Siege

Chapter 11

FEBRUARY AND MARCH 1451: EDIRNE

Mehmed rode through the gate into Edirne, his back straight and his head held high. A crowd had turned out to watch him and his household enter the city, but the atmosphere was far from festive. Murad, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, was dying, and his poor health was no secret. The faces of the people were grim and unsmiling. There were no cheers for Mehmed.

The people's dark mood mirrored Mehmed's own grim thoughts. Only two weeks ago, Sitt Hatun had given him a son, Selim, and Mehmed knew that any child of his could be a rival in the hands of a cunning mother. But that was not the true reason that he disliked Selim. The child raised painful memories of his other son, Bayezid, and of Gulbehar. Even though the kumru kalp lay against Mehmed's heart, a reminder of Gulbehar's infidelity, Mehmed still longed for her. The thought of her in his father's arms was a nagging pain that not even Murad's impending death could remove.

Mehmed reached the Eski Serai palace and dismounted in the courtyard. Halil waited on the palace steps along with a crowd of important ministers, eunuchs and viziers. The entire group bowed low as Mehmed approached. 'Greetings, Your Highness. Allah be praised for your safe journey,' Halil said. Mehmed motioned for him and the other men to rise, and Halil straightened and stepped closer. 'I have a great deal of news for you, but first, the sultan is eager to see you.'

'I will wait on my father shortly,' Mehmed said. 'I have other business to attend to first.' Mehmed turned to Sitt Hatun, who was just emerging from her covered litter. 'Wife, you will come with me. Bring your child.'

Mehmed led them to Gulbehar's apartments in the harem and pushed the doors open without knocking. A jariye servant girl was standing in the entrance room, watering plants. She dropped her watering tin at the sight of Mehmed glowering at the threshold. 'Where is she?' Mehmed roared. The jariye bowed low and backed away.

'I… I will bring her to you, My Lord,' she stuttered and disappeared into the servant's passage. A moment later, Gulbehar appeared with her son Bayezid, who was now two and a half years old. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Sitt Hatun holding the infant Selim, and then she bowed gracefully before Mehmed. Bayezid also bowed. Mehmed could not help but notice that the boy had Murad's golden eyes. His jaw tightened as he felt a fresh surge of anger well up in him.

'And whose child is this?' he demanded. 'Is he my son, or my brother?'

Gulbehar flushed crimson. 'I do not understand, My Lord. He is your son. Bayezid, go to your father.'

The boy took a step forward and then froze, frightened by Mehmed's menacing scowl. 'My son? My son!' Mehmed said, his voice rising. He stepped forward and slapped Gulbehar hard. 'Are you sure it is not my father's bastard?' Bayezid was crying now, and Gulbehar pulled him to her, holding him tightly as if for protection. 'Answer me, woman!' Mehmed demanded.

Gulbehar lowered her head. 'I had no choice,' she whispered. 'He is the sultan.'

'I am your sultan!' Mehmed roared. He raised his hand to slap her again, but then restrained himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but hard. 'You will leave here and go to your apartments. You are not to leave them. I will post a guard outside, since it is clear that you cannot be trusted.'

'But My Lord, these are my apartments,' Gulbehar protested.

'They were. They are Sitt Hatun's now. You will take her old quarters.'

'But what of my court? Those apartments are too small for them.'

'You have no court,' Mehmed replied. 'You will have your maidservants and a few jariye to look after your household. That is more than you deserve.' He turned to go, but Gulbehar stopped him, pleading one last time.

'What of your son, Bayezid?' she asked, tears in her eyes. 'Surely he deserves better.'

'As you see, I have another son now.' Mehmed turned and left, leaving Sitt Hatun alone with Gulbehar. Her gloating would be a more insufferable punishment for Gulbehar than any he could devise. Mehmed was still angry when he reached his father's chambers, but more at himself now than at Gulbehar. He should not have lost control of himself; it was unbecoming of a prince. It was even worse in a sultan. He would have to rule his emotions more closely now that the throne was practically his. While the Master of the Sultan's Chambers announced Mehmed's presence to his father, Mehmed took the time to compose himself.

Murad did not move when Mehmed entered. The sultan had aged greatly in the almost two years since Mehmed had last seen him. His thin, wasted body looked tiny amidst the pillows that propped him up. Despite the wintry weather and the noticeable chill in the palace, his robes were soaked with a fevered sweat, and two slave girls fanned him vigorously. His hair, flecked with grey before, was now almost totally white. The biggest change, however, was in the sultan's face. Murad's strong, tanned face had become thin and wasted, with dark hollows under his eyes. The scar on his cheek stood out bright red against the sickly pallor of his skin. His father was a pitiable sight, but Mehmed was in no mood for pity. He knew that Murad deserved his fate, and he felt no remorse, only an emptiness.

Mehmed knelt beside his father. 'Leave us,' he ordered the slave girls. 'I wish to speak with my father alone.' He thought that his father might be asleep, or even already dead, but then Murad's eyes opened, the same bright, intelligent eyes that Mehmed remembered. They, at least, had not changed.

'So, you have come to see me die,' Murad croaked, his voice so weak that Mehmed had to lean close to hear him.

'I have come to speak with you, Father.'

'You had best talk quickly then.' Murad managed a short, wheezing laugh. 'I am not long for this world. The throne will be yours again soon, Mehmed. I pray that you use it better this time.'

'I am no longer a child, Father,' Mehmed snapped. 'I will rule wisely, and I will succeed where you have failed. I will make Constantinople the capital of our empire.'

Murad shook his head. 'You are still young, my son. Do not seek to be great so soon. Constantinople has stood for more than a thousand years. Let it wait a few more. You must learn to rule in peace before you can rule in war.'

'I have learned enough, Father. The Greeks are weak. They have no allies. When I strike, they will fall.'

'You have always been too eager. Why will you not do as I say, boy?' Murad said in a louder voice, his eyes flashing. For a second, Mehmed thought that his father might reach out and slap him. But instead Murad collapsed back against his cushions, consumed by a fit of coughing. 'Ah well, you are not the sultan yet,' Murad said when he had recovered. 'Perhaps I will disappoint you and cheat death.'

'No, you will not recover, Father.'

'And why is that?'

Mehmed pulled the kumru kalp out from under his caftan, and Murad's eyes locked upon the jewel. Mehmed leaned closer to his father. 'I know what you have done,' Mehmed whispered. 'And I have taken my revenge. You have been poisoned. The drug acts slowly, but it is fatal.'

Murad's eyes opened wide, and Mehmed was pleased to think that he had been able to surprise his father, at least this once. 'It is you,' Murad said, his voice barely above a whisper. 'I have been killed by my own son.'

'No, Father. You poisoned yourself the day you took Gulbehar to bed.' Murad's eyes were even wider now, practically bulging out of his head, but he did not speak. 'Did you think that you could lie with Gulbehar without my knowledge?' Mehmed demanded. 'With my own favourite?'

Still, Murad did not reply, and Mehmed realized that it was not surprise, but an attack of apoplexy that had distorted his father's features. Murad's jaws were clenched now and his lips trembling. Spittle had collected at the corners of his mouth, and the veins at his temples were bulging. His body began to convulse, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Mehmed drew back from his father's contorted body and waited until Murad had ceased his shaking and lay still. Then, Mehmed rose and called loudly: 'A doctor! Bring the sultan's doctor, quickly!' The doctor put his head to Murad's chest and then looked to Mehmed. When he spoke, he only confirmed what Mehmed knew to be true.

'He is dead,' he told Mehmed. 'You are the sultan now, My Lord.' Two weeks later, Mehmed was girded for the second time in his life with the great sword in the mosque of Eyub and proclaimed Mehmed Khan II, Seventh Sovereign of the House of Osman, Khan of Khans, Grand Sultan of Anatolia and Rumelia, Emperor of the Two Cities of Adrianople and Brusa, Lord of the Two Lands and the Two Seas. Afterwards, he rode to the palace for his first official audience as sultan. Before making his entrance, he paused and watched his subjects through a curtain. Emirs, beys and pashas from every corner of the empire stood in the grand hall of the palace, waiting to pay homage to him and to take his measure. To Mehmed's right, Murad's ministers stood wringing their hands; to his left, Murad and Mehmed's wives stood veiled and quiet. A dozen janissaries surrounded the imperial divan, separating it from the mass of people. Mehmed took one last look and then stepped through the curtain and into the hall. At once, the assembled men and women fell silent. The only noise was the whisper of silk as the crowd filling the hall bowed low before their new sultan.

Mehmed's heart beat violently, but he kept his head held high and his pace measured as he walked to the imperial divan, knowing that hundreds of pairs of eyes were watching his every step. He wore a white turban and robes of rose-red silk decorated with intricate patterns in gold. His black beard had been cut short, and he looked in every respect the sultan as he reclined upon the divan, propping himself up on his left elbow. Mehmed knew that many in the audience had not seen him since the last time he took the throne, seven years ago as a beardless child of twelve. He would show them all that he was no longer a child. He would show them that he knew how to rule as a sultan must.

He motioned for the crowd to rise and then turned first to his father's ministers. 'You may take your usual places,' he told them, motioning for them to be seated. Their collective sigh of relief was almost audible as they sat on a row of cushions, each cushion indicating their respective place as minister within the sultan's divan. They need not have worried. They had served his father well, and Mehmed had need of their experience. He would allow them to prove their loyalty. And, if any proved unfaithful, then Mehmed's spies would inform him, and the traitors would be beheaded. Mehmed doubted that more than one minister would conspire against him. A beheading was a most instructive example.

Next, Mehmed named the viziers of the empire, calling them before the throne one by one. As they were called, each man stepped forward in turn and bowed low. 'Halil Pasha, Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire,' Mehmed began, confirming Halil in his place. Mehmed still resented Halil's role in calling Murad back to the throne years ago, but there was no doubting the grand vizier's usefulness. To moderate Halil's influence, Mehmed named two of his rivals, Saruja Pasha and Zaganos Pasha, as assistant viziers. Finally, he confirmed as Chief Eunuch and Assistant Vizier Shehab ed-Din, his one remaining confidant from his earlier brief rule.

Mehmed turned now to the women of the harem and beckoned them to step forward. Sitt Hatun came first, offering her condolences for his father's death and congratulating him on his ascendance to the throne. Gulbehar followed, and Mehmed had to concentrate to keep the impassive face of a sultan when greeting her. After his own wives, came the widows of Murad: first his newest wife, the childless Christian Mara of Serbia, whom Mehmed ordered sent back to her father; and then Hadije, Murad's favourite and the mother of his youngest son. She was young, younger even than Mehmed, and she cried as she spoke, her voice trembling and broken. Mehmed wondered if the tears were for her deceased husband, or if she already knew the fate of her son. For even as he accepted Hadije's condolences and compliments, Mehmed's servants were in the harem, drowning her young son Ahmet in his bath. Mehmed bore the boy no hatred, but he was a possible rival for the throne, and as such, had to die.

Finally, Mehmed turned to the mass of nobles in the hall. 'Emirs, beys, pashas — lords of the empire, you have my thanks for your presence here today,' he began. 'You served my father well, and I too will have need of your service soon enough. For I swear to you now on the holy Koran that as your sultan, I will not rest until the city of Constantinople falls before me. There will be riches and glory for all who fight beside me. Together, we will grind to dust those who have defied us for far too long. Together, we shall conquer for ourselves a new capital for a new, golden age!'

Murmurs of approval ran through the crowd. A few voices, then dozens, and finally all the hundreds present joined together to shout again and again: 'Hail Mehmed, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire!' Sitt Hatun sat in the harem garden, enjoying the sunshine on an unseasonably warm late winter day. Anna was with her and between them lay Sitt Hatun's one-month-old son, Selim. Sitt Hatun cooed at the child, who giggled back. She could still hardly believe that less than a year earlier she had left Edirne as an outcast, fleeing for her life. Now she was an ikbal — mother to a male heir. No matter that Sitt Hatun did not know if Selim's father was Mehmed or Halil. Selim was hers, and one day he would be sultan.

Loud shouting echoed down from Gulbehar's apartments above the garden, and Sitt Hatun smiled. Gulbehar was not dealing with her fall from favour well, and her distress was another source of contentment for Sitt Hatun. Just now, Gulbehar was screaming furiously, and Sitt Hatun could make out a few words here and there: 'Incompetence! Spoiled brat!' and then a climactic, 'Get out, all of you!' There was a series of slamming doors, and then silence.

A moment later, one of Gulbehar's odalisques appeared in the garden, carrying a bawling Bayezid. The odalisque looked Russian: a pale girl, no older than fourteen, with dark auburn hair. She went to a row of evergreen bushes not far from Sitt Hatun and sat behind them. After a moment, Bayezid's crying stopped and was replaced by the muffled sobbing of the Russian girl. Sitt Hatun felt for the girl, and for Bayezid, who bore the brunt of Gulbehar's disappointment. Perhaps by befriending them, Sitt Hatun reflected, she could help both them and herself. It would be useful to have allies in Gulbehar's household.

Sitt Hatun motioned for her servants to remain where they were, then rose and went to the odalisque, who looked away as she wiped at her tears. Bayezid was nearby, huddled in a small space between two bushes. Sitt Hatun sat down on the grass near the nurse. Bayezid peeked out furtively. He was a precious child, with the fair skin and light hair of his mother and the distinctive nose of his father. His left cheek was bruised bluish-black.

'Hello, young prince,' Sitt Hatun said.

'Hello,' the boy replied.

'You are not to speak to him,' the boy's nurse warned Sitt Hatun. She glanced towards Gulbehar's apartments. 'I should not be seen with you. Please go!'

Sitt Hatun remained seated. 'Gulbehar does not treat you well, does she?' Sitt Hatun asked. She reached out and gently touched the nurse's arm. 'You or the boy?'

The nurse turned away, fresh tears in her eyes. 'I am her servant. I cannot speak ill of her. I should not speak to you at all. My Lady says you are dangerous.'

'Do I look dangerous?' Sitt Hatun asked softly. The young nurse shook her head. 'I am a mother, too,' Sitt Hatun told her. 'It pains me to see young Bayezid suffer.'

'My Lady says that if Selim becomes sultan, you will send men to kill Bayezid.'

'That is nonsense,' Sitt Hatun assured the girl. Bayezid would indeed probably be killed when Selim took the throne, but Sitt Hatun would have little to do with it. 'I swear to you that I will never harm the child. Not everyone in the harem is as heartless as Gulbehar.'

'She is a monster,' the girl spat with surprising vehemence. 'She hits Bayezid and treats her servants even worse. I can live with the beatings, but Bayezid is only a child.' A door slammed in Gulbehar's apartments, and the Russian girl froze. 'You must go,' she whispered. 'I must not be seen with you.'

'I understand,' Sitt Hatun told her. 'But first, tell me: what is your name, girl?'

'Kacha, My Lady.'

'I know how hard it must be for you, Kacha. If you ever have need of a friend, then my quarters are always open to you. Bayezid will be welcome, too. The boy should have a place where he feels safe from his mother.'

'But how, My Lady?' Kacha asked. 'Gulbehar would never allow it.'

'She need never know. There is a secret passage that connects your apartments to mine. Tell me, which room is Bayezid's?' Kacha pointed to a window above them. 'That is perfect,' Sitt Hatun said. 'Here is what you must do. Go to the wall of his room away from the window. The wall is decorated with animals carved from wood. Find the lion and press its head. A door will open.' Kacha nodded. 'Be sure to close the door behind you, so that you are not followed. The passage will be dark. Follow it until you come to a flight of stairs. They will take you down to the harem kitchen. Cross the kitchen and take the central passage on the far wall. It leads directly to my bedroom. Knock like this when you reach the end.' Sitt Hatun mimed two knocks, a pause, and then three knocks.

'I understand,' Kacha said. 'Thank you, My Lady.'

'It is nothing. You may be a slave here, but that does not mean that you should not be treated with kindness.' Sitt Hatun squeezed Kacha's shoulder, then rose and returned to Selim and Anna. A moment later, Gulbehar stormed into the garden.

'Kacha! What are you doing here?' she demanded. 'Bring Bayezid here at once!' Gulbehar gave Sitt Hatun a venomous look and then turned and strode away, followed by Kacha with Bayezid. Sitt Hatun gathered up Selim and also left.

She entered her apartments to find Halil's secretary, Davarnza, waiting for her. He produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to Sitt Hatun. It was a note from Halil. He was coming to the harem to meet with her, tonight. Sitt Hatun sat on her bed, watching the full moon reflect off the Maritza river as it flowed past the palace. She had sent her servants to their quarters hours earlier, keeping only Anna by her side. They sat waiting for Halil, and Sitt Hatun thought back to that other night when they had sat together in the dark, waiting for Isa to come and rescue them. She thought of Cicek's death and of her night with Halil. She shuddered as she remembered the cold touch of his hand.

There was a quiet knocking on the hidden door that led to the servants' walkway and down into the harem kitchen. Two knocks, and that was all. Anna rose and opened the door. Halil stepped through into the chamber. He was wrapped in women's clothing and his face was veiled, but Sitt Hatun recognized him immediately from his pale-grey eyes.

'Good evening, Sitt Hatun,' Halil said in his smooth, oily voice as he removed the veil. 'Thank you for agreeing to meet me. We have much to talk about.' He nodded towards Anna. 'I would prefer to speak in private.'

'I have no secrets from her,' Sitt Hatun said. 'Say what you have come to say, Halil, and be gone.'

'Straight to business: a trait I remember all too well from our last encounter,' Halil said. 'Very well then. I wish to discuss our son's future. You know that Mehmed is preparing to besiege Constantinople. Warfare is a dangerous business, and if the sultan were to die, then the succession would be disputed between Bayezid and our Selim. I am sure you realize that if Bayezid were to become sultan, then our precious child would be murdered.'

'But Gulbehar is out of favour, and you are the grand vizier,' Sitt Hatun said. 'Surely it would be Selim who takes the throne.'

'Yes, but I cannot be sure. We would be more secure if there were no disputed succession, if Bayezid were removed beforehand.'

'You mean murdered,' Sitt Hatun accused. 'He is only a boy.'

'But he is a dangerous boy. And after all, when Selim becomes sultan, Bayezid will be killed anyway as a matter of course. Why not act now? It would be an easy enough matter for you or your servants. I could provide you with certain poisons that would make it painless.'

Sitt Hatun thought of young Bayezid, his trusting golden eyes, and shook her head. 'No, I will not have any part in the child's death, and I want no more of your plotting, Halil.' She would deal with Bayezid in her own way. 'We had an agreement, and that agreement is over,' Sitt Hatun continued. 'I have done my part. I will have nothing more to do with this intrigue, or with you.' She turned her back to him. 'You may go now.'

'But think, Sitt Hatun,' Halil said, moving forward and placing his hand on her shoulder. He had no sooner touched her, however, than Anna stepped behind him and pulled his arm away while with her other hand she brought a knife to Halil's throat.

'My Lady asked you to leave,' Anna said. 'I suggest that you do so.'

'You would not dare,' Halil hissed. His free hand went to a dagger at his belt, but Anna pressed her knife more closely to his throat. Halil released the dagger. 'Unhand me,' he ordered.

'I would only be obeying the law,' Anna replied. 'You must know that the punishment is death for any man not of the royal family found in the harem. Unless, of course, that man is a eunuch.' She moved her knife down to Halil's groin. 'If you wish to stay, I can do you that service.'

'No, no, I will leave,' Halil said. Anna withdrew her knife and stepped away. Halil bowed stiffly to the sultana and moved to the secret door, where he paused and turned. 'Think well on what I have said, Sitt Hatun. You will see that it is for the best.' With that, he left.

Not two minutes later, there was another faint knocking — two knocks, a pause, and three more. Anna opened the secret door and Kacha stepped out, holding Bayezid. 'I am sorry to come so late, My Lady,' Kacha said. 'But I had to get away. Just look at what Gulbehar has done to her own child.' The boy had a fresh mark on his forearm — the angry red imprint of a hand — and he was sobbing quietly. 'I hate her!' Kacha said.

Sitt Hatun took Bayezid and held the boy close. 'There, there. All will be well,' she soothed and then turned to Kacha. 'Did you see anybody on your way here? Were you seen?'

'There was an old woman in the kitchen, but she did not see us.'

'Good,' Sitt Hatun said. 'I am glad you came, Kacha. You and Bayezid will always have friends here.' Sitt Hatun stroked Bayezid's head and thought of Halil's words: for Selim to become sultan, this boy must die. Several nights later, Halil, his face hidden in the folds of a hooded cloak, emerged from a small side door of the palace and slipped into a curtained litter. Four burly slaves lifted the litter and set off into the heart of the dark city. It was less than a month since Mehmed had taken the throne, and Halil was already chafing under the new sultan's reign. Mehmed was as headstrong as ever and as hard to control as Halil had feared. Halil had spent years helping Murad to craft a peace with the Christians, and already Mehmed was eager to wreck it. He ignored Halil's advice and insisted on giving him the most thankless of tasks. It was almost as degrading as the time many years ago when Murad had given him the loathsome job of rounding up Christian children for the devshirme, to provide soldiers for the janissaries. Only then Halil had been a mere kaziasker, a military judge in the new province of Salonika, and not the grand vizier.

Halil's litter was set down in an alley behind Ishak Pasha's grand Edirne residence. Halil had been surprised at how readily Ishak had agreed to this late night meeting, but then, Ishak had his reasons. After the battle of Kossova, Murad had appointed him second vizier of the empire. Now Mehmed had passed over Ishak without mention, not reconfirming his post as vizier or as head of the Anatolian cavalry. There were few more loyal to the empire than Ishak, but if his loyalty were to ever waver, now was surely the time.

One of Ishak's servants was waiting beside a small door, and Halil left the litter and followed him into the house. The servant led him up a flight of stairs and into a small room, bare but for a thick carpet, a few cushions and a low table on which was set a tea kettle and two small ceramic cups. Ishak stood there waiting, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked the same as ever — steel-grey hair and a handsome, weathered face. The servant left, closing the thick door behind him, and Ishak stepped forward and embraced Halil. 'Welcome, old friend.'

'Thank you for meeting me,' Halil said as they both sat down on the cushions.

'You said that it was important, and to speak truly, I am eager for any information that you can give me,' Ishak said. He poured two cups of steaming tea and handed one to Halil. 'What news do you bring from the palace? Has the sultan spoken of me?'

Halil shook his head, and Ishak's shoulders slumped. Clearly, Ishak had been hoping that Halil brought news of an appointment. 'I bring only bad news from the palace, I am afraid,' Halil said. He gestured to the room. 'May I speak freely here?'

'The walls of this room are thick. No one will overhear us.'

Halil nodded, but he lowered his voice nevertheless. 'It is of the sultan that I must speak,' he said. 'I fear that he may not be fit to rule. He speaks only of plots against him. He fears your power and plans to strip you of your rank and exile you to the provinces, where you will be of no threat to him. He is treating all of the able men in the empire likewise. I fear that my turn will come soon enough.'

'This is bad news indeed,' Ishak mused as he sipped at his tea. 'I had hoped that age would make Mehmed wiser.'

'Alas, he has not changed. He surrounds himself with fools and sycophants, just as he did during his first reign. He ignores me and openly scorns his father's ministers, preferring to listen to any who will flatter his vanity. I fear he will lead our great empire to ruin.'

'Do not be melodramatic, Halil. Mehmed is young still. In time he will gain wisdom.'

'In time? When? After we are long dead?' Halil set his tea down untasted and met Ishak's eyes. 'I am not willing to wait that long, Ishak. Are you?'

'What are you suggesting, Halil?'

'Perhaps we would do better to serve a different sultan,' Halil said. Ishak's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, so Halil continued. 'Mehmed's child Selim is still only a babe. Until he is grown, the empire would be in the hands of those wise enough to rule it properly.'

'Rebellion then,' Ishak said, a trace of disgust in his voice. 'This is your counsel? And what of Mehmed?'

'Mehmed is young and weak. The army bears no love for him, but they will follow you. Raise the army and take the palace. I will see to it that you meet little resistance. Within a month from now Selim could be on the throne with you and I as his viziers, ruling the empire as it should be ruled.'

Ishak did not reply. He finished his tea and then rose and began to pace the room. Finally he stopped, rubbing his hands as if to wash them. 'Why have you come here?' he asked. 'We are old friends, Halil. You know that I would never betray the sultan.'

'But Mehmed is no sultan!' Halil insisted, also rising. 'You remember his first reign: consorting with that half-mad Persian heretic and ignoring the army while the Christians marched on our lands. He is no different today. Now he dreams of conquering Constantinople, this after he almost lost the battle of Kossova despite having more than twice as many men as the Christians. You were there, Ishak. You saw. Are you willing to give your life to satisfy his foolish vanity?'

'He may be a fool, but he is a brave fool,' Ishak replied. 'He led the final charge at Kossova himself and against great odds. But I would follow him were he a fool and a coward, for the choice is not mine. Allah has chosen Mehmed to be the sultan, and that is an end to the matter.'

'Even if that means that you are passed over and ignored, exiled and left to rot while men like Saruja Pasha take the place that is rightfully yours?'

'I will never raise my hand against the sultan, Halil,' Ishak said with finality. 'Never.'

Halil nodded. He had suspected as much. Still, he had one card left to play. 'This is not merely a question of your loyalty to the sultan. This is not a game that I am playing, Ishak. I know that you despise such plotting, but you cannot hold yourself aloof from this. You must choose a side. Either you are with me, or you are against me.'

Ishak turned his back on Halil. 'Then I am against you, old friend,' he said with a sigh. 'You may leave now. My servant will show you out. Allah go with you.'

'And with you,' Halil said as he left. He had expected no less. Ishak Pasha had always been a man of unshakeable integrity, a soldier with little stomach for the ugly side of politics. No, Halil was not surprised, nor was he upset. His midnight errand had ended exactly as he had hoped it would. Mehmed had hardly awakened when the chief eunuch appeared and told him that Ishak Pasha requested a private audience with him. The old soldier had arrived at sunrise and had been waiting ever since; he was adamant that he would not leave until he had seen the sultan. Mehmed hurried to dress. This promised to be a most interesting meeting.

As always, Mehmed paused at a spyhole before entering his audience chamber, and took a few seconds to examine Ishak. He stood stiff and stern, his beard neatly trimmed and his clothes the simple garb of a soldier. Even standing alone, Ishak emanated authority. He was a man that Mehmed would not want against him. After a final look, Mehmed entered the chamber and seated himself on the throne, acknowledging Ishak's bow with a wave of his hand.

'I am pleased to see you, Ishak Pasha,' Mehmed began. 'Now, what is so important that you come before me at this early hour?'

'I have learned of a plot to kill you and place your youngest son on the throne, My Lord. Last night, I was approached and asked to join the conspiracy. Of course, I felt it was my duty to inform you at once of this treason.'

'Treason?' Mehmed frowned. 'This is most serious then. Who has committed this treason?'

Ishak hesitated, and Mehmed could tell that the next words were hard for him. 'I regret to inform you that the traitor is the grand vizier, Halil Pasha.'

Mehmed nodded in satisfaction. 'I am most pleased by your loyalty, Ishak Pasha,' he said. 'It is no easy task to accuse one's friend, even though it be to protect the sultan. I see that my father was right to value you so highly. You are a man who can be trusted, and your loyalty will be rewarded.'

'Thank you, My Lord,' Ishak said and bowed.

'As for Halil, do not fear,' Mehmed continued. 'I already know everything that he said to you last night.'

'You do, My Lord? But how?'

'Because I am the one who sent him.'

'I do not understand, My Lord.'

'I will be moving against Constantinople soon, Ishak Pasha, and I need commanders who I can trust,' Mehmed explained. 'I needed to be sure of your loyalty before granting you your post. You are to be the Governor of Anatolia, and you shall remain the commander of the Anatolian Cavalry.'

'I am most grateful, My Lord,' Ishak said.

'And I am most grateful for your loyalty, Ishak Pasha. As for the conspiracy that Halil told you of, never fear: it does not exist.' That night, Halil sat alone, reading by candlelight in his private study — a secure, thick-walled room for which only he had the key. He held in his hands a coded letter from the Greek monk Gennadius. The letter represented the opportunity that Halil had been waiting for. The relationship that he had been cultivating with the rebellious monk had now paid off twofold. Originally, Halil had sent his poisons to Gennadius merely to facilitate the death of the Greek Empress-Mother Helena, and he had expected nothing more. But now Gennadius was offering up Constantinople to him on a platter, going so far as to guarantee the fall of the city so long as Halil assured Gennadius that he would be made patriarch and there would be no union between the Orthodox and Catholic churches.

The offer was too good to pass up. With Gennadius's assistance, perhaps conquering Constantinople would be possible after all. Yes, Halil decided, he would agree to Gennadius's proposal, but on one condition: the monk must see to it that Mehmed died during the siege. The task would not be too difficult for a man of Gennadius's cunning. Mehmed's spies, careful as they were, would not be able to watch over the monk. And Halil would provide Gennadius with enough information to ensure his success. Once Mehmed was dead and Constantinople had fallen, it would be Halil, as grand vizier and regent, who would rule the greatest empire in all the world. He would then gladly turn over the patriarchy to Gennadius.

His decision made, Halil burned Gennadius's letter, stamping the ashes out on the stone floor, and then took up a quill to write his coded response. He would have Isa deliver the letter to Gennadius, along with enough gold to facilitate Mehmed's death. Halil grinned wickedly to himself. How amusing, he mused, that Mehmed's dream to conquer Constantinople would actually succeed, and the success would cost the sultan his life.