet in the utmost disarray, with its rowers half dead from exhaustion, threw Istanbul into a state of panic. The united navies of Christendom were expected to appear before the city at any moment. Wealthy Jews and Greeks began hurriedly packing their possessions for dispatch into Anatolia, and many of the highest officials discovered that their health required an immediate visit to the baths at Bursa. The garrisons of the Dardanelles fortresses were reinforced, and all available weapons supplied to them, while repairs were begun on the ruinous walls of Istanbul. The valiant caimacam was said to have sworn to die sword in hand at the gates of the Seraglio rather than capitulate, and this report, though intended as encouragement, gave the final impetus to the mad rush from the city.

So witless and cowardly had been the action of the Turkish fleet that not one of the Sultan’s warships dared show herself at sea for a long time afterward. It was left to a young Dalmatian pirate, a beardless boy who later won renown under the nickname of the Young Moor, to bring to Istanbul the comforting tidings that Doria had abandoned his plan because his forces, unaided by the Venetian fleet, were insufficient to ensure victory. Instead he was laying siege to the fortress of Coron in Morea. The Young Moor had come to Istanbul to sell Christian prisoners from one of Doria’s supply ships, captured by him off Coron. He had at his disposal one little felucca and a dozen boys of the same mettle as himself, his only effective armament being a rusty iron cannon. Yet he seemed not to understand that he had done anything heroic in attacking Doria’s whole fleet with one little vessel, though the Sultan’s sea pashas had fled without even engaging it.

The news he brought restored calm; the caimacam sent an express to the Sultan at Guns to report that all was well and that the campaign might continue, while the inhabitants of Istanbul hailed the Young Moor as a hero and pointed the finger of scorn at the sea pashas.

Mustafa ben-Nakir had returned to Istanbul with the demoralized fleet, and on entering my house found Giulia and Alberto packing up my most valuable possessions with the help of the terrified slaves, while I studied the maps for the best route to Egypt where I meant to beg the protection of the good eunuch Suleiman. He passed on to us the Young Moor’s reassuring news.

“Roll up your maps, my dear Michael,” he added. “Doria’s too old and cautious for such a gamble. Venice has saved us.”

Giulia’s eyes sparkled with indignation.

“Khurrem-sultana will never forgive the Grand Vizier for enticing the Ruler of the Faithful away into this foolish war and leaving us exposed to these perils. And if you had the least notion of how troublesome it will be to unpack all these pots and pans and ornaments and jars and mirrors and to put back all the curtains and carpets, you’d not laugh like that. I believe the Sultana is frightened enough to summon Khaireddin. Indeed he would have been sent for long ago had not the Grand Vizier been so eloquent in his praise; the Sultana is inclined to mistrust anything proposed by that ambitious schemer. But it’s to be hoped that after this ill-managed affair his days are numbered.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir answered mildly, “Let’s not kick a man when he has already fallen. If the army returns safe and sound from Hungary we can allow the Grand Vizier to continue trusting to his star of fortune, this time in Persia. Sooner or later he’ll break his own neck. The Sultan and Ibrahim are together. They encounter the same dangers and the same obstacles and no doubt share the same tent. The Sultana would be most unwise to hurl accusations at the Grand Vizier as soon as he returns, for half would fall on the Sultan, and not even an ordinary man can endure reproaches after an enterprise which in his heart he knows has failed.”

Giulia opened her mouth to retort; yet she had been listening attentively and allowed Mustafa ben-Nakir to proceed without interruption.

“Persia is a big country; its mountain passes are treacherous and Shah Tahmasp with his gilded cavalry is a terrible foe—especially if, as I’ve heard, he is receiving arms from Spain. Would it not be wisest to send the Grand Vizier to that savage country alone? The Sultan is not obliged to go with the army; for once he can remain in the Seraglio to govern his people and make good laws, and remain beyond the all-too-powerful influence of his friend. If only I might have the opportunity of speaking to the most radiant Sultana, even through a curtain, I could whisper much good advice into her no-doubt seductive ear. It would be no sin for the slaves of the harem to speak to one of my sacred brotherhood, so long as the Kislar-Aga gave his permission.”

He glanced at Giulia and then contemplated his polished nails, to give her time to reflect upon his proposal. But her flushed cheeks and averted eyes made it clear that she was only too anxious to convey Mustafa ben-Nakir’s request to the Sultana as quickly as might be. And when shortly afterward I beheld our graceful boat speeding over the water to Seraglio Point I spoke warningly to Mustafa ben-Nakir.

“You frighten me. Don’t count on me to join you in going behind my lord Ibrahim’s back. And remember, he is the grand master of your order.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir’s fine eyes flashed as he replied, “How shortsighted you are, Michael! We must play the Russian’s game so long as circumstances favor her. And I long to see for myself whether or not she is a witch. The Grand Vizier will be defenseless on his return, which is why we must persuade Khurrem that she would weaken her own influence by seeking his overthrow. No one could replace him, for he is the greatest statesman ever seen in the Ottoman Empire. And he will be master of the future if all goes as we hope. Without him the Sultan would be a reed bending to every wind. You don’t want that epileptic boy of his to succeed?”

“But Prince Mustafa, not Prince Selim, is the eldest!” I exclaimed in astonishment.

“If the Sultan were to die, none but Ibrahim would dare to send the mutes to Khurrem’s sons. So long as one of them is alive, a bowstring is all that can be predicted with certainty for Prince Mustafa.”

I remembered little Prince Jehangir with his sad, sad eyes, and I thought also of my dog. Sultana Khurrem had not treated me badly; on the contrary, she had saved my life and shown great kindness to my wife Giulia. I was filled with repugnance at the thought of what my loyalty to the Grand Vizier might one day entail. Mustafa ben- Nakir went on, “Grand Vizier Ibrahim will certainly not be defeated in Persia. Bagdad and Basrah will be in our hands before the outbreak of war, and our object this time is for Ibrahim to lead the army alone and garner the undivided honors of victory. The army must learn to look upon Ibrahim as their highest commander, and in the eyes of the people the crushing of the Shiite heresy will cover him with glory. The strongest will and the wisest head will govern Islam—with or without the Sultan. Only thus can Islam rule the whole world and the Prophet’s promise find fulfilment. Peace be with him.”

I looked at him with growing suspicion, never having seen him so carried away by his own words, and I could not but feel that for all his seeming candor he did not mean to reveal more than suited his own schemes.

“But,” I began doubtfully. “But—”

I found no more to say, and there we left it. In the meantime I had my safe house on the Bosphorus, and in revulsion from a troublous world I slipped into indifference, drifting passively with the tide in the knowledge that were I to muster all my strength and resolution I could not alter the preordained course of events.

The fright I had had reminded me that my fortune and possessions were but a loan of which a defeat or a whim of the Sultan might deprive me at any time. Fortune had come too easily for me to believe that it could last, and thus it was that I took to visiting the great mosque where, beneath the celestial dome and surrounded by the Emperor Justinian’s porphyry pillars, I would spend hours of quiet meditation.

Returning home one day I witnessed a curious incident. Stillness reigned in the garden and no slaves were to be seen, but when I stepped softly indoors so as not to disturb Giulia’s customary midday rest, I heard Alberto’s hoarse shout on the floor above, and Giulia’s voice quivering with rage. I hurried up the stairs and as I drew aside the curtain I heard a sharp slap and a scream of pain. I stepped in to see Giulia bending sideways in fear, with tears streaming down her face. She held both hands to her cheeks, which were red from the blow, while Alberto stood before her with feet apart and hand uplifted, like an angry master chastising his slave. I stood petrified and incredulous, never having seen Giulia so meek and helpless. But perceiving that Alberto had really dared to strike her, I was filled with blinding rage and looked about for a weapon with which to slay this insolent slave. At sight of me they both started, and Alberto’s face from being black with fury now turned ashy pale. I lifted a costly Chinese vase, meaning to bring it down on his head, but Giulia sprang between us, crying, “No, no, Michael! Don’t smash that vase—it was a present from Sultana Khurrem. And this is all my fault. Alberto is innocent and meant no harm. It was I who angered him.”

As I stared at her she took the vase from my hands and set it down carefully upon the floor. At first I thought I must have had a touch of the sun, so preposterous did it seem that Giulia of all people should permit a slave to strike her in the face, and then defend his action. We stood all three staring at one another. Then Alberto’s face relaxed and with a meaning look at Giulia he turned and hurried out, ignoring my call to him to return. Giulia threw herself at me, stopped my mouth with her hand, and with tears still running down her swollen cheek she panted, “Are you out of your mind or drunk, Michael, to behave so? Let me at least explain. I should never forgive you if you wronged Alberto through a misunderstanding, for he’s the best servant I ever had, and quite innocent.”

“But,” I said, rather flustered, “he’ll get away before I can catch him. I mean to give him a hundred good lashes on the soles of his feet and send him down to the bazaar to be sold. We cannot keep a raving madman in the house.”

Giulia seemed ill at ease, and said, “You don’t understand, Michael, and you’d better be quiet. It’s I who owe Alberto an apology; I lost my temper and struck him for some trifle that I’ve already forgotten—and don’t stand there staring like an idiot! You madden me. If my face is swollen it’s from toothache and I was on my way to the Seraglio dentist when you came in and interfered—slinking in to spy on me, though God knows I’ve nothing to hide. But if you lay a finger on Alberto I shall go to the cadi and in the presence of witnesses declare myself divorced. Alberto has suffered enough from your bad temper, though he’s a proud, sensitive man and not baseborn like you.”

At this I flew into a passion and seizing her by the wrists I shook her and shouted, “Are you really a witch, then, Giulia—a devil in human shape? For my own sake I would not believe it, but even the strongest pitcher can go to the well too often. Never do I want to think ill of you, for I love you still. But to let a slave strike you and go unpunished is unnatural. I don’t know you. Who are you, and what have you to do with that miserable wretch?”

Giulia burst into violent weeping; she flung her arms about my neck and stroked my cheek with her hair. Then with downcast eyes she said faintly, “Ah, Michael, I’m only a foolish woman and of course you know best. But let us go into our room to talk it over. It’s not fit that our slaves should hear us quarreling.”

She grasped my hand and I followed her unresisting to our bedchamber where, having dried her tears, she began abstractedly to undress.

“You can talk while I change my clothes. I must go to the dentist and cannot show myself at the Seraglio in this old rag. But you may go on talking and reproach me to your heart’s content for being so bad a wife to you.”

As she spoke she removed everything but the thin shift that she wore next her skin, and took out one gown after another to decide which best became her. Truth to tell it was long since she had accorded me the joys of marriage, and was most often assailed by a violent headache when I approached her. Therefore when I beheld her naked in the clear light of day I was spellbound by her alluring white skin, the soft curves of her limbs, and the golden hair curling freely over her bosom.

She noticed that I was staring at her, and sighed plaintively, “Ah, Michael, you’ve only one thought in your head! Don’t glare at me so.”

She crossed her arms over her breast and looked sideways at me with those strange eyes that in my unreason I could not forbear loving. My ears sang, my body glowed, and in a tremulous voice I begged her to wear the green velvet gown embroidered with pearls. She took it up, then let it fall again and instead chose a white and yellow brocade with a jeweled girdle.

“This yellow dress is more slimming to the hips—”

Her face took on a soft expression as she stood there with the gown in her hands, and she said, “Michael, tell me truly. Are you weary of your wife? Since you’ve taken to entertaining those new friends of yours you seem less close to me than you once were. Be honest with me. You’ve only to go to the cadi to be divorced from me. How should I force upon you the love your indifference has so often wounded?” She sobbed, and after a pause went on, “The love of women is a capricious thing and must ever be wooed afresh. It’s long since you brought me flowers or showed me any other attention. No, you push a purse into my hand and tell me to buy what I want, and this coldness has hurt me deeply. That’s why I have been so irritable—and perhaps that’s why I struck Alberto, who bears only good will to both of us. So you see it has all been your fault, Michael, and I cannot remember when last you took me in your arms and kissed me as a man kisses the woman he loves.”

Her wild and groundless accusations took my breath away, but shyly she drew near me and pressed her warm white body against me, saying, “Kiss me, Michael! You know you’re the only man I ever loved—the only man whose kisses really satisfy me. Perhaps in your eyes I seem old and worn out, and like all Moslems you desire a new and younger wife. But kiss me!”

I kissed her treacherous lips, and what ensued need not be told, for the wise man will guess and for the fool all explanations are vain. All I can say is that barely an hour later I went readily down to Alberto to beg his pardon on Giulia’s behalf because she had so exasperated him as to make him strike her. I asked him to overlook the hard words I had flung at him, and ended by giving him two ducats. Alberto listened without betraying by the flicker of an eyelid what he was thinking, but he took the money and confessed freely that his behavior had been most unbecoming. Peace reigned in the house once more. Giulia hid her somewhat weary eyes behind a thin veil and was rowed to the Seraglio. May a wiser man rebuke my blindness; I cannot. A man in love is always blind, be he the Sultan himself or the meanest of slaves, and it is easy for a landsman to be wise about a shipwreck. Let the clever man cast a glance at his own marriage before sneering at mine.

I was not the only blind man. Sultana Khurrem received Mustafa ben-Nakir in the presence of the Kislar-Aga and spoke with him first from behind the curtain; later she revealed to him her laughing face. When the cool Mustafa returned from the Seraglio he was like another being. He sped to me on winged feet. His eyes shone and his pale face glowed. The first things he asked of me were wine and roses, and with an autumn rose in his hand he said, “Ah, Michael! Either I’ve lost my understanding of character or we have been entirely mistaken in this woman. Roxelana is like the glow of morning. Her complexion is snow and roses, her laughter is silver, and to look into her eyes is to see a smiling heaven. No evil thought could lurk behind that white forehead. I’m out of my senses, Michael, and know not what to think of her or of myself. For Allah’s sake melt amber in wine, call musicians, sing to me, for devine poems are welling up in my heart and no one has lain under such a spell before.”

“Allah be gracious to you, dear Mustafa ben-Nakir!” I stammered at last. “Surely you cannot have fallen in love with that diabolical Russian!”

“How should I dare to lift my eyes to the gates of heaven? But no one can forbid me to drink wine mixed with amber, to scatter my verses to the winds, or to play upon a reed pipe in praise of Khurrem the beautiful.”

He wept tears of rapture while I surveyed him with distaste and said, “The Sultana is a shameless woman to flout custom and the law by unveiling her face and so leading you into temptation. How could the Kislar-Aga permit it? But tell me, did you speak to her of the Grand Vizier? And what did she say? That, after all, is the most important thing.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir dried his tears, and forgetting for once to polish his rose-colored nails he looked at me in wonder and said, “I don’t remember. I recall nothing of what we said, for I listened only to the music of her voice and her laughter until she unveiled her face. Then I was so bewitched that when she left me my head was like a blown egg. Compared with the miracle that has happened all else is indifferent to me.”

Giddy with wine he sprang up and began to dance, stamping rhythmically and joyously ringing the silver bells at his girdle. And as he danced he crooned love songs until I began to suspect he had been eating hashish. Yet his delirium infected me and filled me with an irresistible desire to laugh. I blended drops of fragrant ambergris in the wine and soon I seemed to see how destiny sped like a gazelle from the swiftest hunter, and mocked the vain pursuit.

At the beginning of winter the Sultan and the Grand Vizier returned with the army from the campaign in Hungary, after striking terror to the hearts of all Christendom and revealing the formidable might of the Ottoman Empire. For five days there were celebrations in the city and the nights were bright with bonfires. From the arsenal, colored fiery serpents sprang into the air, and burning oil was poured upon the waters until waves of fire rolled over the dark surface of the Golden Horn.

In this joyous tumult discord was drowned. The price of slaves dropped, the spahis found cheap labor for their farms, and the Sultan distributed lavish presents among his janissaries, so that harmony and peace prevailed. The people are ever willing to forgive the errors of princes, but upstarts come off less lightly. Nevertheless, Ibrahim was too proud to show how deeply he was hurt by certain stifled murmurs.

He would not allow himself to be blinded by his own proclamations of victory, or by the fireworks that he had commanded. From the steps of his palace he surveyed with a wry smile the crowds that filled the Atmeidan, and said, “War was inevitable, Michael el-Hakim. The Western menace has been removed and the time has come to set our faces to the East. Spread the news as widely as you can, and above all tell your remarkable wife, that she may bring it to the knowledge of Khurrem-sultana.”

Throughout the winter and spring Ibrahim had great need of my services. Besides an ambassador from King Ferdinand, there arrived also one from Venice to claim recompense for the service rendered us in Preveza Bay. The Venetian colony in Galata received their envoy with high honors. The Sultan, in token of his displeasure with the sea pashas, promoted the Young Moor to the command of four war galleys with which to blockade the port of Coron in Morea, recently captured by Doria. To show how lightly he valued Coron compared with Hungary, he sent thither battle-scarred old Jahja-pasha with five thousand janissaries and the curt command to decide for himself which he valued most: his own battered head or a horsehair switch at the top of Coron tower.

The Young Moor blockaded Coron from the sea, but in the summer Doria came cruising off the point with the united navies of the Pope and the Knights of St. John, meaning to break through to the fortress with provisions and powder. The sea pashas, enraged by the Sultan’s disfavor, followed the Moor with some seventy sail to Coron, where the young hero, crying on the name of the Prophet, bore down upon Doria and threw his supply ships into confusion, heedless of the guns cf the terrible carrack. For very shame the sea pashas were compelled to take a hand.

Doria now found himself forced into open battle, though his intention had been merely to run the blockade and then make of! at once. The Young Moor sank several transports while others were driven onto the rocks. Then he attacked the first of the Knights’ galleys, hove grapnels over her rail, and had already captured her by the time the sea pashas came to his support.

Amid the roar of cannon that echoed among the hills, amid the billowing, concealing smoke, the splintering of oars, and the yells of the combatants, the Young Moor showed the pashas how sea battles are fought. And these worthies in their fright forced their way in among Doria’s vessels to form a ring about the galleys of the Young Moor, whom they dragged forcibly from the deck of his prize. He was wounded in the head, arm, and side, but still he wept and cursed and cried to the devil for aid. After rowing aimlessly hither and thither and colliding with one another, the valiant pashas at last extricated themselves from the enemy and removed the Young Moor’s two remaining galleys to safety.

Doria, greatly startled by the unexpected belligerence of the sea pashas, did not attempt pursuit, but was content to land his supplies with all speed and stand away for home. The sea pashas Zey and Himeral at first could not believe in their glorious victory over the hitherto invincible Doria; then, in triumph, they hoisted all their flags and pennants and even unwound their turbans to stream them in the wind, amid the noise of trumpets, drums, and cymbals. The only flaw in their triumph was the unseemly behavior of the Young Moor, who with clenched fists and tears of indignation abused the pashas as cowards and traitors.

But who could long harbor resentment on so glad an evening? They freely forgave the stripling on the grounds that he was delirious from fever, and bound him to his cot lest he leap overboard.

Nevertheless the boy was cheered by Jahja-pasha who, having followed the course of the engagement from the shore, rowed over to the Moslem flagship that evening, bawling curses all the way until the most hardened sea janissaries turned pale. Once aboard, this doughty warrior, whose head was the stake in the game for Coron, seized Himeral-pasha by the beard and smote him in the face. The one object of the naval action, he screamed, had been at all costs to prevent the relief of Coron, and by failing in this simple task the pashas had prolonged the siege possibly for weeks, though Coron had been on the point of capitulation. The sea pashas saw that the fear of losing his head had made him mad, and with united strength they cuffed and buffeted him back into his boat.

Yet because of the foolhardy conduct of the Young Moor, not all the supply ships had reached the fortress, and a state of famine still prevailed there. The Greek inhabitants of the town lacked the endurance of the Spaniards, and during the night they crept beyond the walls in search of roots and bark. Some of these men fell into the hands of Jahja’s janissaries and at his orders were gruesomely tortured next morning in full view of the garrison. This spectacle had its effect; the Spaniards surrendered and were permitted to embark and sail away with full military honors.

Thanks to the agents of the Knights of St. John, Doria kept abreast of Seraglio affairs and was well aware that Sultan Suleiman had offered Khaireddin the command of all his ships, ports, islands, and seas. It was said that Khaireddin welcomed this appointment with tears of joy, and having left the reins of government in the hands of his young son Hassan—under the guardianship of a trustworthy captain—he at once set sail for Sicilian waters in the hope of cutting off Doria’s retreat from Coron and crushing him between the Algerian vessels and the Sultan’s fleet, which he naturally supposed would give chase. Doria eluded him, however, and after a profitable engagement with a pirate, Khaireddin sailed away with his prizes to meet the sea pashas. These received him with the proper honors, though grudgingly, and Khaireddin reviled them for their cowardice and their failure to do their part in the capture of Doria. He then ordered them to release the Young Moor, whom he embraced and treated like his own son.

All this I learned from hearsay, but that autumn I saw for myself how Khaireddin’s forty ships glided majestically up the Marmara and anchored in the Golden Horn. From Scutari on the Asiatic side to the hills of Pera, the shores were white with people, and the Sultan himself stepped onto his marble quay to watch the vessels pass. Their thunderous salute echoed over land and sea and was answered by the guns of other ships anchored in the harbor. The most eminent pashas and renegade captains made haste to greet Khaireddin as he stepped ashore.

Khaireddin stood beaming under a gold-fringed canopy to receive the manifold welcome. His once-red beard was now venerably gray, and reached, with some artificial aid, to his belt. He had painted wrinkles on his face and shadows about his prominent eyes, so as to vie in age with the Sultan’s sea pashas, though I believe he was then not a day over fifty.

The inhabitants of Istanbul had much to divert them during this time. On the third day after his arrival Khaireddin set off in ceremonial procession to a reception at the Seraglio. He was attended by janissaries in red and gold, and a hundred camels followed laden with gifts for the Sultan—bales of silk and brocade and such curiosities as an uncultured pirate would collect in the course of years. Worthless trash and priceless treasures lay higgledy-piggledy together. The greatest sensation was aroused by two hundred lovely young girls bearing gold and silver dishes in which lay purses filled with gold and silver coin. These slaves had been selected for the Sultan’s harem from every known land, though the greater number were from Sicily, Italy, and Spain. When with faces unveiled they bore their treasure into the Sultan’s presence even the staidest Moslems were dazzled by their beauty; they were obliged to hold their hands before their faces and only peep through their fingers, lest they be brought into a state of impurity before the hour of prayer.

In the hall of pillars with its starry roof, Sultan Suleiman received Khaireddin, first allowing him to kiss his foot, which rested on a cushion covered with diamonds, and then stretching forth his hand in token of special favor. It was certainly the proudest moment in the life of the erstwhile potter, the spahi’s son from the island of Mytilene. When first he spoke he stammered and shed tears of joy, but the Sultan smilingly encouraged him, bidding him tell of Algeria and other African lands—of Sicily, Italy, and Spain, and above all of ships, seafaring, and the sea. Khaireddin needed no second bidding and spoke in bolder and bolder fashion, not forgetting to mention that he had brought with him the Prince of Tunis, Rashid ben-Hafs, who had fled from his bloodthirsty brother Muley-Hassan and come under Khaireddin’s protection to seek comfort and help from the Refuge of all
Nations.

To my way of thinking Khaireddin acted unwisely in so promptly revealing his own selfish aims. He would have done better to speak of Doria and his big guns, the carrack of the Knights of St. John, and such things as had won him the honor of an audience with the Sultan. I believe that his childish boasting did him more harm than the slander of his bitterest enemies; in the middle of the ceremony Iskender-tseleb’s scornful laugh was plainly heard. Khaireddin, drunk with good fortune, responded only by a broad smile, but the Sultan frowned.

Despite the princely gifts he brought with him, Khaireddin therefore made by no means so good an impression as he fancied. The Sultan allotted him a house to live in, as the custom was, but let him wait in vain for the three horsetail switches that had been promised him. Meanwhile Zey-pasha and Himeral-pasha vied with one another in spreading tales of his unseemly way of life, his conceit, untrust- worthiness, cruelty, and greed. These stories were the more dangerous in that they contained a grain of truth. Yet Khaireddin’s greatest error had been to stay too long at sea, for when at last he came to Istanbul, Grand Vizier Ibrahim had already started for Aleppo to open the Persian campaign, whereby Khaireddin lost his strongest support in the Divan.

But my account of Khaireddin has led me to anticipate. Between the dispatch of his invitation and his arrival, negotiations with Vienna were brought to a favorable conclusion, and having thus secured a lasting peace and permanent frontiers in the West, the Grand Vizier set his face toward the East. Many Persian noblemen who had sought the protection of the Porte accompanied him to Aleppo, the assembly point for the campaign.

I should mention that Khaireddin ignored me in a most ungrateful manner, and in his blindness seemed to think that he now needed neither my help nor the Grand Vizier’s. Hurt though I was, however, I knew the Seraglio and bided my time. Only a few days later I observed—and not without a certain malicious pleasure—that his house stood unvisited and that silence had fallen upon his name, while the townspeople began uttering ever louder complaints of his seamen. For these renegades, Moors, and Negroes, who during the summer had fought and plundered afloat and in the winter roistered and brawled in Algiers, knew nothing of the well-mannered customs of the Sultan’s capital and assumed that they could behave there as they did in their own harbors. They even went so far as to stab two Armenians who did not get out of their way quickly enough—an unheard-of occurrence in the Sultan’s city where even to bear arms was an offense and where the janissaries who kept order carried nothing but light bamboo canes. At first Khaireddin would not hear of executing the culprits, explaining that Armenians were Christians, to slay whom was an act pleasing to Allah. Only when he found that his reputation suffered and that the Sultan remained inaccessible and silent within the Seraglio did he climb down and have three men hanged and ten flogged.

But it was too late. With growing dismay he noted how abrupt were the turns of fortune in this city, and he took to dictating childish letters to the Sultan in which he alternately groveled and threatened to leave his service for that of the Emperor. Fortunately Khaireddin’s tseleb was intelligent enough to destroy these letters at once.

As a last resort, the puffed-up sea captain humbled himself and sent for me to discuss certain matters. To make clear to him my rank and standing I sent him word again that my door stood open if he wished to consult me, but that I could not spare the time to go running all round the harbor looking for him. After tugging his beard for three days he came, bringing with him my old friends Torgut and Sinan the Jew, who were as shocked as himself at the Sultan’s behavior. He looked about him with wonder at the marble steps of my landing stage and at my splendid house that rose dreamlike from terraces ablaze with flowers, though the autumn was far advanced.

“What a city!” he exclaimed. “Slaves live in gilded mansions and wear kaftans of honor, while a poor old man whose whole life has been devoted to increasing the Sultan’s honor on the high seas must creep in rags to the throne without winning so much as a kind word for all his labors.”

To give outward expression to his injured feelings he had put on a plain camlet kaftan, with only a little diamond crescent in his turban in token of his dignity. I attended him with all due honor into the house and bade him be seated. Then I set the cooks to work and summoned Abu el-Kasim and Mustafa ben-Nakir, that we might all confer together as in the old days in Algiers. They came promptly. Khaireddin sent for the wares he had brought from his ship and lavished on us presents of ivory, ostrich feathers, flowered gold brocade, and silver vessels adorned with Italian coats of arms. Sighing heavily he followed these up with a purse of gold for each of us.

“Let all discord between us be forgotten,” he said. “After bestowing these presents I’m a poor man and hardly know where my next meal is to come from. Forgive me for failing to recognize you when you came aboard my ship to greet me. I was already dazed by all the rejoicings—and then you’ve grown so much handsomer!”

When we had all eaten and drunk, Khaireddin at last came to the point and asked the meaning of the Sultan’s silence. I therefore told him frankly all I had heard in the Seraglio and reminded him that he had needlessly aroused the resentment of the sea pashas and offended even the gentle Piri-reis by deriding his model ships and his sandbox. And he had come too late, I said: the Grand Vizier was in Aleppo and in his absence the pashas gave the Sultan no peace. They told him he stained his honor by taking into his service a ruffianly pirate, when in the arsenal and Seraglio there were many experienced pashas who had served him long and faithfully without thought of reward. Khaireddin ought not to be trusted with war galleys, for he would only make off with them as his brother had done and fight less for the glory of Islam than for his own temporal profit.

I enlarged upon this and did my best to mimic the whining tones of the pashas until Khaireddin flushed, tore his beard, and sprang up exclaiming, “What foolish and wicked accusations! I have never done anything but labor for the greater glory of Islam. These raises in their silken kaftans who sit on dry land and play at battles with their maps and compasses and sandboxes! It would do them good to smell powder and burning pitch now and then. But thanklessness is all our reward in this world.”

At this point Giulia drew aside the curtain and stepped in, wearing her lovely golden-brown velvet dress and a pearl-sewn net over her hair. She feigned alarm, made as if to draw her diaphanous veil across her face, and exclaimed, “Oh, Michael, how you all startled me! Why did you not tell me we had guests—and such welcome guests, too! I couldn’t help overhearing something of what you were saying, and I shall therefore give you a piece of advice. Why do you not appeal to a certain exalted and sympathetic lady who has the Sultan’s ear? If you wish I can speak a word to her on your behalf, provided Khaireddin will beg forgiveness of her for his most wounding and inconsiderate behavior.”

Khaireddin demanded wrathfully how he could have offended Khurrem. He had presented her with ten thousand ducats’ worth of ornaments and fabrics—enough surely for the most pampered and exacting woman. But Giulia shook her head with a smile.

“How stupid you men are! One of Sultana Khurrem’s gowns alone costs ten thousand ducats, and she receives ten times that amount yearly in pin money from the Sultan. Your present is neither here nor there, but she was greatly incensed at the two hundred girls you sent, as if there were not already enough of the useless creatures in the harem, without your pock-marked, squinting scarecrows! The Sultana was obliged to distribute them among the governors of remote provinces. For many years past the Sultan has had no eyes for any woman but Khurrem, so you may fancy how you have hurt her. However, I have spoken on your behalf and assured her that being an uncultured seaman you’ve not yet learned how to behave in the Seraglio.”

Khaireddin was scarlet in the face and his eyes goggled as he cried, “I put my faith in the one God! With the eye of an expert I chose each one of those girls myself; they were lovely as the virgins of Paradise and as pure—that is, generally speaking. Even the most devoted husband may weary of one wife and whet his blunted desires elsewhere, only to return to her with the greater ardor. Yet if Khurrem- sultana is really able to keep her husband’s love to herself alone, then indeed I believe in her power and I’m sure that she can help me to the three horsehair switches that have been promised me.”

“But it was Ibrahim who summoned you hither!” I exclaimed in dismay. “It would be altogether wrong for you to be indebted to Sultana Khurrem for your advancement, and I suspect in this a subtle intrigue to humiliate the Grand Vizier.”

Giulia shook her head and there were tears in her eyes as she replied, “Ah, Michael, how little you trust me, though I’ve told you a thousand times—the Sultana bears no ill will to anyone! She has promised to speak to the Sultan on Khaireddin’s behalf and is willing to receive Khaireddin from behind the curtain. Let us go at once to the Seraglio, that the Kislar-Aga may prepare a reception for Khaireddin and his senior captains—for it would be well for Khaireddin to arrive at the Seraglio with a brilliant retinue, that all may witness the favor he enjoys.”

As Khaireddin’s former slave I went with them to watch developments on the Grand Vizier’s behalf. Our arrival at the Seraglio was unpromising, for the janissaries made scornful gestures and the eunuchs turned their backs, but by the time we took our departure the news had spread. Blessings now rained upon us and the janissaries sitting by their cooking pots sprang up and cheered. It was a plain indication of the influence that Sultana Khurrem now exerted in the Seraglio.

She spoke with Khaireddin from behind the curtain and laughed her rippling laughter. But having flattered him and told him that he was the only adversary worthy of Doria, she chattered on about trivial matters, to my great relief, and ordered her slave women to serve us with fruits preserved in honey. Nevertheless she promised to speak for Khaireddin to the Sultan.

“But,” said she, “the sea pashas are irascible old men, and I would not hurt their feelings. All I can do is to tell my lord of the excellent impression I have of you, great Khaireddin. I will chide him gently for so long neglecting to give you the reward you deserve. He may reply, ‘It was the Grand Vizier’s suggestion, not mine, and the sea pashas in the Divan opposed it.’ Then I shall say, ‘Let the Grand Vizier decide! If having seen Khaireddin he is of the same mind, then bestow at once on the great man the three horsehair switches you promised him, and show him honor.’ The Grand Vizier has full powers and not even a unanimous Divan can reverse his decision.”

I could hardly believe my ears. She was renouncing in favor of the Grand Vizier all the advantages she would have gained had Khaireddin been indebted to her for his promotion. Charmed by her voice and her purling laughter I began to think that jealousy alone had inspired the Grand Vizier’s opinion of this lovely woman.

Accordingly, Khaireddin left for Aleppo, and shortly afterward Abu el-Kasim came to me and rubbing his hands together in some embarrassment he said, “Your enchanting daughter Mirmah is getting her teeth and no doubt will soon cease to suck at that opulent breast. I have a great favor to ask of you, Michael el-Hakim. Will you sell me that round-cheeked nurse and her son? for I feel old age creeping upon me and would gladly have so soft and white a pillow for my head. The boy shall be my heir.”

I was astonished, for from motives of thrift Abu el-Kasim avoided feminine society almost entirely. Nor was I sure whether I could grant his request. I said, “Giulia may not agree to this. And there is another point. I would be loath to hurt your feelings, Abu el-Kasim, but you are after all a dirty, skinny, stringy-bearded old man, while the nurse is in the flower of life. My conscience forbids me to sell her to you against her will.”

Abu el-Kasim sighed and wrung his hands and enlarged upon his passion, and when I asked how he meant to pay for the woman and her son he suggested hopefully that we might effect an exchange.

“I will give you my deaf-mute whom you’ve always coveted. That scar on your head should remind you how conscientious a watchman he is, and you will never regret the bargain.”

I burst into a fit of laughter at this idiotic proposal, until it occurred to me that he would never have made it unless he believed me the greatest simpleton Allah ever created. My laughter ceased and I replied with asperity, “Not even on the strength of our friendship should you suggest such a thing. I’m no pander and I refuse to hand over this woman to your senile lust for so paltry a return.”

Abu el-Kasim hastened to explain further.

“But I was in earnest, for my deaf-mute is a treasure of whom I alone know the value. Have you not often seen him sitting among the yellow dogs of the Seraglio and observing all that goes on ? When you lived in my house you must also have noticed how queer strangers came to visit him and converse with him. He is not the fool you take him for.”

I did indeed recall a couple of powerful Negroes who sometimes sat with him in the courtyard making rapid signs to him with hands and fingers. Yet such visitors in no way enhanced the value of Abu el- Kasim’s feeble-minded slave, and again I refused sharply even to consider the matter. But Abu el-Kasim, looking about him cautiously, bent forward and whispered, “My slave is a treasure, but only in the neighborhood of the Seraglio. To take him back with me to Tunis would be to bury a diamond in a dunghill. He is as faithful to me as a dog because I’m the only man in the world who has shown him kindness, but you too would gain his devotion by a friendly word or two and a pat on the shoulder. Now you must often have seen three deaf-mutes pacing through the courts of the Seraglio. Their clothes are blood red, and over their shoulders they wear silken nooses of different colors. No one looks them in the face, for their striking dress gives passers-by enough to think about. There are seven in all, and when on duty they walk about in threes. They bring a silent death and even the most exalted pashas tremble at their blood-red clothes and dragging footsteps. Being deaf-mutes they cannot utter a word about their work, but such men can converse among themselves in a language understood by deaf-mutes in all lands. My slave is on good terms with these fellows and they chatter together in sign language to an extent altogether unsuspected by the Sultan. I have taken pains to learn their signs and have acquired much terrible knowledge, though in my position I can make no use of it. But you have won to a high position and the day may soon come when knowledge of what the deaf-mutes say to one another may be of inestimable value.”

I had noticed certain incidents that bore out what he said, yet I still did not fully appreciate his offer, for the deaf-mute inspired me only with repugnance. Nevertheless a quite unexpected impulse of generosity caused me to answer, to my own surprise, “You’re my friend, Abu el-Kasim, and a man of my rank and standing should show liberality to his friends. Take the Russian, if she consents to go with you, and her son too; you shall have them as a present from me, in the name of the Compassionate. And I will take care of your slave. He shall sleep in the porter’s hut or under the boathouse, but had better keep out of sight during the day. The less Giulia sees of him the better.”

“Believe me,” said the old rogue piously, “you won’t regret the bargain. But never hint the reason for it to your wife. Learn the deaf-and- dumb language secretly; if Giulia seems inquisitive, blame me and say I persuaded you into this foolish bargain when you were in your cups. This she will readily believe.”

In the course of the winter Khaireddin returned from Aleppo, much shaken by his long ride. Ibrahim had received him with all honor, confirmed his appointment as beylerbey in Algeria and other African countries, and decreed that he should take precedence before all governors of similar standing. This alone was a high honor and carried with it membership in the Divan, but the Grand Vizier also dispatched a letter to the Sultan, having first read it aloud to Khaireddin to leave him in no doubt as to where thanks were due for his promotion.

“In him,” the letter ran, “we have at last found a true seaman worthy of the highest honors, whom you may appoint without misgivings as pasha, member of the Divan, and admiral of the fleet.”

The Grand Vizier sent me a copy of this letter and added, “Khaireddin is at heart even more childish than I thought, however bold and cunning he may be at sea. Honors go to his head like incense, for he cannot forget his low birth. He is won by flattery—the grosser the better—and this makes him an easy prey to the intrigues of the Seraglio. Therefore I have thought it best to load him with as many honors as possible, that there may be nothing left for others to tempt him with. I believe also that because of his childish nature he is relatively honest; nevertheless keep a sharp eye on him and let me know at once if he should show the least sign of treachery to me or to the Sultan. Africa is Khaireddin’s weak spot; we must support his enterprises in Tunisia lest the Emperor tempt him with it. Tunis can also serve as a good base for our conquest of Sicily.”

Regardless of my warnings, Khaireddin puffed himself up like a frog and prepared a long speech to the Sultan, to be delivered before the Divan. On receiving Ibrahim’s letter the Sultan hesitated no longer; indeed, I believe he was overjoyed that for once his beloved Khurrem and Ibrahim were agreed, and he lost no time in calling the Divan. At this assembly he presented Khaireddin with a sword whose hilt and scabbard sparkled with countless diamonds, and he conferred upon him the Vizier’s standard of three horsehair switches and the title of Kapudan-pasha of the navy, with unlimited powers at sea. This represented something very different from the authority vested in senior Venetian officers, for example. The eyes of the Signoria were ever upon these men and their powers were limited by the sealed orders issued to them beforehand to cover different situations. But the Sultan nominated Khaireddin independent governor of all his ports and islands, with supreme command of all vessels and their captains. In naval matters he was subordinate to none but the Sultan, and at meetings of the Divan he took his place beside the Sultan’s viziers. Thus the erstwhile potter was elevated at a stroke to rank with the four or five most eminent men in the Ottoman Empire.

In acknowledgment of these unprecedented honors, Khaireddin delivered a voluble and bombastic address in a voice with which he was used to make himself heard above the roar of the elements, until some of the eunuchs cast anxious glances upward, fearing the collapse of the starry roof. He brought the speech to an end with the following words: “In short, I mean to inflict as much damage as I may upon the unbelievers and carry the Crescent to honor and victory upon the seas. First I shall overwhelm, destroy, annihilate, and sink the idolater Doria, who is my personal enemy. Let me conquer Tunis as I have so often besought you, and thereby gain an important base for the fleet. For centuries the caravan routes from the Negro lands beyond the desert have converged upon this city, and I shall be able to send you and your harem an abundance of gold dust and ostrich feathers. But dominion of the seas is naturally my chief aim. And believe me, O Commander of the Faithful, he who rules the sea soon comes to rule the lands about that sea!”

I have quoted this much of his address to show how irresponsible, childish, and rash was Khaireddin’s conduct in the Seraglio. Little did he know of the ways of the Divan when he thus trumpeted abroad his private schemes. A whisper in the Divan quickly arrived at every court in Europe, and no earthly power could prevent it even when, according to ancient Ottoman tradition, the Divan was held on horseback to discuss questions of peace and war. Yet strange as it may seem, once at sea Khaireddin outdid all his rivals in cunning, and because of his notorious guile the Imperial envoys would not believe that his main objective was indeed Tunis. They laughed at him up their sleeves for fancying he could delude them. The Knights of St. John were convinced that he intended the capture of Malta, while others believed that Rome itself or Cartagena was in his mind.

Yet however ludicrous Khaireddin’s behavior in the Divan, it must be stressed that in seafaring matters he had no equal. No sooner had the horsetail switches been bestowed than he rolled up the sleeves of his kaftan of honor and started a great turnout of the arsenal. Many useless heads ended under the archway of the Gate of Peace, and to replace various Seraglio-trained striplings in silken kaftans Khaireddin appointed seasoned renegades. He laid down the keels of new war galleys and recorganized the distribution of sea pashas among the islands and along the coasts, so as to bring back capable men to arsenal and ships.

The spring cleaning of the arsenal stirred up the same conflicts that had cost Andy his plume, though this time the roles were reversed. Having now encountered the terrifying carrack of the Knights of St. John, the old sea pashas at last showed an inclination to move with the times and demanded larger craft to carry heavier armaments. But although Khaireddin fully appreciated the firing powers of these great Christian vessels, yet he considered them too slow in maneuvering and, as an experienced pirate, attached far more importance to speed and mobility than to size.

It was now Khaireddin’s business, through my mediation, to be reconciled with Chief Pilot Piri-reis, whom he had so deeply wounded by his contemptuous behavior, for notwithstanding his sneers he had the greatest respect for the famous book of charts and valued the old man’s advice more than he would admit. They debated long together as to the respective merits of large and small vessels, but whereas Piri- reis spoke in favor of the former, Khaireddin remained unconvinced and preferred to act upon his own experience.

After the spring rains the Grand Vizier began the march from Aleppo to Persia at the head of his magnificent army, and at once the Sultan was seized with a great restlessness. Fresh winds were blowing, and the stuffy air of the Seraglio so irked him that despite all tenderly whispered dissuasion he was minded to set out in time to lead the forthcoming campaign.

Meanwhile Khaireddin hoisted sail and the greatest and best-appointed fleet ever seen off Istanbul stood out to sea. Andy sailed with him in the flagship as master gunner, Abu el-Kasim embarked also, while I remained behind to spread helpful rumors as to Khaireddin’s real intentions. I succeeded best with the story that he was bound for Genoa, to recapture that city on behalf of the French King, for everyone knew what a triumph it would be for him to swoop on Doria’s very aerie. This attempt of mine to keep Doria within the shelter of his city succeeded beyond all hope, and I was thus of far greater service to Khaireddin than if I had gone to sea with him as his adviser.

The Sultan had much to attend to before setting forth to war, including the imprisonment of Rashid ben-Hafs, Prince of Tunis, which was so secretly effected that Khaireddin’s own officers believed the Prince had sailed with them and was merely staying below decks because of the rolling seas. But undoubtedly the most important step taken by Suleiman was the appointment of Prince Mustafa as Governor of Anatolia. The Prince was now fifteen years old and had ruled as sanjak over a district; this new appointment finally confirmed the Sultan’s choice of Mustafa as his lawful heir, though many had been led by Sultana Khurrem’s ever increasing influence to doubt this. Pious Moslems, dazzled by the incomparable splendor of their military and naval forces, were persuaded that the great age of Islam had dawned. Only Sultana Khurrem was silent.

One day toward the end of summer, I was crossing the janissaries’ deserted courtyard, with my perfumed handkerchief to my nose because of the stench of severed heads from the vaults of the Gateway of Peace, when a limping onbash came up to me, struck me roughly on the shoulder with his cane, and having made sure of my name announced that he had orders to arrest me—to throw me in chains and confine me in the Fort of the Seven Towers.

I shouted aloud for help and insisted that there must be some terrible mistake, since I had nothing to hide and all my actions could bear the light of day. But the onbash silenced me with a blow across the mouth, and before I was fully aware of what was happening he had taken me to the smith, who riveted shackles about my ankles and held out a sooty hand—I must reward him for neither burning me nor breaking my bones. A sack was drawn over my head lest any in the street should recognize me. I was lifted onto a donkey and led the long way from the Seraglio to the Fort of the Seven Towers.

The constable, a thin-lipped eunuch, received me in person, for my rank and position were well known. He made me undress, searched and removed my clothes, giving me a worn camlet kaftan, and asked me politely whether I would have a cook of my own or be content with prison fare, which would cost me only two aspers a day. This sudden stunning blow of fate had so clouded my understanding that in a faint voice I declared myself satisfied to eat the same food as other prisoners. I was resolved to mortify my flesh and pass my time in pious meditation after my life of luxury in the Sultan’s service.

I bade the eunuch take from my purse a sum befitting his rank and dignity, and hoped that in return he would inform my unfortunate wife as to where I was and what had happened. But he shook his head and told me that this was out of the question, since all state prisoners must be kept as completely cut off from the outer world as if they dwelt in the moon.

This eunuch showed me the greatest consideration and respect, and even exerted himself to climb with me up the steep stairs to show me the view from the marble pinnacles of the Golden Gate. At the same time I had the opportunity of observing the measures taken to defend the fort against assailants, and I believe that the walls alone that linked one tower with the next were enough to sever us from the outer world.

In the square marble tower of the Golden Gate he showed me bricked-up, windowless vaults into which food was passed through an opening the width of a hand. These were designed for the highest princes of Osman’s line and for viziers and members of the Divan, whose rank did not permit them to be shackled. With pardonable pride he pointed to one wall and told me that not even the oldest warder knew who lived behind it, and the prisoner himself could not tell him, as his tongue had been cut out on his arrest many, many years ago. He then showed me the deep hole through which corpses were thrown into the moat and thence carried away into the Marmara. For my further entertainment he pointed out the bloodstained block where executions by the sword took place. Above a long-since bricked- up gateway a faded gold inscription in Greek letters could still be seen, surmounted by the two-headed eagle of the Byzantine emperors. Of this only the heads had been hewn away, to spare the feelings of pious Moslems.

At length, with many apologies, he showed me my own accommodation—a roomy stone cell with windows looking out over the courtyard. I might wander freely about this court and eat if I chose beside the wooden cookhouse.

He left me to my misery, and for three days and nights I lay on the hard wooden bench in my cell, without appetite or desire for company. Desperately I puzzled over the reason for my arrest, and indeed wondered that anyone had dared to order it, since to judge from Ibrahim’s letters I still enjoyed his favor. I passed all my actions in review, and even my secret thoughts, but without finding anything to justify my plight. Yet the more earnestly a man broods over possible guilt, the guiltier he feels. After three days and nights of self-examination I was so keenly aware that at least in my heart I had broken many laws, both of the Prophet and of man, that I was left like a guttering candle, and felt of all outcasts the most wretched.

On the third day the duty onbash came to me with a bundle of clothes, my old copper pen case, and a letter from Giulia. She hinted obscurely that I had only myself and my ingratitude to thank for my hard fate. “Never should I have thought that you would deceive me so,” she wrote. “If you had revealed your base scheme to me I could at least have warned you. And now, but for my tears and prayers, your head would have been cut off and your body thrown into the pit. I can do no more for you; you have made your bed and must lie on it, thankless Michael. I can never forgive your conduct, for soon I shall be forced to pawn my jewels to meet household expenses.”

Her incomprehensible letter put me altogether beside myself. I rushed to the eunuch, burst into passionate reproaches, and ended, “I can bear this uncertainty no longer—I am going out of my mind. What am I accused of, that I may at least defend myself? When the Grand Vizier returns he will inflict terrible punishment on everyone who has dared to lay a hand on me. Have my irons struck off, my good man, and release me at once from this prison, or even you may lose your head.”

The eunuch was annoyed at being disturbed in his exacting work of casting accounts. Yet as became a man trained in the Seraglio he kept his temper and answered pleasantly, “Ah, Michael el-Hakim, in five or ten years when you are a little more composed we will discuss the question again. Very few state prisoners know what they’re accused of, for the essence of the punishment decreed by the Sultan in his wisdom lies in that very torment of uncertainty. Not one of our distinguished guests knows whether he will remain here a week, a year, or his whole life. At any hour of the day or night the deaf-mutes may come and lead you to the brink of the pit; at any hour the gates of the prison may open before you and release you once more into the world of men, to attain perhaps to even higher distinctions than before. You would be wise to devote this favorable time to mystic contemplation, until like the dervishes you come to understand that in the eyes of Allah all is illusion, whether it be imprisonment or freedom, wealth or poverty, power or serfdom. Therefore I shall be happy to lend you the Koran.”

But it was easier to discuss these things in the sweatroom of the bathhouse than behind the iron bars of a prison. I lost all control of myself and began to stamp and shriek until he was compelled to have me seized by janissaries and caned on the soles of my feet. My fury soon dissolved into tears of pain, and the janissaries held me under the arms and half-carried me back to my cell, where they touched brow and floor with their finger tips to convey their continued good will and respect. The swelling and agony of my feet distracted my thoughts, as the wise eunuch had intended, and so in time I composed myself and began to live each day as it came. My one hope was that when the Grand Vizier returned from Persia he would miss me and, Seraglio intrigues notwithstanding, discover my whereabouts.

The five daily prayers and ablutions helped to pass the time, and having nothing else to do I diligently studied the Koran. I also took the friendly eunuch’s advice and performed the breathing exercises of the dervishes, and fasted now and then. But I soon found my faith too weak for me to attain the state of supreme rapture extolled by Marabouts and holy dervishes.

At last, therefore, I abandoned these exercises and was content to maintain my body in good health and to eat with appetite. All day long I strolled about the courtyard while flocks of migrating birds swept with a rush of wings overhead against the turquoise sky of autumn. In this way I came to know my fellow captives, among whom were many eminent Mussulmans and also Christians who were of value to the Sultan for the exchange of prisoners. They idled the days away lying on the grass about the cookhouse, though some of the more industrious busied themselves with carving tallies of the days of their imprisonment, and proverbs, on the smooth stones at the base of the towers. Twice I met Rashid, the Prince of Tunis, and heard him revile Khaireddin and Sultan Suleiman for their dastardly betrayal.

Weeks passed, the acacias in the courtyard shed their leaves, the days grew chilly, and I wearied of the company of my fellows. I was consumed with yearning for my beautiful house on the shores of the Bosphorus, and could imagine nothing more desirable than to recline on a soft cushion on the terrace as dusk fell over the waters and one by one the stars came out. I longed to see again my red and gold fish, to hold my little daughter Mirmah by the hand and guide her steps as she struggled toward the faithful Alberto’s embrace. I wasted away with longing and believed myself abandoned by everyone.

One clear autumn day as I stood on top of the marble tower I looked across the misty blue sea and beheld sails, pennants, and silver crescents, and like an echo from another world I heard the boom of cannon from Seraglio Point. The turrets of the Gateway of Peace shimmered dreamlike in the distance, while at my feet the billowing landscape, sprinkled with white tombstones, glowed golden in the clear autumn air. A dusty, chalk-white road wound its way among the hills and vanished in the distance.

The freedom, the beauty of the scene cut me to the heart, and I was sorely tempted to hurl myself down from the giddy height of the tower and find release from this world’s vanity, suffering, and hope.

Well that I did not, for that day brought an unexpected turn in my fortunes. At dusk three deaf-mutes came to the prison. With dragging steps they crossed the courtyard to the marble tower on the side nearest the sea, where the death pit was. Here in silence they strangled Prince Rashid and cast his lecherous body into the hole, from which incident I concluded that Khaireddin had captured Tunis and so had no further use for Rashid ben-Hafs.

Like all the other prisoners I was aghast at the arrival of these deaf- mutes. Of the three I recognized at once the ashen-faced, cruel Negro who used to visit Abu el-Kasim’s slave. As he crossed the courtyard he gave me an expressionless look, but with his fingers he made a reassuring sign to show that I was not altogether forgotten.

This greeting was the first message I had had from the outer world since Giulia’s letter, and I was seized by so feverish an agitation that I could not sleep that night. On the third day after the deaf-mutes’ appearance I was summoned by the eunuch, who ordered my fetters to be struck off, gave me back my clothes and money, and accompanied me to the gate as a mark of his unchanging regard. Thus I was released as suddenly and mysteriously as I had been imprisoned so many months ago.

Outside, to my amazement, I found Abu el-Kasim awaiting me in a splendid palanquin, and no one will blame me for bursting into tears at the sight of him. I wept like a fountain, leaning against his scrawny shoulder and breathing in the bitter, spicy smell of his kaftan as if he had been my father.

Abu drew me in beside him and under cover of the curtains gave me a little wine. Recovering slightly from my agitation I asked him eagerly whether I was indeed free, what I had been accused of and what had been happening in the world since I had been snatched from it. Abu el-Kasim said, “Ask no foolish questions. The matter is of no importance and will become clear to you in due course. All you need do now is come home, recite the first sura, and give me the Russian woman and her son according to your promise. It was only to fetch them that I returned, and for the rest of my days I shall live peacefully in Tunis. Thanks to Khaireddin that town has been liberated from the Hafsid tyranny and now celebrates its freedom under the vigilant protection of the janissaries.”

Not until he had assured himself that I meant to keep my word and give him the Russian did he heave a sigh of relief and tell me the reason for my imprisonment.

It seemed that when Khaireddin set sail in the spring he made first for Coron and supplied the fortress with new cannon. Then for the first time in history the Mussulman fleet sailed openly through the Strait of Messina to display its strength, after which it cruised slowly northward and systematically raided the coast of the Kingdom of Naples. Doria dared not come out to meet Khaireddin, since because of seemingly well-founded rumors he believed the fleet to be bound for Genoa. Most unluckily a Christian slave, in return for his freedom, promised to show Khaireddin’s land forces the way to the castle of Fondi, where there was reputed to be immense treasure.

“It appeared, however,” said Abu el-Kasim, “that the slave had greatly exaggerated the value of this, and in their fury the janissaries broke into the chapel, plundered the coffins of the dead lords of the castle, and scattered their bones. The lady of the castle, a widow of ripe years named Giulia Gonzaga, fled in her nightgown. Khaireddin had never heard of her, but after her escape she spread the most colorful stories of her flight. Since her widowhood she had been wont to entertain poets and other riffraff, in the frivolous Italian manner, and in return for her hospitality these poets hailed her in their verses as the most beautiful woman in Italy. You know what poets are—there was no harm in any of it. But in her crazy vanity this woman spread the report that Khaireddin had stormed her castle solely on her account, because he meant to send her to the harem of his lord, Sultan Suleiman. She told the tale so often that she began to believe it herself.”

“Allah be good to us!” I exclaimed, deeply shaken. “Now I understand. Small wonder that Sultana Khurrem was angry when she heard of this, for she must have believed that Khaireddin had betrayed her confidence at my instigation. I can only marvel that my head remains on my shoulders. A woman scorned is more savage in her jealousy than an Indian tiger.”

“The Venetian Signoria took care that this entertaining story should reach the ears of the Sultana, and she was the more eager to believe it for a certain disharmony that had arisen between her and the Sultan over Prince Mustafa, just before Suleiman went to war. The best proof of its falsehood is that the groom who risked his life to save Giulia Gonzaga was slain afterward at her order, because he laughed at her story and said that the Sultan would certainly prefer a sack of flour to the lady’s somewhat flabby charms.”

“Then,” I remarked, “the misunderstanding must now have been cleared up and Sultana Khurrem will know that I am innocent. But if not, I must flee to Persia and seek refuge with the Grand Vizier, loath though I am to encounter Shiite swords.”

Abu el-Kasim said, “She believes in your innocence, and Khaireddin’s princely gifts have entirely dispelled her groundless suspicions. But now Grand Vizier Ibrahim is reported to have marched with great pomp into Tabriz, the Shah’s capital, and so reached the peak of his glory. The Sultan has joined him there and lovely Khurrem can only sit and bite her nails. For many days Istanbul has been rejoicing at the conquest of Persia, and now new fires are being lit to celebrate the capture of Tunis.”

We embarked in my boat, and as the stars came out and sparkled like silver sand against the blue of the night sky I saw far away my beautiful house and garden, and the high walls rising in terraces above the shore. So unreal did all things seem to me that life itself appeared but as a dream, a flower, a song. I drove my nails into the palms of my hands in an effort to control myself, impatient for the moment when I could once more hold my wife Giulia in my arms. The slaves had hardly raised their oars to let the boat glide noiselessly to the marble landing stage before I leaped out, and on winged feet sped up the steps to my house. Seizing the first lamp I saw I hastened to the upper floor, calling out Giulia’s name in the hope that she might yet be awake. Hearing the noise, the faithful Alberto came rushing to meet me with his hair on end, breathless from astonishment. He hastened to fasten his yellow coat and threw himself at my feet weeping for joy at my return, and embracing my legs with his powerful arms. Not until he heard Giulia calling to me in a faint voice did he come to his senses and release me.

Giulia was lying limply on her bed, her hair curling over the pillow.

“Oh, Michael, is that you? I thought by the noise that thieves had broken in. I can’t think how it is you’re here so soon, for Sultana Khurrem and I agreed that it should be tomorrow. Someone has been negligent or taken a bribe, and deserves severe punishment for the fright you’ve given me. My heart is still thumping and I can scarcely draw breath.”

She sounded indeed so breathless and frightened that I raised the lamp to look at her, and although she quickly drew up the coverlet and hid her face in her hands I could not but see that her left eye was bruised and that there were red weals across her shoulders as though from a cane. Aghast, I snatched off the coverlet and beheld her shivering, naked body covered with red blotches.

“What is this?” I cried. “Are you ill, or has someone beaten you?”

Giulia began to sob, and wailed, “I slipped and fell on those treacherous stairs, striking my eye and rolling right to the bottom. By a miracle I broke no bones. Can you wonder that I’m bruised and shivering? Alberto helped me to bed and when he had gone I drew off my shift to look at my bruises and rub them with salves. I hoped to be quite well again to welcome you tomorrow—and then you come storming in like a wild beast with no consideration for me whatever.”

She was talking so excitedly that I could not get a word in, and as I had often slipped on those stairs myself, especially after drinking wine, I had no reason to doubt her word and was aware only of a deep thankfulness that she had suffered no worse injury. Yet somewhere in the depths of my heart that evening—though I would not admit it even to myself—the vile, scorching truth was revealed.

Having humbly begged Giulia’s pardon for my thoughtless behavior, I called Abu el-Kasim to enter, since owing to her injuries Giulia could not leave her bed. But Abu was out of humor because Giulia had allowed the Russian nurse to go out with the other servants to celebrate the Sultan’s victories. He fidgeted about the room for some time, scratching himself, and at length set forth in search of the woman to protect her virtue from the mob.

I was not sorry to see him go, for now at last Giulia and I could be alone. Inflamed by wine and my own suspicions I could not master myself, but embraced her to deaden my thoughts, though she begged me to spare her bruised body. My passion only burned the hotter as the agonizing truth forced its way deeper and deeper into my heart. Giulia submitted ever more willingly and at last began to respond faintly to my caress. Artlessly she asked me whether I still loved her, and I could only grit my teeth and declare that of all women on earth I loved only her—that no other could satisfy my desire. This was the hideous truth and I hated myself for submitting to her spell.

At length I sank to rest beside her, and she began to chide me gently. “What an unnatural father you are, Michael! You’ve not even asked after your daughter. Would you not like to peep at her while she’s asleep? You could never guess how she has grown and what a beautiful girl she promises to be.”

At this I could control my thoughts no longer and said, “No, no, I won’t see her. I won’t even think about her. She has Alberto. All I ask is to bury my thoughts, my will, my hopes, my future, and my bitter, bitter disillusionment in your arms. I love you only and can do no other.”

At my violent and despairing words she raised herself quickly on her elbow. Her face was strangely flushed and there was a cruel look about her lips as she stared at me in the yellow lamplight. But dissimulation came easily to me now, and presently she shrugged her white shoulders and lay down calmly at my side, saying, “You talk very foolishly, Michael. You should not neglect your own child for my sake. Mirmah has often asked after you, and tomorrow you shall walk with her in the garden, to show both her and me that you’re a tender and thoughtful father, though I know you care little for children. So much at least you can do for me, when I ask you so prettily.”

Next morning she brought Mirmah to me and I took the child into the garden to look at my red and yellow Indian fish. For a while she held my hand obediently, as no doubt Giulia had bidden her, but soon she forgot me and began throwing sand into the water with both hands to scare the fish. I cared little for the fish, but narrowly scrutinized the child that Giulia called mine. She was in her fifth year—a capricious, violent child who went into convulsions if her smallest wish was opposed. She was beautiful; her features were regular and faultless as those of a Greek statue, and her complexion was so smooth and dark as to make her eyes seem strangely pale. While we strolled in the garden Alberto followed us like a shadow, as if fearing that I might throw the little girl into the pool. But how could I have harmed her who had no share in the sin or in the death of my heart? When she had tired of teasing the fish Alberto took her quickly away and I sat down on a stone bench that was warmed by the sun. My head was empty and I did not want to think.

I was not many years over thirty, but the gnawing uncertainty of my’ imprisonment had led me to doubt the purpose of my life, and on my return the corroding truth took up its dwelling in my heart. I was overcome by a desperate longing to flee from the city of the Sultan and find somewhere—as far away as possible—a peaceful corner where I might live out my life like other men and in quietness increase my knowledge.

Yet how could I give up Giulia and my beautiful house, my comfortable bed, the good food served in porcelain and silver, my friends the poets and dervishes and above all the Grand Vizier who trusted and needed me ? I could not desert him—least of all now, when despite his brilliant successes the shadows were clustering thick about him. I strove to make a bold decision, but I could not tell what was best for me. Time slipped by like a swift stream, the worm gnawed at my heart, and vainly I sought comfort in my cups and oblivion in cheerful company.

To all appearances, the Ottoman Empire had never known so golden an age. The conquest of Tunis had brought with it control of Africa’s ancient caravan routes over the desert from the Negro lands; along these routes poured gold dust, black slaves, ivory, and ostrich feathers. Tunis was also a base for the conquest of Sicily, and already the Knights of St. John—the greatest menace afloat—were thinking of withdrawing from Malta to the security of the Italian mainland.
From Tabriz the united armies of the Sultan and the Grand Vizier embarked upon an arduous march to Bagdad, and news of the bloodless capture of the holy city of the caliphs came as a climax to many victorious tidings. Yet these successes could not provoke Shah Tahmasp to a decisive encounter, and the march on Bagdad claimed more than its share of victims. I received a letter from the Grand Vizier of which the very handwriting betrayed a disturbed state of mind, commanding me to join him in Bagdad.

The war was by no means ended. The army was to winter in Bagdad and in the spring renew its attack on Persia. But treachery lurked among the troops, he wrote, and did more damage than the weapons of the Persians. Iskender-tseleb the Defterdar was the cause of all the trouble, and since Aleppo he had brought about utter confusion in the finances. He had deliberately sent ten thousand men to certain death in an inaccessible mountain pass, and it was becoming more and more evident that the whole campaign had been planned to discredit Ibrahim as Seraskier. Ibrahim must be constantly on his guard against assassins—who were not sent by Shah Tahmasp. But, he wrote, he would turn the conspiracies of his foes against themselves; he would root out the treachery that had sprung up in the army and show who was Seraskier-sultan of the Ottoman Empire. From me he required a report of all that had happened in the Seraglio during his absence, and meant to entrust to me a further task, which could not be mentioned even in a secret dispatch.
I was filled with forebodings and fears that the noble Seraskier, distracted by the hardships and reverses of the war, had taken to suspecting treachery in the most innocent places. Yet since he commanded me, I must go to him. I will therefore begin my last book and relate how Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s star burned dim just as he attained to the highest position ever held by a slave in the Ottoman Empire.

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