Shadow of God (61 page)

The Aghas kept their eyes fixed upon the woven gilt carpet, fearing to attract Suleiman’s attention. It was a child’s ruse that would not work.

With slow and measured speech, Suleiman, his voice low, his eyes fixed on Mustapha Pasha, began, “You have deceived me, brother-in-law. No, rather, you have miscalculated badly, and that error has cost the lives of thousands of my soldiers. You promised me an early and easy victory over the Sons of
Sheitan
.” His voice rose, and his speech quickened. “You promised me the heads of the knights to decorate the walls of their fortress, but
my
men are rotting in the ditches;
filling
the ditches with their bodies and their blood!” Signs of rage appeared on Suleiman’s face, and Ibrahim squeezed his eyes against what he knew was coming next. “You are a
traitor
to your Sultan. You are a
coward
and a
liar!
You are…” he sputtered momentarily, “you are forthwith condemned to die for your treachery!” He turned to the Janissaries at the door and said, “Take him away. Hold him in chains until dawn, when I will arrange for his execution.”

Ibrahim looked at Suleiman out of the corner of his eye. He dared not show his horror at this terrible injustice. Mustapha Pasha was an absolutely fearless soldier who had served his Sultan without a thought for his own safety. Not only was he married to the Sultan’s eldest sister, he had been a lifelong close and loyal friend. Ibrahim could not believe his ears, nor could any of the Aghas.

The Janissaries rushed to surround Mustapha. Their haste was unnecessary. Mustapha never moved, nor did he protest. He removed his sword from his waistband and handed it to the Janissaries. With his head still bowed, he submitted to his master, and walked silently away with his jailers.

The only sound in the tent was the labored breathing of the Sultan, himself. He wiped a few flecks of spittle from his lips with a silk handkerchief and stuffed it back in the sleeve of his caftan. The Aghas remained silent, each wondering whose neck would become the next target for the executioner’s axe.

The blood of Selim courses through the veins of our Sultan,
Bali Agha thought.
May Allah have mercy upon us.

In the silence, Suleiman continued to brood. His anger was not yet cooled by the sentence he had so cruelly inflicted upon Mustapha. He was about to turn on Ayas Pasha, whose losses in the attack against Auvergne and Germany had been the greatest of the day.

Before the Sultan could speak, Piri Pasha stepped forward. The Janissaries braced. One of the young troops closest to Suleiman placed his hand on the hilt of his scimitar as Piri stepped closer to the Sultan. Piri looked directly into the eyes of the young soldier and scowled. He put his hand out, and wagged a chastising finger, as if scolding a presumptuous child.

The Janissary took his hand off the scimitar and returned to attention, eyes staring off into the unfocused distance. Piri took another step, so that he was now only six feet from the Sultan’s throne, and well in front of the other Aghas.

His voice was soft, the words slow and measured. There was unmistakable resolve in his tone and words. It was the voice Piri used when talking to his horse in the fury of battle, calming, reassuring, deliberate.

“Majesty, I beg you allow me these few words.” Piri knelt and pressed his head to the carpet. He did not move until Suleiman spoke.

“Very well.” The words were terse. Begrudgingly given.

Piri rose slowly, with dignity. He looked directly into the Sultan’s eyes, and began to plead the case for his old friend, Mustapha. “Majesty, all the people of the Ottoman Empire know Suleiman as
Kanuni
. The Lawgiver. You have made justice part of your empire. The people know that they can come to the Imperial
Divan
and expect a fair hearing. Always law and justice.”

Piri spoke evenly and without emotion. “Your
Seraskier,
your brother-in-law, your old friend, Mustapha Pasha, fought with all the valor and might that he possessed. If he erred, it was in the measurement of the knights’ determination and bravery. But that does not in any way diminish the bravery of Mustapha and his men. For two months now, they have fought and died for you. Mustapha has been there at the vanguard of every attack, every battle. He is always the first into the breach, and the last to leave the field. He stood here
in his bloodied battle dress because he was still fighting when your summons called him to your tent. He continued to fight, even though the battle was lost, and all the rest of us had left the field.”

Suleiman stared at his Grand Vizier, but revealed nothing. Piri went on, his tone and pace unchanged. “To condemn this brave and valiant man to death because he lost the battle is a grave injustice. It does not befit
Kanuni,
the most just of the Sultans of the Osmanlis.”

In that one second, that moment it took to utter the words, Piri knew he had gone too far. Before he could regret the indiscretion, Suleiman screamed back at him. “Injustice! You dare speak to
me
of injustice? Guard! Take this man away. Let him join Mustapha Pasha in his cell, and they can die together on the morrow!”

Now the Aghas gasped aloud. They all looked up to see the Sultan’s face. Even Ibrahim could not take his eyes from Suleiman’s.
Piri Pasha? He would execute Piri Pasha?
Ibrahim wondered.
And if Piri Pasha, then anyone can perish today!

Piri remained absolutely calm. Piri had survived eight years with Selim. There was little that frightened him now.
I have lived a decade longer than I thought I would. I have spoken my truth. If I must die now, I have, at least, served two Sultans well,
he thought.
Who else on God’s earth can say that?

Suleiman turned back to the Aghas, as Piri was led quietly away by the Janissaries. “Achmed Agha!”

Achmed stepped forward, awaiting his sentence of death.

“You are now the
Seraskier
of all my armies. You will be Commander-in-Chief. Do not fail me.” Suleiman’s black eyes stared at his new commander, and the threat was audible in his words.

“Yes, Majesty. Thank you,” was all that Achmed could say. Already, his mind swam with the prospect of how to reverse the defeats the knights had inflicted upon the Sultan’s armies. How could he prevail, and preserve his own life? It was clear that the penalty for failure was death, either on the battlefield or at the hands of the Sultan.
Could
the knights be defeated? Was it possible that the Sultan’s tens of thousands could not overcome the knights’ hundreds? Achmed bowed and moved back to his place. Silence again filled the room.

Then, “Ayas Pasha!”

Ayas stepped forward, his eyes cast down. He knew, without doubt, his fate. His army suffered the greatest losses of the day in the battle for Auvergne and Germany. He would pay the penalty with his life.

“I have not yet determined the punishment for your inadequacy as a general. You will be placed in chains and held until I make up my mind. Take him away!”

Only Ibrahim, Bali Agha, Qasim, and Achmed remained in the room. But, the four men had each noticed the slightest change in the Sultan’s mien. The very act of condemning the Grand Vizier and Mustapha to death seemed to have taken some of the fire from his rage. He appeared slightly calmer now, and the redness no longer suffused his face. The Sultan breathed easier, the tension in the room lessened. It seemed that, at last, the executions would end, and the remaining Aghas could get back to their war.

But, with what? Suleiman had removed his most experienced and bravest generals from the field. What would their dismissal do to the morale of the already demoralized troops?

Bali Agha, Suleiman’s “Raging Lion,” stepped forward. His eyes begged to be recognized. Suleiman nodded, and the Agha knelt in front of the throne. He slowly drew his scimitar, catching the attention of the Janissaries on guard on either side of the Sultan. They drew their weapons and placed themselves between Bali Agha and the Sultan, their blades just inches from Bali Agha’s throat.

Bali Agha ignored them entirely. He balanced his scimitar across the open upturned palms of his two hands. He held it out before him, and placed it on the carpet at Suleiman’s feet. At a hand signal from the Sultan, the Janissaries withdrew. Bali Agha knelt, pressing his head to the floor, exposing the back of his neck. “Majesty, take my head here and now, with my own sword, if you must. But, as your loyal servant all these years, as the leader of your own Janissaries, the Sons of the Sultan, I must speak my truth. My body may one day lie with my brothers in the ditches around the fortress of Rhodes. So be it. Or I may die at the hands of your executioner. So be it, too. But,
Majesty, do not do this terrible thing. Be
Kanuni
. Mustapha Pasha, Piri Pasha, Ayas Pasha; these men are the best we have. They are loyal. They are courageous. And they will die willingly to advance your Majesty’s cause.

“Their deaths can only give comfort to the knights—may Allah curse them. The Grand Master will rejoice and celebrate at the news, when he hears of the deaths of these three generals. And, he will have good cause to celebrate, for we will have killed our most able leadership, and your most loyal servants. We will have done what the knights with their broadswords could not do.”

Suleiman did not speak. Ibrahim stared at Bali Agha, marveling at the bravery of this man, still kneeling before the Sultan, his white neck exposed to the sword. Qasim Pasha, another trusted officer, took a step forward and asked permission to speak. Suleiman nodded.

“Majesty, Bali Agha has spoken from his heart, and indeed he has risked his head in doing so. I feel ashamed that it has taken me so long to speak my own heart’s truth. But, I must agree. If for no other reason, I beg your Majesty spare the lives of your generals, only to prevent our helping the knights. Rhodes will fall to us one day, my Lord. But, we will need all the help that Allah and His Prophet—may sunshine warm his grave—can give us. With the Aghas now in chains, even Allah may not wish to help us in our
jihad
.”

Qasim lowered his head and walked backwards to his place.

Bali Agha rose and resheathed his sword. Then, he, too, backed into his place next to Qasim.

Suleiman looked at Achmed Agha, who was standing in front of the others. “And you, my
Seraskier
?”

“Majesty, I cannot say it better than Bali Agha and Qasim have already said. I am a wretched coward who remained silent while my brother Aghas were marched off to their deaths. I beg of you, please, be merciful as Allah is merciful. Be just as Allah is just. Do not give aid to the
Kuffar
. All your Aghas serve you well. No Sultan ever lived who had more loyal servants than they. Restore them to their posts. I have no need to be the Commander-in-Chief. I will gladly return to my troops and resume my normal duties.”

Suleiman did not respond to the pleas of the remaining Aghas. He commanded, “Return to your posts, and prepare a plan for the next assault.”

The Aghas were taken by surprise. They had expected, perhaps, to join the others in the death cells, but not to be ignored. They bowed and backed through the doorway of the tent. When they were gone, Suleiman dismissed his guard. He motioned to Ibrahim, and the two left the
serai,
walking into the cool air together.

They found an open place above the sea, facing the north, away from the walls of Rhodes. The grass was just turning brown, and the seas were in a constant state of white froth and spume. Autumn was surely giving way to the coming of winter. The two men sat nearly shoulder to shoulder, out of the wind in the shelter of a large tree, looking out over the water. Ibrahim realized how long it had been since the fortress and the war were not in his view. They sat together there, the two old friends, and smelled the fresh air. The onshore winds blew the stink of the rotting corpses back toward Rhodes, away from the promontory. The Sultan and his friend took long deep breaths of the clean air. Neither spoke for what seemed like hours. Finally, the Sultan, now rid of the anger and frustration of the morning, said, “So, what am I to do now?”

Suleiman and Ibrahim left their quiet vigil by the water and walked back to join the Faithful for prayers. They knelt together on the prayer mats, side by side, and faced toward Mecca far across the water. When they had finished, Suleiman led the way back to his tent, and reclined on his
divan. “
So? Now we have some decisions to make. First of all, there is Mustapha.”

Ibrahim had no doubt as to what he must tell the Sultan. He could not hide behind his friendship. If he were ever to rise to higher power than that of the Sultan’s boyhood friend, he would have to speak truthfully. “My Lord, I think you
know
the truth. Mustapha is, if nothing else, the most courageous of your Aghas. He would slay the enemy by himself if he had to. His error was in his zeal and his confidence that he could win the battle. But, to die for this…?” Ibrahim held his palms upward with the question.

“You’re right, of course,” Suleiman replied. “This is not a capital offense. But, having been sentenced to death by me, I think he will have lost the energy and some of the loyalty that he once had. We will demote him.” Then, he added with a little laugh, “I’m going to hear more of this, mark my word. He is, after all, still my brother-in-law, and my sister will not take this lightly. So, what shall become of him?”