Sherlock Holmes and The Sword of Osman (11 page)

‘A forgery?' the Sultan kept repeating, staring at the weapon in his hand.

Amazement and disbelief vied for control of his facial muscles. He turned to look out of the window.

‘And
she
detected it?'

‘Yes, Your Majesty,' Holmes confirmed. ‘A forgery so exact in every detail that without the closest scrutiny anyone could believe it was the Sword of Osman. The final detail could be added within a day, even hours. The plot could be sprung at any moment. Saliha Naciye decided on a desperate course of action. The Armourer should die. That very night.'

‘My Chief Armourer Mehmed!' the Sultan repeated sadly. ‘And
she
organised his death?' he added disbelievingly.

Holmes nodded.

‘The plan was brilliant. She told Zehra she would swear to you Mehmed was only leading the conspirators on, that the Armourer's true intention was discover the full extent of the plot before revealing their names to you. Therefore he would be forgiven. Zehra would be rewarded for her loyalty to His Imperial Highness. But in truth, because Mehmed was complicit in the plot, Saliha Naciye needed his death to stop the conspiracy in its tracks. She set Zehra a condition.'

‘A condition?' the Sultan repeated.

‘A quid pro quo. Your wife told Zehra to try again for a son - immediately. She must fetch her husband from the Palace. Zehra was told the Chief Astrologer divined that same night as especially favourable. In time the son would succeed her husband and serve the Sultanate as a great swordsmith. Saliha Naciye supplied a powder, assuring her it was an aphrodisiac.'

‘Instead it was...?'

‘The deadly poison Monkshood. Which the unsuspecting Zehra sprinkled on her husband's dinner. He died.'

‘And the genuine sword, where is it?'

Holmes described how the conspirators infiltrated the mourners at the cemetery.

‘There may have been more to their attendance than reverence for the departed,' Holmes replied. ‘I suggest you put a guard on the cemetery immediately. Raise the grave-slab. Examine the weapons interred alongside Mehmed's corpse.'

‘And if it isn't there?' the Sultan asked anxiously. ‘It could mean the end of my...'

‘If the sword is not there,' my comrade interrupted, ‘commission your finest engraver to etch the sacred inscriptions into the sword in your hand. I have a photograph he can use. From then on you can tell the world only a facsimile has been stolen. The real sword was stored elsewhere. No-one in the world would be able to tell the one sword from the other, not even the Sharif of Konya.'

We took our leave. Outside in the garden my comrade murmured, ‘Pity the unfortunate engraver who completes the forger's task. Soon they'll be lighting corpse candles around his grave. Once his work is done the Chief Black Eunuch will silence him forever.'

Our trek to the Palace gates was cut short by a servant calling after us in halting English. The Emperor of all Azerbaijan, of the Maghreb, of the province of Serbia, of all Albania, required a word with Dr. Watson. Would I please return?

I re-entered the room to find the
Grand Chamberlain standing at the Sultan's side.

‘Dr. Watson, I want to congratulate you on your chronicles,' the Sultan began, pointing at
The Return of Sherlock Holmes
in the Chamberlain's hands
.
‘One adventure in particular. We came to it last night.'

Pleased, I asked, ‘Which case is that?'

‘The second one.
The Norwood Builder
. '

My heart began to thump.

‘Thank you, Your Sublimity,' I stammered. ‘What did you find of particular...?'

The Sultan looked at me with a peculiar expression, but whether one of ire or amusement I couldn't fathom.

‘I found one part of singular interest, quite ingenious,' he murmured, signalling the Chamberlain.

The Chamberlain removed the elaborate book-mark and began to read aloud.

‘‘In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw,' said Holmes. ‘I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing the witness I require. Thank you very much. I believe you have some matches in your pocket Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the top landing'.'

Silently I mouthed the words as he continued: ‘‘As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each other across his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick.

‘Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water? Put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side. Now I think that we are all ready.'

Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry. ‘I don't know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,' said he. ‘If you know anything, you can surely say it without all this tomfoolery.'

‘I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason for everything I do. Might I ask you, Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of the straw?'

I did so, and driven by the draught a coil of grey smoke swirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed.

‘Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. Might I ask you all to join in the cry of ‘Fire!'? Now then; one, two, three -'

‘Fire!' we all yelled.

‘Thank you. I will trouble you once again.'

‘Fire!'

‘Just once more, gentlemen, and all together.'

‘Fire!'

The shout must have rung over Norwood.

It had hardly died away when a door flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the corridor. A little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of its burrow.

‘Capital!' said Holmes, calmly. ‘Watson, a bucket of water over the straw. That will do!''

The Chamberlain lowered the book.

‘‘...driven by the draught a coil of grey smoke swirled down the corridor,' the Sultan repeated. ‘‘Fire!' we all yelled'.'

The Sultan sighed. ‘Wonderful trick. I must try it myself next time I want to flush out my enemies.'

We Pay Chiarezza Another Visit and Say Goodbye To Our Dragoman

Holmes was standing at the Palace gate next to a line of letter-writers each seated in front of eight to ten little porcelain saucers containing black and red ink. He took my arm impatiently, declaiming, ‘We have unfinished business. At the very least we must alert the Jewess.'

Within minutes we were aboard a cab on our way to the Tuesday Bazaar at Salipazari. The approach was lined with row upon row of stalls selling yellow boots bunched together like exotic fruits. On arrival our naval uniforms provided us with anonymity. We blended well with the military uniforms all around us. Stiff-backed Rittmeisters of the Breslau Cuirassiers from the
S.S. Grosser Kurfürst
and what appeared to be the entire British Navy sauntered around in twos and threes, saluting us and each other. Several were purchasing fine embroidered Brusa brocades, damasks, silks, and satins imported by Greeks, Jews and Armenians from Venice and Lyons.

‘There she is,' I said.

We walked towards her. On sighting us Chiarezza pointed at her wares and called out, ‘Gentlemen, how can I be of help?'

Her welcoming smile dimmed when she noted Holmes's grim visage.

‘Madam, we apprehended the Sultan's thirteenth wife with the sword of state in her possession,' my comrade informed her with deliberate inaccuracy. ‘We are here to tell you your life is in great danger.'

Chiarezza paled.

She said, ‘I shall start packing my goods. If Saliha Naciye is to die I have no future here. By tonight I shall be gone.'

I intervened.

‘Why would you risk your own life to assist the Sultan's wife in a plot against her husband?'

An angry gleam came in her black eyes.

‘My people have had ill-usage at the hands of fortune. All we wanted was for the Sultan to sell land in Palestine to the Jews. More than 1200 years ago Sultan Omar prophesised Palestine would be returned to the Jews ‘forty-two moons hence'. That time is now.'

She began to empty the trays of rings into a large leather bag.

‘It's our land. The land of our forefathers. God has promised it to us. It lies waiting for us. The landscape is empty, great tracts of country untilled, mines almost unworked. There are a few Jewish farmers in the Galilee, along the coast on the Sharon plain and in the Valley of Jezreel. The Arabs live in the hills and the mountains. We wanted the Padishah to sell a portion to a people with no land. Is that too much to ask? We would accept even marshy regions in the Upper Galilee and near Hadera, zones which produce more malaria than crops. Hamid was offered 150 million English pounds in gold. Do you realise how much that is? He says he wants good roads and more schools and ports. He could have paid off his debts with sufficient left over to build ten ports, a hundred good roads, a thousand schools.'

She shot a resentful glance towards the Palace.

‘Hamid threw the offer back in our faces. He told us we must forget about establishing a state for the Jews. He said, ‘The Sons of Abraham can live anywhere in the Ottoman Empire
except
Palestine'. His exact words were ‘Even if you pay me the weight of the earth in gold, I would never agree'. ‘

‘Is that when you asked to see Saliha Naciye?' Holmes responded.

Chiarezza nodded.

‘Yildiz is a land where yes can mean no and no can mean yes. I asked her if the Sultan's reply was a yes or a no. She told me Hamid was adamant about Palestine. I asked, woman to woman, how can we get His Imperial Highness to sell us land? She replied it would be impossible while her husband remained ruler of the Ottoman Empire.'

‘Was that when she put a proposal to you?' I asked sharply. ‘Help her replace the Sultan with her son Mehmed Abid in return for a deal?'

Chiarezza maintained a momentary silence. Then, ‘Once Saliha Naciye became Regent a provisional government would immediately grant a charter for Palestine.'

‘And your part in the conspiracy?' I persisted.

‘First, to guarantee the offer of the 150 million pounds in British gold still stood.'

‘And then?' Holmes queried.

‘Radium paint.'

‘And the reliquary ring?' I asked.

She turned to me. It was clear she had seen the Turkish newspaper revealing our identities.

‘Dr. Watson, the request for the ring lay in the arrangement of the posy. I delivered it to Saliha Naciye. It was returned to me with a hole drilled into the box.'

‘The box contained a substance?' I asked.

Again she was silent.

‘You took the ring to the Chief Armourer's wife?' I prompted.

‘Yes. I told her the powder would enable her husband to give her a son.'

She reached for a tray of red apes, black cats, and parti-coloured cockatoos, amusing mascots for sale to the owners of the touring cars beginning to invade Stamboul's labyrinthine streets.

‘Gentlemen, I can give you a good price on these,' she jested as she packed them away. ‘There won't be too many landaulets where I'm going.'

We returned to our carriage. I took a last look back. Half-way down the alley-way I could see Chiarezza moving quickly to dismantle the rails of second-hand clothing.

I turned to Holmes, asking, ‘Why didn't you reveal the fact the sword Saliha Naciye stole was a forgery? Or that you told the Sultan his wife was trying to protect him by taking the sword? Then Chiarezza wouldn't have to...'

‘Chiarezza has a better chance of surviving if she wends her way to Palestine,' Holmes returned. ‘I don't suppose for a second the Sultan swallowed my concoction. I invented a plausible story for sparing his wife's life but would that sinister eunuch at his side believe Saliha Naciye acted alone? Even if Abd-ul-Hamid forgives her, he'll send out his spies to search for collaborators. Who supplied the radium paint? The trail will lead directly to the bazaar. It could become an excuse for a night of the long knives against the Hebrews. Chiarezza would suffer the dreadful ministrations of the Spider.'

***

The collection of hexagonal bird-cages and the Wardian boxes labelled and filled with plants stood at the ready just inside a Palace gate, awaiting transport to our ship. Holmes asked me to say goodbye to our host on both our parts and set off for Seraglio Point, the brilliants of the Turkish Order of the Medjidie First Class pinned to his breast.

I was taken to a small kiosk. Abd-ul-Hamid greeted me at the door. He was alone except for a pair of identical Angora cats asleep on a costly sable fur. A servant brought sweet tea in tulip-shaped glasses on dainty saucers enamelled in gold and lapis lazuli. A basket piled with plums and apricots sat on a table in the middle of the room, next to summer flowers in tall glasses of water - lavender, pink and white asters and red valerian.

‘My dear friend Ferdinand, the Knyaz of Bulgaria, sends me gifts of flowers and fruits three times a week, all the way from Sofia by special carriage on the Orient Express,' the Sultan explained.

Once again I noted the surprisingly deep voice, emanating from so fragile a body.

The Ottoman Sultan added with mild contempt, ‘Even in his own country he's known as ‘Foxy Ferdinand'. Here, every hubble-bubble café in Pera is infested with his djournals. I know because I've purchased most of the cafés for my own spies.'

With a scornful look he went on, ‘Foxy is a subtle and cunning man. He was here in ‘97, you know, to thank me, his Imperial Suzerain, for recognising him as hereditary prince of Bulgaria.'

He added, ‘I admire his talents. But what a flatterer. He calls me ‘un Potentate délicieux'. Ferdinand wants Constantinople, you know. He longs for his priests to sing High Mass in Sancta Sophia. His mother has told him his Bourbon blood will take him from a Saxe-Coburg and Gotha to a princeling in the Balkans to the throne of a Holy Roman Emperor. And he believes her. And why not? Her wealth has already catapulted him half-way there.'

He laughed.

‘But you must know all this from your time in Sofia, helping the Knyaz to recover the Codex Zographensis. What a yarn you produced from it, Dr. Watson - what a murder! Do the Bulgars really believe in vampires?'

The conversation switched. I was to take an important message to King Edward. It was too sensitive to put in writing.

‘Tell His Majesty that if I retain my throne for a few more years I shall do all in my power to keep my Empire out of the European war the Kaiser is bent on bringing about. However, if an attempt is made by elements of my Third Army to remove me, and they succeed, they will without doubt throw the Empire into the fray on the side of Berlin. If England is ranged against us I caution her to beware the Dardanelles. The Straits will soon be impervious to most forms of attack. My Minister for War has been hard at work. British bravery will not be enough.'

He waved out to sea. ‘Even against a hundred monsters like
Dreadnought
.'

It was clear his condition was no longer normal. Once more the black eyes shone with an unnatural brilliance. He beckoned me closer.

‘What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue. Dr. Watson, I appreciate the effort Mr. Holmes and you have made on my behalf but if your Foreign Secretary has any sense he'll let the next lot of conspirators succeed! He would release me from my abominable burden. I dream of being unlocked from my chains. Thirty years is enough. I pray only to be left alone, unfettered by such heavy responsibilities. It's certain the plotters will be back. I'll tell them I do not need all my palaces.'

He waved a hand around him.

‘A simple kiosk would suffice.'

As though taking the possibility of his overthrow seriously, he calculated on his fingers.

‘I could cut down the number of dependents. I would only need half a dozen concubines, a dozen or so eunuchs and perhaps twenty servants. Three or four kadins. And a couple of princes. And,' pointing, ‘my angora cats. That would do. I'd be satisfied. I'd be relieved.'

‘In that case why doesn't Your Imperial Majesty renounce the throne?' I asked. ‘You are rich beyond most men's dreams. You speak several languages. You have a young son, Mehmed Abid. A Regency could be established...'

The Sultan seemed scandalised at the suggestion.

‘I fear the consequences for my Empire,' came the answer, his voice shaking with emotion. ‘I'm the oak which shades my peoples. You think a wall of iron as solid as the earth itself separates civilization from barbarism, some law of Nature dictates that where-ever civilization impinges upon barbarism, barbarism must give way?'

His eyes strayed to the window.

‘If I abdicate they will strip me of everything. Only my name would remain. You are blessed over me in at least one respect, Dr. Watson. When you release your shadow you go to your rest. You are an intermezzo. Like the Salamander, your tail may wriggle for a while, then all is done. Within a century your gravestone will be unreadable. Lichen will rewrite your name and alter the date of your birth and death. In one or two hundred years the passer-by will glance at your gravestone and not know whether you died in 1881 or 1931. A sultan is an
opera seria
. What I do will remain a matter of discussion and examination until the last intake of breath of the Ottoman Empire. According to the philosopher Ibn Khaldun, empires have lifespans like humans. They come and go like periodic comets. Empires are born, grow, reach maturity. Then they decline and die. Your Empire has reached maturity. Your feathers are ruffled only by minor ‘isms' - secularism and socialism, suffragism, anti-vivisectionism, spiritualism and vegetarianism. My Empire is on the point of death, like an exploding star. Soon all our pomp will be one with Nineveh and Tyre. Revolutionaries hiding in Salonika are spreading out to propagate their doctrines as far as the barracks of Syria. Even telegraph operators with their eyeshades, Morse-code, and a deep knowledge of my affairs are disloyal to me to a man.'

My host beckoned me to approach him. His hands smelt of costly white eau de toilette.

‘Dr. Watson, your chronicles have pushed your comrade to the apex of his profession. You are fidus Achates to his Aeneas. The name of Sherlock Holmes is known all over Europe, all over Russia. All across America. Without you he would hardly have gained the public's attention outside Baker Street. Certainly his name would not be known in every street in Stamboul. Whenever your chronicles are read to me I wonder, ‘What if I had chosen my fate?' What if I hadn't become a Sultan, what would I most wish I had been?'

‘And the answer?'

‘The world's greatest consulting detective, no less.'

I turned to go. The Sultan's deep voice restrained me.

‘Dr. Watson, before you leave I want you to accept a memento of your visit.'

He leaned over the edge of the sofa and pulled an ornate chest to the fore. At the touch of a hidden lever the lid sprang open to reveal a treasure of jewels, emerald necklaces and flower brooches made of exquisite blue and white diamonds. Rich purple of the amethyst vied for the sunlight with the gentler fire of rubies, deep-red sapphires and hundreds, perhaps thousands of flawless diamonds - maroon, green, deep blue, cushion-shaped from the Golconda mines of India, as wondrous as those I set eyes on once a long time before, at the Court of Sher Ali Khan.

‘In happy remembrance of your visit to my country I beg you to dip your hands into this chest,' came the Sultan's beguiling voice. ‘Take whatever you can grasp! I know your pen is influential all over the world. I am represented abroad as a despotic and cruel ruler. I'm certain you will write of me kindly, even if the Turkish historians discredit my reputation. I beg you to put my rule to the Western world in the proper light.'

I cast around for diplomatic words to escape my deep embarrassment.

‘Your Majesty,' I stammered, ‘I cannot possibly accept such a... Why...Sir Edward would absolutely forbid me to...'