‘But think, Sitt Hatun,’ Halil said, moving forward and placing his hand on her shoulder. He had no sooner touched her, however, than Anna stepped behind him and pulled his arm away while with her other hand she brought a knife to Halil’s throat.
‘My Lady asked you to leave,’ Anna said. ‘I suggest that you do so.’
‘You would not dare,’ Halil hissed. His free hand went to a dagger at his belt, but Anna pressed her knife more closely to his throat. Halil released the dagger. ‘Unhand me,’ he ordered.
‘I would only be obeying the law,’ Anna replied. ‘You must know that the punishment is death for any man not of the royal family found in the harem. Unless, of course, that man is a eunuch.’ She moved her knife down to Halil’s groin. ‘If you wish to stay, I can do you that service.’
‘No, no, I will leave,’ Halil said. Anna withdrew her knife and stepped away. Halil bowed stiffly to the sultana and moved to the secret door, where he paused and turned. ‘Think well on what I have said, Sitt Hatun. You will see that it is for the best.’ With that, he left.
Not two minutes later, there was another faint knocking – two knocks, a pause, and three more. Anna opened the secret door and Kacha stepped out, holding Bayezid. ‘I am sorry to come so late, My Lady,’ Kacha said. ‘But I had to get away. Just look at what Gülbehar has done to her own child.’ The boy had a fresh mark on his forearm – the angry red imprint of a hand – and he was sobbing quietly. ‘I hate her!’ Kacha said.
Sitt Hatun took Bayezid and held the boy close. ‘There, there. All will be well,’ she soothed and then turned to Kacha. ‘Did you see anybody on your way here? Were you seen?’
‘There was an old woman in the kitchen, but she did not see us.’
‘Good,’ Sitt Hatun said. ‘I am glad you came, Kacha. You and Bayezid will always have friends here.’ Sitt Hatun stroked Bayezid’s head and thought of Halil’s words: for Selim to become sultan, this boy must die.
Several nights later, Halil, his face hidden in the folds of a hooded cloak, emerged from a small side door of the palace and slipped into a curtained litter. Four burly slaves lifted the litter and set off into the heart of the dark city. It was less than a month since Mehmed had taken the throne, and Halil was already chafing under the new sultan’s reign. Mehmed was as headstrong as ever and as hard to control as Halil had feared. Halil had spent years helping Murad to craft a peace with the Christians, and already Mehmed was eager to wreck it. He ignored Halil’s advice and insisted on giving him the most thankless of tasks. It was almost as degrading as the time many years ago when Murad had given him the loathsome job of rounding up Christian children for the
devshirm
e, to provide soldiers for the janissaries. Only then Halil had been a mere
kaziasker
, a military judge in the new province of Salonika, and not the grand vizier.
Halil’s litter was set down in an alley behind Ishak Pasha’s grand Edirne residence. Halil had been surprised at how readily Ishak had agreed to this late night meeting, but then, Ishak had his reasons. After the battle of Kossova, Murad had appointed him second vizier of the empire. Now Mehmed had passed over Ishak without mention, not reconfirming his post as vizier or as head of the Anatolian cavalry. There were few more loyal to the empire than Ishak, but if his loyalty were to ever waver, now was surely the time.
One of Ishak’s servants was waiting beside a small door, and Halil left the litter and followed him into the house. The servant led him up a flight of stairs and into a small room, bare but for a thick carpet, a few cushions and a low table on which was set a tea kettle and two small ceramic cups. Ishak stood there waiting, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked the same as ever – steel-grey hair and a handsome, weathered face. The servant left, closing the thick door behind him, and Ishak stepped forward and embraced Halil. ‘Welcome, old friend.’
‘Thank you for meeting me,’ Halil said as they both sat down on the cushions.
‘You said that it was important, and to speak truly, I am eager
for any information that you can give me,’ Ishak said. He poured two cups of steaming tea and handed one to Halil. ‘What news do you bring from the palace? Has the sultan spoken of me?’
Halil shook his head, and Ishak’s shoulders slumped. Clearly, Ishak had been hoping that Halil brought news of an appointment. ‘I bring only bad news from the palace, I am afraid,’ Halil said. He gestured to the room. ‘May I speak freely here?’
‘The walls of this room are thick. No one will overhear us.’
Halil nodded, but he lowered his voice nevertheless. ‘It is of the sultan that I must speak,’ he said. ‘I fear that he may not be fit to rule. He speaks only of plots against him. He fears your power and plans to strip you of your rank and exile you to the provinces, where you will be of no threat to him. He is treating all of the able men in the empire likewise. I fear that my turn will come soon enough.’
‘This is bad news indeed,’ Ishak mused as he sipped at his tea. ‘I had hoped that age would make Mehmed wiser.’
‘Alas, he has not changed. He surrounds himself with fools and sycophants, just as he did during his first reign. He ignores me and openly scorns his father’s ministers, preferring to listen to any who will flatter his vanity. I fear he will lead our great empire to ruin.’
‘Do not be melodramatic, Halil. Mehmed is young still. In time he will gain wisdom.’
‘In time? When? After we are long dead?’ Halil set his tea down untasted and met Ishak’s eyes. ‘I am not willing to wait that long, Ishak. Are you?’
‘What are you suggesting, Halil?’
‘Perhaps we would do better to serve a different sultan,’ Halil said. Ishak’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, so Halil continued. ‘Mehmed’s child Selim is still only a babe. Until he is grown, the empire would be in the hands of those wise enough to rule it properly.’
‘Rebellion then,’ Ishak said, a trace of disgust in his voice. ‘This is your counsel? And what of Mehmed?’
‘Mehmed is young and weak. The army bears no love for him,
but they will follow you. Raise the army and take the palace. I will see to it that you meet little resistance. Within a month from now Selim could be on the throne with you and I as his viziers, ruling the empire as it should be ruled.’
Ishak did not reply. He finished his tea and then rose and began to pace the room. Finally he stopped, rubbing his hands as if to wash them. ‘Why have you come here?’ he asked. ‘We are old friends, Halil. You know that I would never betray the sultan.’
‘But Mehmed is no sultan!’ Halil insisted, also rising. ‘You remember his first reign: consorting with that half-mad Persian heretic and ignoring the army while the Christians marched on our lands. He is no different today. Now he dreams of conquering Constantinople, this after he almost lost the battle of Kossova despite having more than twice as many men as the Christians. You were there, Ishak. You saw. Are you willing to give your life to satisfy his foolish vanity?’
‘He may be a fool, but he is a brave fool,’ Ishak replied. ‘He led the final charge at Kossova himself and against great odds. But I would follow him were he a fool and a coward, for the choice is not mine. Allah has chosen Mehmed to be the sultan, and that is an end to the matter.’
‘Even if that means that you are passed over and ignored, exiled and left to rot while men like Saruja Pasha take the place that is rightfully yours?’
‘I will never raise my hand against the sultan, Halil,’ Ishak said with finality. ‘Never.’
Halil nodded. He had suspected as much. Still, he had one card left to play. ‘This is not merely a question of your loyalty to the sultan. This is not a game that I am playing, Ishak. I know that you despise such plotting, but you cannot hold yourself aloof from this. You must choose a side. Either you are with me, or you are against me.’
Ishak turned his back on Halil. ‘Then I am against you, old friend,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You may leave now. My servant will show you out. Allah go with you.’
‘And with you,’ Halil said as he left. He had expected no less. Ishak Pasha had always been a man of unshakeable integrity, a soldier with little stomach for the ugly side of politics. No, Halil was not surprised, nor was he upset. His midnight errand had ended exactly as he had hoped it would.
Mehmed had hardly awakened when the chief eunuch appeared and told him that Ishak Pasha requested a private audience with him. The old soldier had arrived at sunrise and had been waiting ever since; he was adamant that he would not leave until he had seen the sultan. Mehmed hurried to dress. This promised to be a most interesting meeting.
As always, Mehmed paused at a spyhole before entering his audience chamber, and took a few seconds to examine Ishak. He stood stiff and stern, his beard neatly trimmed and his clothes the simple garb of a soldier. Even standing alone, Ishak emanated authority. He was a man that Mehmed would not want against him. After a final look, Mehmed entered the chamber and seated himself on the throne, acknowledging Ishak’s bow with a wave of his hand.
‘I am pleased to see you, Ishak Pasha,’ Mehmed began. ‘Now, what is so important that you come before me at this early hour?’
‘I have learned of a plot to kill you and place your youngest son on the throne, My Lord. Last night, I was approached and asked to join the conspiracy. Of course, I felt it was my duty to inform you at once of this treason.’
‘Treason?’ Mehmed frowned. ‘This is most serious then. Who has committed this treason?’
Ishak hesitated, and Mehmed could tell that the next words were hard for him. ‘I regret to inform you that the traitor is the grand vizier, Halil Pasha.’
Mehmed nodded in satisfaction. ‘I am most pleased by your loyalty, Ishak Pasha,’ he said. ‘It is no easy task to accuse one’s friend, even though it be to protect the sultan. I see that my father was right to value you so highly. You are a man who can be trusted, and your loyalty will be rewarded.’
‘Thank you, My Lord,’ Ishak said and bowed.
‘As for Halil, do not fear,’ Mehmed continued. ‘I already know everything that he said to you last night.’
‘You do, My Lord? But how?’
‘Because I am the one who sent him.’
‘I do not understand, My Lord.’
‘I will be moving against Constantinople soon, Ishak Pasha, and I need commanders who I can trust,’ Mehmed explained. ‘I needed to be sure of your loyalty before granting you your post. You are to be the Governor of Anatolia, and you shall remain the commander of the Anatolian Cavalry.’
‘I am most grateful, My Lord,’ Ishak said.
‘And I am most grateful for your loyalty, Ishak Pasha. As for the conspiracy that Halil told you of, never fear: it does not exist.’
That night, Halil sat alone, reading by candlelight in his private study – a secure, thick-walled room for which only he had the key. He held in his hands a coded letter from the Greek monk Gennadius. The letter represented the opportunity that Halil had been waiting for. The relationship that he had been cultivating with the rebellious monk had now paid off twofold. Originally, Halil had sent his poisons to Gennadius merely to facilitate the death of the Greek Empress-Mother Helena, and he had expected nothing more. But now Gennadius was offering up Constantinople to him on a platter, going so far as to guarantee the fall of the city so long as Halil assured Gennadius that he would be made patriarch and there would be no union between the Orthodox and Catholic churches.
The offer was too good to pass up. With Gennadius’s assistance, perhaps conquering Constantinople would be possible after all. Yes, Halil decided, he would agree to Gennadius’s proposal, but on one condition: the monk must see to it that Mehmed died during the siege. The task would not be too difficult for a man of Gennadius’s cunning. Mehmed’s spies, careful as they were, would not be able to watch over the monk. And Halil would provide
Gennadius with enough information to ensure his success. Once Mehmed was dead and Constantinople had fallen, it would be Halil, as grand vizier and regent, who would rule the greatest empire in all the world. He would then gladly turn over the patriarchy to Gennadius.
His decision made, Halil burned Gennadius’s letter, stamping the ashes out on the stone floor, and then took up a quill to write his coded response. He would have Isa deliver the letter to Gennadius, along with enough gold to facilitate Mehmed’s death. Halil grinned wickedly to himself. How amusing, he mused, that Mehmed’s dream to conquer Constantinople would actually succeed, and the success would cost the sultan his life.
Chapter 12
DECEMBER 1451 TO JANUARY 1452: GENOA
L
ongo stood at the pier as the ship that bore Sofia glided to a stop before him. He did not know why she had returned to Genoa, nor did he care. She was here now, beautiful in a simple white cotton robe as she stepped off the ship. He hurried to greet her, and to his surprise, she threw her arms around him.
‘I am so glad you have returned,’ he told her. ‘But why are you here? Are you not needed in Constantinople?’
‘I came for you,’ Sofia told him.
‘You are too late,’ Longo said, pulling away. ‘I am married.’
‘No, it is never too late.’ Sofia kissed him and her mouth opened to his. ‘Come with me.’ She led him to his palazzo and then to his chambers, stopping before his bed and turning to face him. ‘I’ve been thinking of you, of our kiss,’ she told him.
‘As have I. It is foolish, I know.’
‘No, it is not.’ She untied her robes and they slipped to the floor, leaving her naked. Longo’s eyes moved down from the curve of her delicate collarbone, to her small but firm breasts, to the nest of auburn hair that began below her flat stomach.
He shook his head. ‘But I am married. We cannot.’
‘We can,’ Sofia said. She stepped towards him, and Longo pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard. But something was wrong. A thin layer of smoke had filled the room. Through the window beyond Sofia, he could see that the city was aflame, overrun by the Turks. The room was filling with smoke and fire, and suddenly the scar-faced Turk who had killed his
parents was there. He pointed at Sofia and ordered his men to gut her. Longo drew her to him, ready to defend her with his life, but Sofia dissolved into flames, her mouth open in a silent scream as she vanished from his arms. The flames spread over him and the air filled with choking smoke …