The Sultan of Byzantium (3 page)

Our rental income is deposited into my grandmother’s bank account. After expenses, what’s left is divided half into dollars, half into Turkish lira and put into three interest-bearing accounts, one for each of us. But my mother and I aren’t allowed to touch our accounts. My grandmother puts $7500 into mine every month; this amount is adjusted periodically on the basis of parity with the prime minister’s salary. I’m sure, incidentally, that my mother’s is indexed to that of the president. Hayal has to kiss her grandmother’s hand to get her allowance.

I collected watches and took theme trips. Having no reason to save money was the source of my freedom. In my student years I wandered across Anatolia to see its castles, ancient bridges and lighthouses. I went to Geneva to admire the watches in the shop windows, to Tarifa for the killer whales, to Druridge Bay for the bird sanctuary, to Umman for the stingrays, to Odessa to play chess with a master who was a transvestite. People were surprised at my not knowing the silent woman in the group on a picnic with Marieta and Schalk in Namibia’s Harnas Nature Park. Marieta and Schalk were two tame lions; the woman with violet eyes was a Hollywood star named Angelina Jolie.

Hayal loves watching the fishermen on the Galata Bridge. I go there with her if she’s not on good terms with her boyfriend. According to some banners hung on the bridge on orders of the mayor, today, May 29, 2008 is the 555
^th
anniversary of the Conquest of Istanbul from the Byzantines. That means I’ll be thirty-three tomorrow. Those banners remind me of all my uncelebrated birthdays. But then, as Oscar Wilde said, ‘After twenty-five everybody is the same age.’ On my birthdays I grow tired of never getting tired.

I ought to call Madam Olga, who knows me as Engin Galatali, from a phone booth. Not because I make love to two girls at the same time but because I started reading the poems of her countryman Joseph Brodsky, Olga the retired teacher calls me, ‘My Sultan’.

At the beginning of my teaching career Eugenio told me, ‘Each of your students is like a candle given to you for safekeeping. Don’t forget.’

I did more than my share; I warmed my heart with their flickering light. Creating a stress-free atmosphere in my classes, I succeeded in becoming their confidant. Once a year I took them to Galata and guided them through the labyrinthine neighborhood. Female students wrote me love letters. Male students, owing to my love of poetry, tried lining me up with women in the department of literature. I was well aware that they respected me for my unusual journeys.

I proposed to fly to the capital of Eritrea on June 15, 2008. I wanted to acquaint myself with the minimalist architecture of Asmara and at the same time meet up with Leo Punto, who had settled in the city for its beautiful name, for a game of chess or two. After that I planned to meet my old grad-school friend James Hill in Dar es Salaam. We intended to conquer Kilimanjaro, above the Serengeti Plain.

On the morning of June 5, I opened a courier-delivered envelope and it became clear that I would have to cancel my plans for Asmara. On the purple sheet of paper that fell out of it was a mysterious invitation:

Distinguished Sir:

I was a friend of your grandfather, may he rest in peace. I would be pleased to see you at the Four Seasons Hotel in Sultanahmet tomorrow at 14:00. Please bring with you that Christophoro de Bondelmontibus map you have at home, but don’t take it from its frame. I have no interest in the Constantinople map. The other item is much more important, and I have excellent news for you.

One of my assistants will meet you in the lobby.

With the hope that our meeting will remain confidential between us, and

My deepest respect,

Nikos Askaris

It was handwritten in black ink; I read it twice. The first irritating point was the exaggeratedly respectful final sentence of this friend of my grandfather. It seemed forced to me and perhaps an early warning of an oncoming burden. As I dusted off the framed map drawn in 1422 by the Florentine priest Bondelmontibus and laid it on my desk, I wondered about this Askaris, who had not omitted the diacritical mark in my name. On the engraving under the glass my eye took in Galata. The walls that besieged the city from the north and the west seemed to be dancing the
halay
in a circle around the Tower. The Byzantine remnants inside the city walls appeared as timid as pawns on a chessboard. I phoned the hotel and asked for Nikos Askaris. To the man who answered in a high-pitched voice I said, ‘I’m calling to hear you say that you’re not making an illegal proposal.’ When Askaris replied in accent-free Turkish and pronounced the second syllable of my name correctly as well I felt somewhat relieved. I wrapped up the little map with care and prepared for the meeting. Suddenly, I was wondering about the nature of a potential burden. I changed my mind and decided not to call Madame Olga. All of a sudden I had a craving for George Seferis. I took
The Complete Works
from the shelf and opened it at random:

What are you hunting, old friend?

After so many years

Under foreign skies

Far from your own land

You’ve come home from exile

Hanging on to all those memories.

*

Whenever I go to Sultanahmet Square I seem to step back into different eras from the past. This time I found myself in the festive atmosphere of the Byzantine hippodrome. The shouts of the fanatical spectators followed me all the way to Sultanahmet Mosque …

At the other end of the square the Four Seasons Hotel stood like a sentinel. Constructed originally as a government building to house public services, the building had a dark history as a prison for so-called thought criminals. As I entered the calm lobby, a large man with a beard materialized before me.

In almost perfect Turkish he said, ‘Welcome, sir, I’m Theo Pappas and I’m here to take you to Mr Askaris, if you will allow.’ As I fell in behind this apple-cheeked man who appeared no older than forty, I was thinking how he looked simultaneously like a priest and the head of security. The prim and proper courtyard we were crossing must once have been the prison’s exercise area.

‘Mr Askaris’s suite was once the prison warden’s office,’ said Theo with a smile.

Nikos Askaris was a small ugly man in his sixties, with a thin beard; he wore his face like a mask. I wondered what sort of plusses he owned to offset this outlook. Another man in the spacious room with a red beard and glasses was Askaris’s other assistant, Kalligas. The three had two features in common: they were all bearded and wore suits. I would have bet they worked for a church or a charity organization. On the table lay two packages. I laid the bag with the map requested in the letter next to them and asked for white wine from the minibar. Askaris took mineral water for himself and beckoned me to the table. Papas and Kalligas seated themselves on chairs immediately behind him. Kalligas, who looked about thirty-five, also spoke very fluent Turkish. I was almost getting used to their determination not to fail to show absolute respect toward me.

‘Before we broach the main subject, sir, I’d like to ask a question, if I may. In two sentences, how would you define Byzantium?’ said Askaris.

‘Once upon a time Byzantium was synonymous with intrigue, but this image has gradually changed. For me Byzantium mingled East and West and became the most prominent civilization of its own time, and then it triggered the Renaissance.’

‘What a wonderful summary! It might be added that no other empire ever stayed alive and active for over eleven hundred years. In Byzantium sovereignty did not always pass from father to the eldest son. In order to allow the most deserving person to ascend the throne, there was a flexible selection process, and because of that there were occasional periods of bloody conflict. But didn’t Rome and Hellenistic Greece have similar problems? Since in those ages communications were not as advanced as in Byzantium, their recorded history is incomplete.

‘The greatness of Byzantium begins with her will to continue the legacy of Greece and Rome, to which she was the natural heir. As you said, that heritage was enriched by a touch of the East.

‘Byzantium laid the foundations of modernism. She initiated state social institutions. She disciplined the military, educational, financial, legal and technological sectors. She made sports and entertainment an integral part of life. To raise the quality of life she formed organizations for the improvement of health care, city planning, the crafts, fashion, jewellery-making, and social manners. As a role model she influenced her neighbors in science, culture, and the arts. You also noted that the Byzantine scholars who fanned out into Europe after the fall of Constantinople paved the way for the Renaissance.

‘During the Middle Ages the East was generally superior to the West, military-wise. The Byzantines saved the future of Europe by blocking the path of the Eastern armies to the unprepared continent. In short, Byzantium was the most significant civilization in history, and if humans ever offer prayers of gratitude for the gifts they’ve received, the name of Byzantium ought to come after God and before Jesus.’

I was not impressed that Askaris turned out to be a cheerleader for Byzantium. I slowed him down by asking for another glass of wine, then got set to listen to the second part of his spiel, which was intended to connect his monologue to the agenda. I was curious about his proposal, but I knew I was not going to say yes. Maybe this explained my calm demeanor, which appeared to surprise the team. What I was actually curious about was how these three boring Greeks had learned to speak Turkish so fluently.

Askaris and the two behind him took their seats again, and the horse-faced Askaris continued in an even higher pitch.

‘For eleven centuries eleven dynasties ruled Byzantium. During the last, the Palaeologus dynasty, eleven emperors held the throne for a total of 192 years. The Palaeologi ruled the Empire for the longest stretch and during her most trying times. It was founded by Michael, who came from a noble family. In fact his last name, meaning ‘old word’, is a sign of deep roots. The Palaeologus dynasty’s performance during their rule has to be considered a success, given the conditions of the times. The last emperor, Constantine XI Palaeologus, was forty-five when he ascended the throne in 1449. He was a model leader. Both the army and the people claimed him as their own. When he rejected Sultan Mehmet II’s terms of surrender, the Ottoman army of 80,000 men began the siege of Constantinople on April 2, 1453. The Byzantine army had about 7,000 soldiers, whose task was to defend a city whose population had been reduced to 60,000. The emperor put his trust in the city’s walls – which invaders had failed to breach for 800 years – and the support of allies like Pope Nicholas V and the European monarchs. But help against the fifty-five-day siege was late in coming, and merely symbolic at that. It was like the Pope wanted to stab Orthodox Byzantium in the back because she had never recognized his sovereignty.

‘The army had lost its defensive strength, and the people, in dire economic straits, were anxious. Constantine distracted the people with empty promises and paid his soldiers’ wages by melting down the precious metal vessels belonging to the churches. But his heroic efforts were not enough; on May 29, 1453, Constantinople succumbed! The corpse of Constantine XI, dressed in his imperial vestments, was paraded through the city. The 53,000 civilians and soldiers who were taken as slaves by the Ottoman forces were dead certain to a person that the body was not that of their emperor. Most of them were of the belief that he had disappeared into the massive walls and would emerge when the day of independence came again.

‘George Sphrantzes wrote that Constantine XI died in combat on the city walls. In time this claim gained authority. The same historian also concocted the story that the Ottomans brought an army of 200,000 soldiers to the siege of the city. Sphrantzes, who was born in 1401, was not only the confidant of the emperor but also his match-maker and private secretary. The historian Nicola della Tuccia, the poet Abraham of Angora, and the Byzantine bishop Samile, on the other hand, all wrote that the emperor escaped by ship.

‘At the time of the siege the emperor was forty-nine years old. If you consider the average life span in those days, he must have been about as strong as our own seventy-five-year-old grandfathers. Perhaps he couldn’t fight sword-to-sword with the Ottomans, but he did even more. As commanderin-chief he coordinated the deployment of the army along five miles’ worth of defensive walls. As the Ottoman victory neared, his close circle implored him to retreat to the Morea. He could remain there in exile for some time and return to the throne when circumstances were right, just as the dynasty’s founding father Michael had done. Seeing his army dissolving before his eyes and furthermore feeling the pressure of these unheroic suggestions, Constantine fainted. His robes were put on an officer whose head had been crushed. The emperor’s hands and feet were bound and he was put on the last Genoese boat to leave the city. The history books missed the fact that the emperor had been hijacked.

‘Among the noble names on the boat’s passenger list were six Palaeologi, two Cantacuzeni, two Comneni, two Laskaris and two Notaras. Loukas Notaras was the Grand Duke of the palace. Both he and Sphrantzes were Palaeologus sons-in-law, but they never liked each other. Notaras was a mysterious statesman – he was a citizen of Genoa and Venice both, and had great fortunes in both places.

‘Notaras and Sphrantzes surrendered to the Ottomans because the Sultan granted the nobles their lives. Notaras, one week after the city fell, was killed for unknown reasons; Sphrantzes, on the other hand, fled to Mistra, the last outpost of the Empire.

‘Let’s go back to the Genoese boat. According to its skipper, Captain Zorzi Doria, the Byzantine passengers disembarked at Chios and Crete. From there they scattered to the Morea, Corfu and assorted Italian towns. The emperor and his relatives, with Loukas Notaras’s daughter and sister, first went to Venice. There they transferred the fortune that had been accumulating in the Notaras family accounts to the emperor’s relatives.