The Lake of Sorrows (11 page)

All of a sudden her bubbling enthusiasm vanished. And all of a sudden she looked alarmed. “Forgive me, my lady, I should not have said that. I did not mean that. You should not think that — Oh, no. You are a married lady … “

But the deed was done; Froshenie was dreamy-eyed once again and her Vaya almost wished she
had
been made a martyr.

P
asha Alhi’s audience chamber was almost as big and every bit as opulent as the Sultan’s own. Riches fought weaponry for space on densely-packed walls, gold vying with ornate iron and steel for a visitor’s admiration. And on a gilt dais, seated on his throne with a pride that even the Sultan could not have matched, was Alhi, the ruler of all Hyperus and Thessaly.

Nevertheless, Muhtar Bey had not even once in his life shown the subservient courtesy of other men when greeting his father in the audience chamber; for the son saw his father, not his Pasha. But today, he saw an irate father and bowed as if to a Pasha.

The Pasha’s gall did not subside. “Tomorrow the French emissary will arrive at Yannina. I have been looking for you all day long. Where have you been?”

Shivering slightly and furious with himself for doing so, Muhtar replied with an arrogance he was far from feeling. “As soon as your message reached me, I came here. I am listening to your wishes.”

Alhi stood up and started pacing around him slowly. He took his time before he granted his son a mocking smile. “Lots of stories are heard about me. They say that if my women bear females, I drown them in the lake. Child
and
mother.”

Muhtar stood proudly still, following his Pasha’s pacing around out of the corner of his eyes. He knew his father well, and he was waiting for him to get to the point, once he felt the listener was off guard.

Alhi stopped his pacing at a window overlooking the city. “Most great men pride themselves on not listening to gossip.” He turned to face his son, smiling with all the cunning of a Tepeleni goatherd. “I pride myself on listening very well. And to use what I hear to my own benefit.”

He stepped closer to Muhtar and emphasized his next words. “But I know the truth and all
those
stories are just that, gossip. Yet if my women were to bear children all the time, I would have lots and lots of unneeded worries on my shoulders, do you not think so?”

Muhtar thought it would be wiser to say nothing.

“Can you imagine? Every woman in the harem with a child of her own?” Alhi chuckled. “The harem would become a cesspool of intrigue and assassinations that would make Constantinople look like a convent by comparison.”

His son could not help wincing. “Such disrespect to the empire’s capital could invite the silk cord if heard by the wrong ears.”

Alhi snorted. “And ears that hear what they are not supposed to hear could be cut off. Have been, often enough. Along with the tongues that might otherwise repeat what the ears have heard. Our servants know that. But we were speaking of women.”

He raised his index finger, like a teacher emphasizing a crucial point to a none-too-bright student. “Women are far more ambitious than men, my son. They crave as much power as possible for their children, and they have to conquer their menfolk to get that power. No enemy is more dangerous than an ambitious mother. Remember that.”

His vehemence seeped out of him, as his own wisdom seemed to sink in. He sighed and then went on. “My own mother, your grandmother, Hamko, was a man’s man in spirit, even if she had not the body of one. Allah only knows how many men she put to the sword or dagger to clear the way for me.”

The Pasha stopped for a moment, looked around him as if searching for some hidden listener, perhaps one only he could see. Then he shook it off and continued in a more conspiratorial tone.

“Yet, being her son was the best of schools. No woman can ever fool me again. I know them too well. I never allow them to seduce me. I make sure I have the upper hand at all times.”

Muhtar finally spoke, an amused smile on his lips. “The reason you were looking so urgently for me, father, was to tell me all this?”

Alhi smiled back at him in a way that made sweat trickle down the young man’s back. “Yes, my son. I asked your mother to make you understand, but, for once in our married life, she has failed me. My son, instead of staying next to me at all times to learn how to become a governor, chases after women’s skirts and starts dangerous adventures. It is whispered in Yannina that the young Bey does whatever a certain pretty woman of the city wishes. When and where she wishes. And sulks when she wishes not. That makes me worry. A lot!” The last words came out a roar.

“No need to worry, my Pasha.” Muhtar’s voice was thin, for even the Pasha’s sons stepped softly when their father was in a rage.

“Do not lie to me!” There was fire in Alhi’s eyes, but his very rage gave his son the courage to meet his father’s gaze defiantly.

“I am not lying, father. I said there was no need for worry. I am a man now, after all. The servant of my Pasha, not a child to be scolded - or protected.”

“The Pasha’s servant, are you? Well, your Pasha demands obedience and not insolence. And your father will still scold his son if he sees the need!” Alhi raised his hand.

But Muhtar stepped forward, raising his head, inviting the blow, his eyes blazing.

For a moment, they remained frozen there, both holding their breaths.

Then Alhi lowered his hand, although his teeth were still bared in a snarl. “You make yourself sound like a Pasha. But you are not. Not yet, anyhow. You may be first-born, but I have other sons. You would do well to remember that.”

“I never forget it. I do not see myself as heir. Just a loyal son and soldier at your command. I have won all the battles you have charged me with, when you do not prefer to see me as a child. Not for me, but for you. You are well aware of that. That is why you fully trust me.”

“Not because we are so much alike?” Alhi was fuming, staring at Muhtar more intensely than ever.

“Alike?” Muhtar dared to laugh. “If that was the case, then you would have people spy on me even during my sleep. You would be in continuous danger day in and day out if I was anything like you. You would never dare to take a cup from my hand or go to sleep without knowing very precisely where I was.”

Alhi fought desperately, but a bellowing laugh overcame him. “You have a great mind, Muhtar. Yet you do not allow it to work properly. You have it dedicated to the service of love and pleasure.”

“And you have not, father?”

“Only the pleasure of being a ruler, my son. Oh, I do enjoy love as a pastime, but I cherish power much more, for without power, you cannot take the pleasure you want. And power, my son. takes a lot of work. Lots of sleepless nights. Lots of imagination.” A burning intensity brought sweat to the Pasha’s forehead and he seemed to sleep-walk away from his son, staring at visions only he could see.

Then he caught himself. “But, most of all, power requires a clear mind. To think ahead and foresee the move of your enemy before he even makes it. To consider your enemy more cunning, more ruthless than yourself at all times, even if he is a proven fool.”

He turned to Muhtar and stabbed a finger at him. “Only when you have learned to do that, my son, will you be ready to rule. Once you are constantly on alert. Only then you can win
any
battle.”

Muhtar made no attempt to hide his disgust. “I have won for you dozens and dozens of battles, your enemies cower all around you, their gold fills your treasury, their daughters your harem - and yet it is not enough for you.”

“Enough?” It was Alhi’s turn to show disgust. “No true Sultan or Pasha or Bey knows that word. Enough is for small men. Small men who think all they need for happiness is to be found beneath a lady’s skirts.”

Muhtar, livid, did not answer.

“That, then, is what I ask of you — nay
order
you.
Spare me your follies!
Time is crucial. This
moment
in time is crucial. Bonaparte is crashing South, into the Mediterranean, the backyard of England. The British are dropping their tea-cups in shock and want him out. Both need support to get their way and they are willing to pay for it. But one false step in the dance I have chosen to do with this Bonaparte and our family -
your
family - will become goatherds again. If we are lucky, that is. If not, we will become
food
for goats when our heads have fallen.”

“Then tell me what you wish me to do.” Muhtar teeth were clenched, but his head bowed.

“I am your Pasha - I do not have
wishes
for you, I have
orders!
Your own married lady, your wife Pashou is over-jealous as you so well know. That spoilt brat of a woman is too proud to look the other way, like a good wife should. I need her father’s help to support my plans. I have to be sure that my borders are safe before I begin my games with the French and, in time, with the Sultan.
Your
next goal, Muhtar, is the city of Argyrokastro, and then another, even more important objective.
Not
this lady Froshenie’s bed!”

Head still bowed, Muhtar nodded sullenly.

“Moreover, tomorrow, the French emissary, Bonaparte’s errand-boy, will be here. We need to make him
our
emissary to Bonaparte as well. Fortunately, he has a weakness we are able to satisfy easily. We will play matchmaker for him to a harem girl. I have already chosen her. She is perfect and a virgin. If all goes well, I want you to be best man to make the marriage more glamorous.”

Amazement made Muhtar look up sharply. “Marriage? A Christian and a Muslim? That is madness. How can you be so sure he will like her that much?”

Alhi laughed, letting loose his final arrow straight at the center of the target. “Because he is the same as you, Muhtar. An admirer of beauty - or a lecherous man, depending on your point of view. Be it one or the other, he, too, is always chasing after women’s skirts and forgetting his duties when he has the scent. You will keep that scent in his nose.”

“You want me to become a harem eunuch, serving up women like pastries?”

“Like exquisite confections, yes.
Irresistible
confections. I want you to learn a lesson by seeing how easily a man can be made to close his eyes in lust, when he should be keeping them open for danger and opportunity. We shall send this Roche back home happy with a new, ravishing young wife to be seen and admired by his countrymen. The French will clap their hands and lick their lips and then they will begin to ask themselves why we gave him such a trinket. The they will be envious and call him a fool. If he wants to keep her and his future, he will have to convince them that he was so very wise and far-sighted in giving me what I am going to ask him.”

“And just what are we going to ask? What is next?” Muhtar had turned his back on his father.

“You should be able to fill in the rest of the picture by yourself. You disappoint me, my son!”

“I am heartbroken to have disappointed my Pasha.”

“Very well, I see I am barely in time. Your wits are weakening already. Next, we shall ask for that wondrous French field artillery for our campaign against Argyrokastro. And French artillerymen to teach ours the handling of those cannon. Everything to make everyone believe I plan to strike North, rather than South.”

“Who would believe that? If you want to control trade, you need the shores of the Ionian Sea. Argyrokastro might fill your coffers, but it will deplete your army of men you will need.”

“Ahh, your general’s mind is not
totally
gone, I see. Yes, Argyrokastro’s gold is an enticing reason to go North. Your single-mindedness in preparing for a victorious campaign againt Argyrokastro will persuade everyone I have actually succumbed to the temptation.”

“But you have not, I take it?”

“All in good time! At the moment, convince
yourself
we shall go North, all the better to convince everyone else. So you must keep your mind on this and leave your little lady Froshenie aside.”

Suddenly, his mood swinging once more like a pendulum, Alhi tried awkwardly to embrace his son. “At least for the time being. Do you understand?”

Muhtar escaped with a bow and marched towards the door. “I will be at your service tomorrow as your flesh-peddler and next as your butcher-in-chief, as you wish.”

Alhi watched his first-born leaving the room, a taste of bile befouling the Pasha’s mouth. Then he whirled and shouted, as if to someone he knew was there, only not where. “Be silent! I will put all of Gardiki to the sword and the torch, yes! I swore it. But I will not destroy myself or my family -
your
family - while doing it. Argyrokastro first, or so everybody must be led to believe. Then our real prize. I am a ruler now, I must tax the merchants’ trade, not simply steal it. I need to control the sea, if I am to match the Sultan’s wealth, and I cannot do that with a rebellious enclave at my back. You must wait. You hear me? You must wait. Even if you will not let me sleep a single moment from this day until Gardiki falls!”

C
ourtiers jested that Alhi’s bed was a wasted luxury - although never to his face. Still, considering how little the Pasha slept, there was much truth to the jest. The bed was a monstrous ziggurath of intricate woodwork and carved ivory, swathed in silk and velvet hangings. It offered ample space for tossing and turning and of this, the Pasha did enough for ten men; this night more than ever before.

Though not asleep, he felt he as if in a dream. He was once again riding in the sunlight falling on a bustling bazaar, once again seeing a face among the crowd that made his heart skip a beat.

“So this is how
you
do not let women’s allure distract you!”

No living man or woman would have dared to come unbidden to the Pasha’s bedchamber; but he knew this was the visitor who came and went as she pleased. This time, though, was one of the rare occasions when she emerged from the darkness, and even the Beast of Hyperus could not stop a slight tremor at the sight, as his dream fluttered away.