The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi (44 page)

Your Majesty’s loyal servant,

Jean de la Foret

From: Danilo del Medigo at Tabriz

To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace

Date: September 30, 1534

Dear Papa:

One final piece of news from Tabriz. We take off tomorrow at dawn for the Kurdish Mountains. Monsieur de la Foret is departed this morning. He seems to be very pleased with his treaty, as is the Sultan. That is what I would call a successful outcome for any negotiation: each comes away believing he did well. Also, I was able to play a small part in the proceedings by substituting for Ahmed Pasha, who suddenly became ill.

As with all of Mama’s efforts to turn me into an educated man (and I still miss her every day, Papa), my rudimentary knowledge of French came to my aid. My debt to her is boundless — as is my debt to you.

You should have seen the farewells this morning when the Frank took his leave: the Sultan decked out in all his diamonds and his egret feathers to honor the guest, and Monsieur de la Foret, arms akimbo, clad in the gorgeous caftan that was his gift from the Sultan.

And what do you suppose the Frenchman took away with him as a gift for his master, the French king? It was the blackamoor boy, the Sultan’s own gift from Uzun Hazan the Tall, that the Sultan chose to hand over to the French king. I wonder what made the Sultan send the boy away. Apparently it was the Grand Vizier’s suggestion. Asked by his master what gift would best express the great value that he placed on this French alliance, the Grand Vizier, always ready with an answer, replied that the most valuable gift you can ever give is the one you hate most to part with. So the boy was sent away, wrapped up in a gold-embroidered rug like a package, and we will go on without him. Everyone is sorry for the loss. The little fellow livened up the palace with his dances and his tricks. And he made the Sultan smile.

This letter will be dispatched to you far away in the Istanbul sunshine via the Sultan’s courier as we head south into Persia. Think of me plodding along the bleak and chilly roads of Azerbaijan and feeling just slightly envious of your cozy situation, but still wishing you good health in the sunshine.

D.

42

SULTANIYE

From: Danilo del Medigo at Sultaniye

To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace

Date: October 12, 1534

Dear Papa:

I cannot bring myself to relive the miserable details of what happened to me after the French ambassadors left Tabriz. Something I did or said during their audience with the Sultan had offended Grand Vizier Ibrahim deeply. Last night he came to my room to berate me for plotting against my mentor Ahmed Pasha and to warn me to keep a good distance from the Sultan, because I will be watched for any inappropriate attempts to bring myself to the Padishah’s attention in my “cunning Jewish way.” Apparently my offense is unmitigated gall and excessive ambition — I, your son, Danilo, who has always been reproached for my lack of ambition, am now charged with an excess of it!

So now I am traveling under two constraints. First of all, since the Sultan remains totally under the spell of the Mevlana, the Sufi mystic, my readings from the life of Alexander no longer interest him. I ought to have been prepared for such a thing. Mama warned me often enough to watch out for the whimsical nature of the great ones of this world. “He who walks in the train of a prince,” she used to say, “walks on shifting sand.” But I did not understand that this capricious bestowal and withdrawal of love applies to dead as well as living favorites. Once īskender fell from grace, I lost my place as his historian, and at Tabriz I was dismissed by the Grand Vizier from my evening reading duties. After that, it would take a miracle, I thought, to give new life to the moribund remains of Alexander the Great.

During the negotiations with the French ambassador, when I was able to render a small service to the Padishah, I believed I might have carved out a new niche for myself. However it now seems that whatever I do to be of help to the Sultan will be regarded by the Grand Vizier as nothing less than presumption and a sign of my “cunning Jewish ways.” I cannot write more of this tonight. It is too painful.

Good night, Papa.

D.

From: Danilo del Medigo at Sultaniye

To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace

Date: October 13, 1534

Dear Papa:

Tomorrow we travel on to Hamedan. At least, that was the next destination the last time I heard. Having been warned to make myself scarce around the Sultan, I am no longer party to the conversations in his tent. So I must depend on my fellow pages — to many of whom I am now bound by our mutual loathing of the Grand Vizier — for word of route changes, time tables, and the like. But even the Sultan’s own pages are kept in the dark most of the time by his natural inclination toward secrecy. Surely you must have noticed this tendency in him during the many hours you spent at his side. Or was he more forthcoming with you? I believe he does confide in the Grand Vizier. As well, he does communicate by pigeon with the advance and rear guard of our army. After all, the captains must be kept up to date on any changes to the route of march, if only so they can know which way to point their horses every morning. But to the rest of us who have no pressing need to know, nothing is told.

To a lesser leader than Sultan Suleiman, the scene of desolation that greeted us here in this no man’s land between Azerbaijan and Persia might have proved daunting. But our Sultan has used it as a goad to his weary troops. His speech to them on our arrival in Persia was devoted to a single theme: If the Persians, cowardly and weak as we know them to be, have run away again, we will follow them and find them and kill them.

Of course, all assume that our final goal is to occupy Baghdad and name our Sultan as the new caliph there. But never have I heard that spoken of. So, given the level of secrecy that prevails in this camp on matters of such great portent, I suppose I should not be surprised that no mention has come to my ears of what is to become of me personally. I still have my horse, my groom, my traveling library, and my position of Assistant Foreign Language Interpreter, although I haven’t had anything to interpret since my encounter with the French mission at Tabriz. But I have continued to study the ancient historians just in case I should happen to be reactivated as a source of information on warfare in central Asia as practiced by the greatest soldier the world has ever known.

Tales of the beauty of the women of Sultaniye are highly exaggerated. Unlike some women we have seen, for example, in Erzurum, where they wrap their wives and daughters up in dun-colored canvas like Egyptian mummies before they let them out of the house, Kurdish women do not cover their faces, just their hair. In other words, you can actually see them. And, from all appearances, they seem to be shy, modest, and agreeable if not exceptionally good-looking. Indeed, they look no different than most women except for the prostitutes, who are flashy, money-hungry, and loud like most prostitutes. Don’t worry, Papa, I am not speaking from an intimate knowledge, but I am allowed to look and listen, am I not?

It is late and I tend to make bad jokes when it gets late. So I will bid you good night and ask you again to please keep my letters for my children in case they should ever want to know what their papa was up to on his travels through Kurdistan.

Love,

D.

From: Sultan Suleiman, encamped at Sultaniye

To: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace

Date: October 9, 1534

My prized and deeply honored consort:

Muhabbi
, the poet, writes his love poems to your beauty. Suleiman, the king, writes this paean to praise your wisdom. Of course, we will have a double celebration — a victory and a wedding. How better to reward my flock for their sacrifices in my cause? Under your wise guidance we will give our people a festival of joy beyond their imagination. And while they are feasting and dancing,
Muhabbi, the Sultan of Love, who has been silenced for so long by the demands of duty, will be heard above the tumult singing his praises and devotions to his true love, the beauteous Sultana Hürrem.

Only a king secure in the knowledge that his majesty was being well guarded from his enemies both at home and abroad could afford to risk embarking on such a fated adventure as the conquest of Baghdad. With my queen as Regent and Allah beside me at the helm of my ship of state, I am such a King.

Signed by the Sultan’s seal.

Beneath the signature is the encrypted message:

When is a page equal to a king? When he is joined to his princess in the
jihad
of love until death.

43

HAMEDAN

From: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace

To: Sultan Suleiman en route, received at Hamedan

Date: October 8, 1534

Hail to the conquering hero!

Istanbul is filled with joy at the news of your occupation of the shah’s capital. The streets ring with the cry “Tabriz is ours!”
I cry tears of loneliness every night, but my heart is bursting with pride that I am Sultana to the Master of Two Continents and Three Seas.

As the miles between us increase so does the heaviness of my heart. But then I remind myself that the fearsome Zagros Mountains of Persia still lie ahead before you can claim your prize at Baghdad. In the face of such trials, who am I to complain as I sit here among my pillows, warm and safe, while you shoulder the burden of conquering the world?