The Janissary Tree

[ 42 ]

The seraskier picked up a handful of sand and sprinkled it across the paper. Then he tilted the sheet and let the sand run back into the pot.

He read through the document one more time and rang a bell.

He had thought of having the notice printed for circulation, but on reflection he decided to have it simply transcribed, by hand, and delivered to the mosques. The imams could interpret it in their own fashion.

From the Commander of His Imperial Highness’s New Guard in Istanbul, greetings and a warning.

Ten years ago it pleased the Throne to secure the peace and prosperity of the Empire through a series of Auspicious Acts, intended to extirpate a lying heresy and put an end to an abuse which His Imperial Highness was no longer prepared to tolerate. As by his wars, so by his acts, the sultan achieved a complete victory.

Those who, by dealing death, would wish to return the city to its former state, take heed. The forces of the Padishah do not sleep, nor do they tremble. Here in Istanbul, a soldier meets death with scornful pride, secure in the knowledge that he sacrifices what is unreal for what is holy, and serves the greater power of the Throne.

In all your strength you will be crushed. In all your cunning you will be outfoxed. In all your pride, humbled and brought forwards to face the supreme penalty.

Once again you will flee and be brought from your boles by the will of the Sultan and his people.

You have been warned.

The seraskier felt that he had made an effort to clarify the situation. Rumour was an insidious force. It had this in common with the passion for war: it could be, and needed to be, controlled.

Drill the men. Straighten the rumour. Keep the initiative and leave the enemy guessing. The eunuch suspected some kind of Janissary plot, but the seraskier had prudently decided to keep his terms vague. The implication was there, of course, between the lines.

A textbook approach.

The seraskier stood up and walked to the darkened window. From here he could look down on the city it was his duty to defend. He sighed. In daylight he knew it as an impossible jumble of roofs and minarets and domes, concealing a myriad crooked streets and twining alleyways. Now specks of lamplight blended in the dark, softly glowing here and there, like marsh-light shimmering over a murderous swamp.

He curled his fingers around the hem of his jacket and gave it a smart tug.