The Walls of Byzantium (59 page)

‘I don’t care. Tomorrow?’

‘Of course. You have demanded it.’

‘Can I go alone?’

‘Ah, no,’ said Suleyman. ‘You will be escorted.’

‘By your Varangians?’

Suleyman laughed again.

‘I think not. By my sipahis.’

Suleyman was as good as his word.

Anna was woken at dawn the next morning and escorted to the Gate of Felicity. Two black eunuchs threw back the bolts of the giant doors and pushed them open. Outside was a saddled horse and a troop of sipahis wearing silver mail and turbaned helmets.

Anna had chosen to dress as her new freedom permitted. She wore clothes she had not worn since leaving Monemvasia. Gone were the diaphanous veils and silken pantaloons of the harem and in their place was a buff leather jerkin covered by a woollen surcoat. On her head was a velvet cap with a jaunty feather piercing its brim.

‘Where do we ride to?’ she asked the nearest of the men.

‘We go north into the hills, lady,’ said the knight from behind his nose-guard. ‘The lord Suleyman is to meet us there later.’

Anna leant forward to pat the neck of her horse. The horse was young and strong and still smelt of its stable, and Anna felt the curve of its belly against her legs and breathed in its scent with pleasure.

Then they were in motion and the five sipahis closed ranks around her as they trotted across the square.

Anna reined in. ‘
No
.’

They stopped.

‘Know this,’ she said. ‘You will tell me where to ride and I will ride there, fast. If you can, you may follow me.’

At exactly that moment, Suleyman was woken by a servant to bad news. The woman lying by his side heard it too.

Bad news from Chios.

‘Sunk?’ said Zoe, raising herself on to her elbow and pushing the hair from her forehead. She rubbed her eyes. ‘How?’

‘A sudden storm,’ replied Suleyman, putting on his slippers. ‘It comes off the land at this time of year.’

‘How many?’

‘Half the fleet. We won’t have enough ships now to enforce the blockade. Their alum and mastic will get through.’

‘Have you told my father?’

‘It’s he who is telling me. He’s waiting outside.’

As soon as Suleyman had left the room, Zoe rose and went over to the place where she knew there to be a spy hole from which he could see those who awaited audience. She rose on tiptoes to look through it. In the room were her father and a man she didn’t know. He was handsome.

Suleyman was pouring wine and talking. ‘You are hardly in a position to complain, di Vetriano. Your city played quartermaster to the Christian army.’ He turned to her father. ‘Pavlos, do you speak for them still?’

Pavlos Mamonas bowed. ‘The Serenissima wishes to convey its regret over its part in the crusade.’

Silk on silk.

Suleyman frowned. The full enormity of the disaster at Chios was coming home to him and he would have to explain to Bayezid why the ships were there at all. He needed Venice more than ever now.

Mamonas continued. ‘The Doge has instructed me to enquire whether you wish them to resume the arrangement.’

Suleyman looked up sharply. ‘You know damn well I do,’ he said crossly. ‘Is it as before?’

The man di Vetriano spoke, joining the tips of his fingers as
if in petition. ‘It is as before, lord. Venice wants Chios, as soon as the fleet is re-equipped.’ He paused. ‘And a person.’

Suleyman raised his finger to his lips. He glanced behind him and then ushered the two men through the door they had entered by.

When the door was closed, Suleyman said, ‘I gave Magoris to you before Nicopolis, and you managed to lose him. Anyway, I don’t know where he’s going. Only Yakub knows that.’

‘But, lord, you will know the route he’s to take,’ said the Venetian, ‘should we want to …
intercept
him.’

Suleyman was silent, thinking. He’d already decided on something else, something that he’d thought of every moment since Anna had done what she’d done at Nicopolis. This might be the time. He glanced at the door, then turned back to the two men.

‘We will talk of this interception.’

From Anadolu Hisar, Bayezid’s party had ridden south and east along the shores of the Sea of Marmara and then on to Bursa, once capital to the Ottomans until Edirne had supplanted it and shown the direction of their territorial ambition.

Bursa was the end of the Sultan’s journey and the place where Yakub would leave his retinue to travel on to his capital at Kutahya. Bayezid had come to Bursa to commission a new mosque to thank Allah for the great victory at Nicopolis. On the eve of the battle he’d promised to build twenty new mosques if victorious but the Vizier had whispered in his ear of campaign and sundry other costs and now there would be twenty domes on this single mosque instead.

Much of the last part of the ride the Sultan had spent in conversation with the old man who’d joined the party late and,
like everyone else, Bayezid seemed to hold him in the greatest respect.

So it was with some surprise that Luke saw the man leaning over his bed the next morning.

‘Luke Magoris,’ he said, ‘it’s time to rise. Your first lesson begins today.’

Luke swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Lesson? Lesson in what, sir?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘firstly in who I am, I suppose. Do you know who I am, Luke?’

Luke shook his head.

‘My name is very long and I won’t try to teach it to you. I am a
sufi
, a mystic, and I come from the holy city of Konya. My friends, who include Plethon, call me Omar. You may call me Omar since we will be friends.’ He paused. ‘You’ve heard Rumi?

Luke shook his head.

‘Well, he was a great thinker and poet, a man of great wisdom. All Muslims revere him, even Bayezid. He was buried in Konya and I watch over his tomb. Before that I was in Kutahya.’

‘So that is why you know Yakub?’

Omar smiled. ‘I have known Yakub for many, many years. You might say we think alike about things. We want you to help us.’

‘Help you? By becoming a janissary?’

Omar laughed. It was a deep laugh, full of warmth. He tapped his long nose. ‘That’s what Bayezid believes, certainly. But I think Prince Yakub may have different plans for you.’ He paused and looked hard at Luke, suddenly serious. ‘A great many people are depending on you, Luke.’

An hour later, Omar led Luke down into the city streets, which were already busy. As they walked, he talked of Islam.

‘If you were to be trained as a janissary, as Bayezid wishes, then you would be indoctrinated in our faith. Whatever you now think, believe me when I tell you it would happen. It always does. But instead I shall explain the Faith to you and why I choose to follow it.’

Around them thronged men and women of every colour and dress. There were Arabs, Turks, Georgians and Jews, and no one bowed and no one gave precedence to anyone else. All seemed equal in the city of Bursa.

‘I choose to follow Islam because its rules are reasonable and uncomplicated and much to do with allowing courtesy to our fellow humans. There are five pillars to our faith: belief in Allah, prayers five times a day, giving money to the poor, making a pilgrimage to Mecca and observing Ramadan. Within everyone’s grasp, you would think.’

Luke thought of Christian Europe where the Latin word of God was denied the ordinary man and the Church grew rich by selling the way to Him.

The day was cold and without sun and they stopped at a stall where a man sold chestnuts roasted on a grill. Soon they came to a large mosque in a courtyard with buildings surrounding it. A fountain played at its centre and around it sat men and women washing their feet.

‘This mosque was built by Bayezid’s grandfather Orhan, founder of the Ottoman Empire. It is not just a place of worship, but also a place of rest, of learning, even of commerce. Here there is a hospital, a dormitory for travellers, a school, a soup kitchen. And over there is a market. Look, you can see that a caravan’s just come in. It is late in the season.’

Omar pointed towards the arched entrance to what looked like another courtyard. There were people crowding through
it, eager to see what had arrived on the camels. He turned to Luke and winked. ‘I love markets. This is Han Bey, the best of them. Shall we go and see?’

Inside was chaos but, through the bustle, Luke could see that the courtyard was surrounded by an arched colonnade under which the merchants were selling their wares. The press of people was a river of colour and, miraculously, the river seemed to be flowing in a single direction.

With vigorous use of his elbows, Omar worked a passage to the front, Luke hard behind him. Soon they were able to see the merchandise on offer under every arch they passed.

One man sold caged birds of exotic hues that spoke in different languages. Another had gracefully carved lyres, tambours and a
kudüm
inlaid with mother of pearl; he played
neys
of a different sizes to the delight of watching children. They saw trays of spices and bales of exquisite silks and tables on which leather-bound Korans were opened by men with gloves. There were weapons from Persia and fireworks from China. There was silver from Bohemia and gold bands from India which women held out on their wrists to admire.

The merchants were resplendent in silks of every colour, paragons of fat prosperity with their beards combed and their turbans flashing with jewels. Coins were piled high on tables covered with rich kelims and behind them stood big men with arms folded above belted daggers.

It was overwhelming and exhausting and after an hour Omar pushed their way back to where a walled fountain played beneath a tiny mosque raised on stone pillars. They sat on the wall next to a family eating something wrapped in vine leaves.

‘You’ve heard of the Mongols? Of Genghis Khan?’ Omar asked.

Luke nodded. All the world knew of Genghis Khan.

‘Well, the only good thing that he did,’ continued Omar, declining a vine leaf offered by his neighbour, ‘was to bring the East under one rule. Trade has flowed freely ever since. Look at it!’ He waved his arm over the scene before them. Then he leant back and trailed a finger in the water, lifting out a leaf that dripped into his lap. ‘There’s a new Mongol leader now who is just as terrible,’ he said quietly. ‘Temur the Lame. Have you heard of him?’