The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi (52 page)

At the bottom of this letter is an encrypted message. A quick pass over the page with a lighted taper reveals the words:

The noose is tightening.

49

BAGHDAD REVISITED

From: Danilo del Medigo at Baghdad

To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace

Date: February 13, 1535

Dear Papa:

So, I am finally back in the Sultan’s daily service, not only as a scribe but once again as the Assistant Chief Foreign Language Interpreter. And I am once again the first, rather than the last, to know the news of the day. The Grand Vizier is off to Ispahan. In today’s dispatch, he informs us that city is bursting with treasure and is ripe for the taking. Ispahan, he says, will welcome us with open arms.

“That is what īskender must have been told before he went into Persia on the trail of Darius,” the Sultan remarked to me. Then, pointing to the Grand Vizier’s dispatch, he added, “It was just such thinking that drove īskender deeper and deeper into the heart of Asia, farther and farther from the source of his supplies, less and less able to defend himself against the brigand tribes on the Indian border. And none of this would have happened if he had been satisfied to stop at Gaugamela.”

My thoughts, exactly.

“I know these people of the steppe,” he went on. “They are kin to my people. Their territory is never truly conquered. Against them, no battle is ever won. Like us, they learn to ride before they are able to walk. They can approach without making a sound. They can swoop down on a marching column without warning and then vanish into the steppe like smoke. They will always live to fight another day. That is the trap.”

Since I am now back on my old footing, I summoned the courage to tell the Sultan, “That is exactly what my mother taught me, sire. ‘This anabasis,’ she used to say, ‘is a trap. It was a trap for Alexander. It was a trap for Xenophon. Always has been. Always will be.’”

“Anabasis?” I could almost see him turning the word over in his mind. “I have heard you use that word before. Can you give me a precise translation?”

“Anabasis is a Greek word, sire,” I explained. “My mother translated it as a ‘going down.’ In ancient days, Xenophon went down into Persia. He had been hired by the shah, Cyrus the Younger, to fight his brother Artaxerxes. Xenophon calls his account of the venture an anabasis.”

“And this Xenophon, did he fall into the Persian trap?”

“The Persian army was defeated. Cyrus was killed and the Greek army, the Ten Thousand, had to run for their lives.”

“Did they get away?” he asked.

“Only just. Xenophon had to march his men all the way to the Black Sea to sail them home to Greece.”

The Sultan took a moment to digest this information. Then he nodded and smiled one of his rare smiles. “So my incursion into the Persian Empire would be my anabasis. Is that correct?”

I thought it best to be noncommittal on the point. “If you say so, sire.”

“Xenophon.” Pause.

“īskender.” Pause.

“Suleiman.” Long pause.

“At least I am in good company.” Long silence.

Finally, with a straightening of his spine, “But I need not fall into the anabasis trap.” He was becoming more decisive in his speech and more upright in his bearing as he spoke. “Indeed, I need not and I will not.” A definitive shake of the head. “This campaign will stop at Baghdad.”

I believe I just witnessed the most powerful ruler in the world making up his mind about an exit strategy for this campaign. But I was too taken with the implications of what I had heard to think beyond my own self.

“Does that mean, sire, that we are going home?”

“Not so fast, young man.” Lucky for me, he was in high good humor and did not take offense at my bold question. “I cannot and will not abandon this ancient city to the vultures. Baghdad will serve us well as an outpost of the empire from which we can keep our eye on Persian moves and Persian plans. I must still visit the tombs of Ali and Hussein. And a tax-collecting apparatus must be set up. No government can exist that is not sustained by taxes. Also, the scribes have yet to take a census or allocate the
dirlik
magistrates. So, you see, there remains much work to be done here in Baghdad — the work of peace. But no more war. This is the end of our military campaign in Mesopotamia. We have defeated Tahmasp. True, we do not have his head on a pike, but it will be many years before the Persians threaten our eastern borders again. We are once again in possession of the golden triangle — Mecca, Medina, Baghdad are ours.” He allowed himself a rare smile of self-congratulation. “We will learn from īskender. We will stop at Baghdad.”

Can I be forgiven for thinking that my efforts at scholarship had some small influence on this decision? Common sense tells me that a ruler as clever as Suleiman would have come to the same decision without the benefit of my help. But he did make mention of the excellent translations I had provided for him: “In spite of your youth, you have managed to provide me with wise counsel.” Those are his words, not mine. “And in a time of great peril, which calls for skill, courage, and quick judgment, you rose to the occasion and rendered me the greatest service a man can render his master.”

Then he drew me in close and put his hand on my shoulder. (He touched me!) I can hear his voice in my ear as I write his words: “Believe me, there will always be a place for you in my court, and if you continue to serve me there are no heights you cannot attain in the Ottoman Empire.”

I am aware that such offers are purely rhetorical when made by kings. I remember Mama telling me that kings, by their very nature, have short memories. I would never know unless I put his words to the test. And this was my chance.

Carpe diem
. Full of trepidation I took a deep breath and inquired in what I hoped was not too shaky a voice, “No heights, sire?”

“No heights.”

“To become a vizier? Even someday a
damat
?”

“Anything is possible.”

I have heard all the warnings about the fickleness of kings, but this surely is a mark of the Sultan’s high regard for me, is it not, Papa?

Love,

D.

50

THE SULTANA REPORTS

From: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace

To: Sultan Suleiman, encamped at Baghdad

Date: December 18, 1534

My Sultan, Anointed Caliph of Baghdad, Lord of All Asia:

The good news of the conquest of Mesopotamia has arrived. God knows that I have died of anguish waiting for word, and have now been granted a new life in victory. Thousands upon thousands of thanks to Allah! My Padishah, my Sultan, my Caliph: may you sit in peace and comfort on your throne and be returned soon to those who weep for you every day of your absence.

A few details. Admiral Lofti, your informal choice as
damat
, has already taken steps to divest himself of his present residence and his wives. He has offered to come to my assistance by helping to find a suitable palace in which to take up his new life as son-in-law to a sultan. Tomorrow, we will visit two possible choices. One in particular, fronting on the Bosphorus, seems preferable. It will require less work to be made habitable. Admiral Lofti has offered to initiate discussions with the owner since the price would certainly be higher were it known that the great Padishah himself was the purchaser. I have no doubt that our poor mournful girl will recover her old joyous ways when she begins her new life as a wife and,
inshallah
, a mother.

I eat the dust at your feet.

I am ever devoted, ever loyal.

Signed and stamped with the Regent’s seal by Sultana Hürrem

Below the Sultana’s seal, visible only by the heat of a lighted taper, is written:

The mournful girl is consoled by the prospect of one last night in paradise before the descent into a life of duty and obedience.

51

DANILO’S REWARD

From: Sultan Suleiman, encamped at Baghdad

To: Sultana Hürrem at Topkapi Palace

Date: February 16, 1535

Most trusted and devoted Queen:

My heart is touched by the affection you show for my daughter — our daughter — Princess Saida, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for your efforts to move her out of the doldrums of the Old Palace and place her firmly on the road to happiness. Naturally, I wish her well with all my heart. But as a woman you quite naturally see her happiness in terms of love and marriage, whereas I, being a man, am guided by my duty to a greater concern — building a lasting dynasty.

Of course I would welcome as Saida’s bridegroom a son-in-law of unquestioned loyalty and a strong right hand on my council. But since the day that Ibrahim Pasha was married to my sister Hatice, I have tended to think of him as filling the role of such a
damat.
God knows he has devoted himself with notable success to my interests. Certainly he did perform nobly for us in Egypt, and most importantly he gave me the greatest gift of my life — you.

Even as I write he is off on a perilous journey into the heart of Persia. And, yes, it is my duty as a father and a dynast to seek out future sons-in-law. This is a duty that I have neglected in my consuming effort to serve my
ghazi
calling of Defender of Islam. Upon reflection, I see that I have thoughtlessly allowed to fall on your delicate shoulders not only a grave responsibility as my Regent, but also the entire burden of acting as both mother and father to our children. And you, my Queen, have taken on that burden without a word of complaint. But you must not also be charged with the task of selecting my first minister, or a vizier in my cabinet, or the
damats
who will take their place as the husbands of Ottoman princesses. For me to place that onus on you has been a thoughtless act for which I beg your pardon. Forgive me, my dear one. My only defense is the age-old soldier’s excuse: I was overwhelmed by the task of saving the world. And indeed, thanks to Allah, I have succeeded in preserving the Sunni purity of Islam from the Shiites’ apostasy.

As I write, I sit upon the caliph’s golden throne and I am daily restoring the ancient glory of the Sunni caliphate. This is not a light task, but it does leave me some time for other concerns. In a word, I am once again prepared to resume my stewardship of empire and family.

So I hereby release you from the onerous task of overseeing the marriages of our daughters, the selection of our future sons-in-law, and the planning and supervision of the wedding celebrations that accompany these happy events. On the day of my return from the field, only one event will be celebrated: the victory of the Ottoman Sultan over the Persian Shah. That ceremony, in all of its grandeur and glory, I leave in your most capable and gracious hands. In the fullness of time we two will confer together, as parents do, on the selection of a possible
damat
for each of our daughters. As tradition dictates, I will personally meet, examine, and evaluate the candidates; set the dates for the marriages; and purchase residences for Saida and Mihrimah befitting their status as Ottoman princesses.