Shadow of God (11 page)

Piri motioned to his servants, who brought forth another carved box and held it out to the Pasha. He opened the lid and
removed three long red-dyed heron’s feathers and a large gold pin set with a giant ruby. He attached the feathers to Suleiman’s turban, and handed them to the Sultan. “The time of fear had ended, and a time of hope has begun.
Inch’ Allah
.”

“A time of hope, Piri Pasha?”

Piri went to the side
divan
and sat down wearily. He removed his own turban and motioned for his servants to leave. Then he looked from Suleiman to Ibrahim, and back to the Sultan.

Suleiman smiled at the old Vizier. “Yes? Speak freely, my friend. ‘The time of fear has ended…’”

Piri nodded and cast his eyes to the ground. “You know your father had spies throughout the kingdom. Nay, throughout the world! But, those he sent to Manisa to watch you governing there reported back to him faithfully every month.” Suleiman looked to Ibrahim, who shrugged resignedly. Piri went on. “You and Ibrahim were watched, my Lord, and they reported to your father that your governing was splendid; your legal decisions just. Still, they said, you spent much time hunting and riding and sailing along the coast. Their reports described the lives of young men passing their hours idly as young men do. Your father was told that you were a wise and just judge, and that Jews and Christians and Muslims all received fair hearing from you no matter what the dispute. You have lived up to your name, Majesty, for the ancient Solomon, son of David—Allah’s blessings be upon him—showed wisdom in
his
decisions and
his
judgments. And he lived to wear emeralds as well as rubies.”

Suleiman absorbed the compliment. He asked Piri, “What did my father speak of when he knew he was soon to die? Did he ask of me?”

Piri Pasha hesitated, then sadly shook his head. “As I was with your father constantly before he died, it is I, alone, who heard his last words. Surely it is right that you should know what he said.”

Suleiman waited, and Piri continued. “He said to me, ‘I have no journeys left to make, save to the hereafter.’ Nothing more passed his lips until he died. I’m sorry, Majesty, but your father did not convey any other words to you.” Piri stopped. He thought he had gone too far in lecturing his new master on the wildness of youth.
He said no more, but rested his gray beard upon his chest as he slumped with fatigue down lower on the
divan.

“No, Piri Pasha. Do not fear or be sad. You have given me hope, and it is my prayer that Allah will give me the strength to rule wisely and justly. The ‘time of fear’ I hope is buried forever.”

Piri rose from the
divan
and knelt before Suleiman, who had now put on the black robes over the new gold tunic. Ibrahim placed the new turban upon the Sultan’s head. The three red heron’s feathers moved gently as the Sultan walked about the room. Piri quietly backed through the door, and then hurried from the palace. As he walked, he greeted the courtiers gathered there. He repeated again and again that now there was, indeed, “A Second Solomon” in the New Palace. He whispered to the Aghas of the Janissaries, and hugged many old friends. Outside the gates of the palace, the crowds heard the words repeated, “The time of fear has ended. It is a time for hope. There is a Second Solomon on the throne.”

Suleiman and Piri Pasha were both dressed in their mourning clothes of black. The silent crowds could see gold brocade showing beneath the new Sultan’s robes, just as the Pasha had advised. They rode side by side out through the city gates, and awaited the arrival of the funeral cortège that had made its way slowly from Edirne. As the simple casket came into sight, Suleiman and Piri dismounted, handed their horses over to the waiting pages, and fell into step behind the casket. Four Janissary officers and four Sipahi officers carried Selim’s casket. The hill leading to the burial place was lined with fires that had been lit to protect the fallen Sultan from evil. As dictated by long-standing tradition, the body was taken from its casket by the eight officers, and in a simple ceremony, placed in a bare hole in the ground. There was none of the pomp that one might have expected for the funeral of the world’s most powerful leader.

Suleiman and Piri stood by the graveside with lowered heads. The crowd was silent. Janissaries and Sipahis stood at attention as the shroud-wrapped body of their late Sultan was lowered into the ground. Their eyes were locked straight ahead, and there was now none of the wailing and crying that had erupted at Edirne when Piri
Pasha had told them of the death of Selim. They were Suleiman’s army now, and they paid their respects to Selim with military decorum.

Suleiman continued the ancient custom with the words that were said over the graves of other fallen Sultans. “Let the tomb be built, and a mosque joined to it. Let a hospital for the sick and a hostel for the wayfarer be joined to the mosque.” And with this, he mounted his horse and turned back toward the city with Piri Pasha. Then, he stopped for a moment, as if he had forgotten something. He turned back to the crowd and the army. Nobody had yet moved, all waiting for the Sultan to make his exit. He raised his head, as if a new thought had come to him. He added, “And a school…yes, a school. Over there.” Suleiman pointed to the ruins of an old Byzantine palace. There were marble and stone and old columns strewn across the ground in disarray, ample building materials, he thought, for a start. “Yes, right over there.”

He and Piri remounted their horses and began the slow traditional walk outside the city walls. Ibrahim pulled up behind them and rode quietly in their wake. They proceeded past the crowd and the armed soldiers to the Tomb of Ayyüb, where Suleiman would, at last, be girded with the sword. Though Piri Pasha was the architect fully responsible for all the events leading up to this moment, he would actually be just a spectator at the symbolic climax to the day.

They reached the place of Ayyüb’s Tomb and dismounted yet again. Piri and Ibrahim stood aside, as Suleiman alone crossed the open plaza. The small mosque was dwarfed by the walls of the city. It appeared as an ornate miniature monument to Abu Ayyüb al-Ansari, the companion and standard bearer of the Prophet, Mohammed. There, a wizened old man with a long white beard waited for the Sultan. He was the spiritual leader of the Mevlevi dervishes. By tradition, only this man could present the Sword of the House of Osman to the new Sultan. For centuries, the Mevlevis had been at every girding ceremony since the Osmanlis ruled Turkey. No Sultan had ever taken power without this symbol and rite.

The old man was dressed in peasant’s robes, which were in stark contrast to the priceless curved sword he now held aloft. Without lowering the sword—still in its jeweled scabbard—he took Suleiman
by the hand and led him to the raised platform, where the crowds could better see the moment of the girding. He placed the sword into the belt of the Sultan, turned to the crowd, and with Suleiman’s hand still firmly in his, said, “We, who believe from of old, give to thee the keys of the Unseen. Be thou guided aright, for if not, all things will fail thee.”

There was silence in the crowd at this great moment, all wondering what lay in the heart of the new Sultan. Rumors of his governing in Manisa had reached the city, but few knew the soul of the man. They had all suffered terribly under the reign of Selim, the Grim. Suffering was an expected part of life for the majority of Ottoman Turks. How much, they wondered, would they suffer under this new Sultan?

Only a few people in the closest part of the crowd heard what the frail old man had said, but all had seen their Sultan girded with the Sword of the House of Osman. Many wondered whether he would raise the sword again and set out on more unending military campaigns as Selim had done; or would he use his power to help ease and enrich the hard life of the ordinary Turk? A chant began to rise among the spectators. At first, Suleiman could not make out the words. He craned his neck forward, trying to hear the words of the people.

The voices grew louder, until the entire populace seemed to be chanting together. Over and over they offered the advice commanded by tradition to their new Sultan: “Be not proud, my Sultan; Allah is greater than thee.”

Suleiman nodded slowly, then turned the palms of both hands toward the sky to affirm the sage advice of his people.

The procession moved away again toward the Palace. Ibrahim looked at Piri Pasha, as the old Vizier seemed to grow taller in his saddle. It was as if someone had taken a heavy stone off the old man’s back. Now, Piri could stand erect and breathe freely. Ibrahim wondered if he were destined to compete with the Grand Vizier. Piri had served Selim well for eight long years. He was the devoted and wise servant that every Sultan prayed for.
Can Piri truly transfer all that loyalty to the Son of Selim?
Ibrahim thought to himself.
He is old
and frail, and Suleiman needs someone strong and full of energy
… He would not let himself complete the thought,
like me.

Piri had done exactly as Selim had ordered. The peaceful succession to the throne was accomplished. Now he only hoped to live out his days in peace, tending his tulips and his roses at his home across the Bosporus. With luck, he would never wear
his
sword again, unless commanded by his Sultan.
May the Sultan never need my sword nor my services again, Inch’ Allah.

But, Allah had different plans for Piri Pasha.

Piri and Suleiman began their ride back to the New Palace. Ibrahim rode with them. After a while, as the shouting of the crowds diminished, Piri turned to the Sultan and said, “My Lord, the first acts of your office will be remembered by all the people more than anything else you may do. This is the time to show them who is the man living inside the robes of their Sultan; the man who wields the Sword of the House of Osman.”

Suleiman did not answer, his mind acknowledging the fact that Ibrahim had said almost exactly the same words to him.

Piri knew this was a Sultan who could take good advice. After about ten more minutes, Suleiman turned to Piri Pasha and said, “I have heard that there are more than six hundred merchants here from Egypt who have been rotting in my father’s prisons. I am told that they have committed no crime other than that of angering Selim. See if this is true, and if so, free them. They may then stay within our city and resume their trade, or they are free to return to Egypt. Make this happen.”

Piri nodded. Suleiman went on. “Also, it has come to my ears that there are officers in my army and an admiral of the fleet who have taken terrible liberty with the laws of the Empire. They have cheated and stolen. They have meted out unjust and harsh punishment to those they should be protecting. Bring them to trial, and if the charges are true, have them publicly beheaded. The people must know we are a nation of law.” Piri made note of this, too. He knew exactly which high-ranking officers and which admiral were soon to publicly lose their heads.

“Do you know, my friends,” he said to both Piri and Ibrahim, “the
Kutadgu Bilig?”
Neither Ibrahim nor Piri answered. “Almost five hundred years ago, the Turkish ruler of the
Karakhanids
wrote on the ideal principles of government.” Ibrahim smiled and nodded as he remembered reading this with his master. Suleiman continued, “He wrote, ‘To control the state requires a large army; to support the army requires great wealth; to obtain great wealth the people must prosper; for the people to prosper the laws must be just. If a single one of these is neglected, the empire will collapse!’ We will see that the laws are just, and that our people prosper, and that our empire does not collapse.”

Suleiman would make good his words. Though he was to become known in Europe as Suleiman, the Magnificent, his own people would call him
Kanuni,
the Lawgiver.