Shadow of God (29 page)

Ibrahim sat with his back against the tree while his master arranged himself on the pillows spread out on the carpet in the grass. They both faced the lake, staring at the changing colors of the late afternoon. They had eaten lunch in the tents of the temporary camp. The two had ridden out together with a small guard of Janissaries and archers. The guards stationed themselves out of earshot of the Sultan and Ibrahim; but they were never out of sight of their master. Neither was there a gap in the circle of soldiers who ensured the safety of the Sultan.

“I’ve heard you and Piri disputing the relative virtues of the Europeans, Ibrahim. How do you find so much to argue about?”

“I have lived among many of them, my Lord. Indeed, I was born in Europe. But, Piri—who has
not
spent time there other than during the attack on Belgrade—loathes them. He tells me,” Ibrahim said laughing as he accurately imitated the stuffy accent of Piri Pasha, “‘they do not know how to breed proper horses, nor how to grow tulips or roses.’ And with that I cannot disagree. He also despises their cities. In Belgrade, he remarked that their houses were dark and damp. They would hover by the fires and see no daylight unless they had to. And they never bathed! The reek of them was obnoxious. He says they only cleanse their insides with wine, and with this I agree as well. Their cities are stinking and foul. The streets run with excrement.”

“And if all of this is true, then with what do you disagree?”

“Actually, my Lord, I agree with almost all of it. I just
like
to argue with Piri Pasha.”

They both laughed at this, and then Suleiman said, “There is much to despise in the
ferenghi
.” He looked over at Ibrahim, placing his hand over his friend’s hand. There was a moment of silence and even, Suleiman thought, some tension. He removed his hand, and then turned away again. “Don’t worry, Ibrahim. You are not a European to me. When you came to Turkey, and converted to Islam, you became one of us. I know you bathe every day. And you drink little wine. Some things forbidden to us in the
Qur’an
are unforgivable sins. Others…” Suleiman did not finish the thought.

Ibrahim was uncomfortable with his own thoughts. The physical relationship that had seemed normal when they were both young teens now impinged upon the friendship of the grown men. Ibrahim shook his head, as if to drive out the old memories of their intimacies, and changed the subject. “I think that it is the conflict between Islam and the Christians that enrages Piri Pasha most. ”

“Of which conflict does he speak?”

“Oh, many. Perhaps all of them. He railed last night about how the Christians can buy their way free of sin with money given to their church. As if their sacred souls might find salvation for sale.”

“This is true? They can do this?”

“Yes, my Lord. But, I tell Piri that there are more things in
common
between our faiths than there are differences. Do we not all worship one God? Do we not share the same Prophets? Believe in the same Book? The Holy
Qur’an
tells us how to behave. That we must not kill or steal or cheat or lie. It is a guide to take us through our lives. And are not the laws that guide the Christians—nay, even the Jews—the same. They call them Commandments of God. But, they are the same as the rules recited by the Prophet, and recorded in the Holy
Qur’an
.”

“I think I will leave this debate to you and Piri Pasha. At this moment I have no heart for it. My rage against the knights on Rhodes pervades all my thinking. Yet I cannot easily rest even while I direct my energies to the coming battle.”

“But, why so, my Lord?”

“I have left a household in upheaval, Ibrahim. I do not know what I shall find when I return.” Ibrahim already knew every detail
of the story that he was about to hear. He had many sources of his own within the Topkapi Palace, and nothing escaped him. As Ibrahim rose in the power structure of the court, he set out a network of informants to keep him apprised of the intricacies of the court. But, now he settled back in the grass, and let his master and friend talk of what troubled him.

“My life with Gülbehar has been just what I have wanted. You know that I am not like my father, Selim. Nor am I like the Sultans before him. They used the harem to satisfy their desires, and thought little of the
Kadin
, the favored woman. But, I do not feel the need for so many women. I think I have made more visits to the harem to see my mother, Hafiza, than to visit Gülbehar.” Both men laughed. “Perhaps it is because I spent so many years in the provinces, away from the Palace and the harem.”

Ibrahim nodded. The days in Manisa were the most treasured for the two young men. Those times were the freest either of them would ever be.

“I was only eighteen when Gülbehar was captured,” Suleiman went on, “I was drawn to her immediately. She was beautiful, and so fair that I named her Gülbehar, the Flower of Spring. Her hair, her light skin, her eyes were so different from most of the women in the harem that she stood out immediately.

“Indeed, she has pleased me much, and has borne my first son, Mustapha. I cannot think of anything that has brought me more joy than his smiling face.” Suleiman paused, and took some grapes from the bowl at his feet.

“I have watched you together, my Lord, and there can be no doubt of your feelings.”

Suleiman was quiet for several minutes. He stared across the lake, and continued to eat a handful of grapes. Only his eyes betrayed his troubled thoughts.

Ibrahim knew exactly what was coming. He would not offer any information, but he would not lie to Suleiman if pressed. The Sultan went on. “Another woman has found her way into my life. She was captured in a raid into Galicia near the border of the Ukraine. She immediately captured the attention of the harem, for she was
full of energy—and, I think, more than her allotment of mischief. The Keeper of the Linen called her
Khürrem
, the Laughing One. And the name has stayed with her.”

Ibrahim knew all of this. In fact, he had heard of this young woman even outside of the Palace. Some of the Europeans in the international and diplomatic society of Istanbul knew of her budding relationship with the Sultan. They had taken to calling her
La Russelane,
the Russian. Over the years, this was corrupted into
Roxelana.
But, for those within the guarded walls of the Palace, she was always
Khürrem
, the Laughing One.

“She was a Christian, of course. The daughter of a Greek Orthodox priest, I’m told. But, she has a fire about her that stirs me beyond my good judgment. I find myself listening to the counsel of my loins instead of the logic in my mind. If I were a Sultan who took to bed the hundreds of girls living in the harem, then she would be one among many. She would get her gold dress and a few jewels, and I would not be troubled this way. But, in truth, I have little experience in this regard, for a Sultan of the Osmanlis. I feel out of control in my own household.”

Ibrahim listened without comment. He knew that he and his master had now entered still another era in their relationship. Suleiman’s son, Mustapha, was the next heir to the throne of the House of Osman. While the Sultan occupied himself with expansion of his empire and the succession to the throne, Ibrahim would spend his energy and his considerable intelligence toward the consolidation of his own power. Though Piri Pasha was the Grand Vizier, Suleiman still relied heavily upon Ibrahim’s advice. This was the legacy of growing up as inseparable friends. While Piri had the title and the power that went with it, Ibrahim still had the ear of the Sultan. And Piri was old.

The Ottoman Sultans rarely married or had any official ceremony recognizing the union between the Sultan and the bearer of his children. There was only the titular position of
Kadin,
First Girl; or
Hasseki
, the Chosen Lady. Though the position of
Kadin
might change with the whims of the Sultan, no religious or legal rite sanctified the union. Even the children of such unions would not stand in the way of the Sultan’s whims.

Suleiman interrupted Ibrahim’s musings. “There is a naiveté about her that beguiles me. Yet when I look into her smiling eyes, I feel somehow that she is mocking me! Me! The Emperor of the Ottomans!” Suleiman laughed at this, and Ibrahim smiled quietly.

“My Lord, I have seen this
Khürrem
of whom you speak. She
does
stand out among the harem girls. There’s no doubt about that.”

“She comes to my room from the harem,” Suleiman went on, ignoring Ibrahim. “And she performs all the rituals of the approach with care. The Black Eunuch has instructed her well. She knows to make the prostrations at the door, and to approach the bed by touching the coverlets to her forehead. She comes bathed and perfumed, but without jewelry, and slips into my bed with the silence and grace that is required. But, once there, my friend! She does things to me that I have never known. Things that I never dreamed, nor have I heard done before. Her lips! What she can do with her lips!
And
her tongue! I feel I am an adolescent boy in her presence. And by the time the African comes to take her away before dawn, I am of little use until noon. I can only lie in my bed and think about her next visit.”

“Why do you fret so now, my Lord? This is a usual thing in the household of a Sultan. Your mother, the
Sultan Valideh
, still rules the harem. She is a wise and strong woman. Surely she will maintain control over these girls?”

“Yes, my friend. Hafiza rules the harem. But, there is something about this
Khürrem
that makes me lose my judgment. Already she has asked me to send Gülbehar and Mustapha away to the provinces so that she may stay with me more often. And, as I prepared to leave for the war camp, she told me that she thinks she is going to have a child. Though she made no scene at my going, as Gülbehar did, I have a feeling that, in my absence, these two women will clash, and that my mother may not be able to contain them. What do you think? You are always wise in matters such as these.”

Now, Ibrahim had no choice but to voice his opinion. “My Lord, I have seen you and your son together. And I have seen you and the Flower of Spring together. There is, indeed, much to worry about should the Laughing One bear you a child. Especially a son. For
then you will be faced with the Law of Fratricide that you have inherited from Mehmet. I cannot bear to think about your having to order
any
of your children strangled. Forgive me, my Lord, if I speak harshly. But, there is a lot to fear. You have told me that this woman takes away your reason when she takes to your bed. The House of the Osmanli cannot be ruled by passions such as these. I see in the eyes
of Khürrem
a thirst—no
a plan—to
gain control of the palace. Only you can stop this, for it is beyond the capabilities of the
Sultan Valideh—strong
and wise as she is—to stop it. I only want your reign to remain free from the intrigues of court that plagued so many Sultans before you.”

“From your lips to Allah’s ear, my friend.”

Trying to draw Suleiman away from the Palace intrigue, Ibrahim said, “Anyway, my lord, what need is there to build more palaces or cities, for they will be only ruins in short order?”

“So, then,” Suleiman asked, shifting away from the uncomfortable subject along with Ibrahim, “what is it that
does
endure?”

“Wisdom…and the music that I play for you.”

Suleiman smiled and nodded. He looked at the animals grazing in the fields and added, “And these Angora goats!” With that he burst into laughter, and Ibrahim laughed, too. It took several minutes for the two old friends to calm down. Finally, Ibrahim looked at his boyhood friend, and said wistfully, “Aye, my Lord, truly.”

In the early morning of July 11th, several weeks after Suleiman sent him on his mission, Ferhad Pasha rode unannounced into Suleiman’s camp as the Sultan was preparing to proceed toward the sea.

The small band of riders, Ferhad Pasha and four of his own Janissaries, dismounted outside the curtain-wall, and walked to the
serai
of the Sultan. They waited in the cool morning air outside the elaborate pavilion. The Sultan’s servant emerged first and held his hands up, palms facing toward Ferhad, signaling the Pasha to remain where he was. The Sultan would come out to meet him.

In a moment, Suleiman strode through the tent door dressed in his riding clothes of white silk. He walked towards his waiting
guests. When he saw Ferhad and the Janissaries, a huge smile broke out across his face. All of the Sultan’s household guards stood at attention, but pleasure beamed in their faces as well.

Suleiman stepped back one pace and admired the presents that his Pasha had brought from Persia. There in the ground before Ferhad were planted four iron pikes. And upon the point of each was a fly-blown human head, mouths and eyes open. In the morning silence, the nickering of the horses dominated the moment, and only the buzzing of the flies as they crawled across the gray faces of the dead called attention to the nature of Ferhad’s gift to his Sultan. The heads had begun to decompose in the summer’s heat. The eyes were shrunken and shriveled. They stared with an opaque blindness at the Sultan.