Jenny White - The Sultan's seal

Ismail Hodja studies Hamza’s face for a long moment, then says, “She is staying with her father’s brother near Arly.”

“Yes, I know the place.” Hamza bows his head. “Thank you, my hodja.”

“I know you and my niece have been friends for a long time, but my advice is not to presume on that past tie.” Ismail Hodja frowns. “Much has happened. You will have to regain her trust.”

“I understand, my hodja.” Hamza pauses, then stutters, “Actually, I came to ask something of you.”

Ismail Hodja extends his hand toward the divan. “Let us sit together and talk.”

Hamza doesn’t move.

“We must have a parliament to rein in the sultan,” he blurts out. “I beg you to ask the ulema, the religious scholars and judges, and your friends in the government to pressure the sultan.”

“Why would I do something like that?”

“He’s a tyrant, my hodja,” Hamza begins earnestly, “arresting people, ruining them on a whim. His spending is bankrupting the country.”

Ismail Hodja looks at Hamza curiously. “My dear son, as you are no doubt aware, I have tried to steer clear of politics. I have my own pursuits. These have endured”-he waves a hand at his library and the calligraphy on the table-“and outlived the minor lives and squabbles of ambitious men. Knowledge, beauty, and appreciation of Allah are the three enduring principles. Politics is just a fleeting shadow thrown against the wall by the sun.”

Hamza’s voice takes on a wheedling tone. “You have enormous influence, Ismail Hodja. How can you not use it for good? A word from you would move important men to reconsider their positions. If the ulema issued a fatwa in favor of reinstating the parliament, the sultan would have to listen.”

Ismail Hodja wags his head from side to side. “You overestimate my influence. I am just a poet and a scholar. I am not a politician. I have a minor official post. I am a teacher, an observer, nothing more.”

“You are a Nakshbendi sheikh. You have friends throughout the government. I know that people come here to seek your advice.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve watched what goes on here. Princes and ministers arriving secretly at all hours. You can’t tell me you’re not involved in politics.” Hamza’s tone has become heated.

“I don’t wish to argue politics with you, my son.” Ismail Hodja puts out his hands and sighs deeply. “But you are overstating Sultan Abdulhamid’s flaws. He has done much to modernize the empire. And despite his idiosyncrasies, he cares about his subjects.”

“You’re on the wrong side, my hodja. We will continue to work for a constitution and parliament from exile and we will succeed. The sultan himself may have to be eliminated. I came to warn you and ask you to join us before it’s too late.”

Ismail Hodja looks at Hamza with a puzzled frown. “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, my son. I know it was you that kidnapped Jaanan. Did you send me a letter threatening to harm her if I did not support your project?”

“What? I never threatened her.”

“Yet the letter seems to be in your hand. Jaanan said she recognized your writing.”

“Jaanan saw the letter?”

“Yes. I didn’t show it to her. She found it among my papers.”

Hamza is pale. “I didn’t mean to threaten her.”

“We have been like your family since you were a boy. My brother-in-law sponsored your career. You ate his bread. We are all fond of you, my niece more than anyone. How could you even think to hurt her?”

“I would never hurt Jaanan. It was only to get you to support the reforms. I would never have done anything to harm her. But she’ll never believe that now. I only meant to help her.”

“By kidnapping her and telling no one where she was? You let her believe we knew she was safe.”

“I meant to come and speak with you, but…things happened that stopped me. My driver was killed, and I feared for my life. I didn’t dare come here. Otherwise I would have explained the letter to you myself. It contained no threat to Jaanan, only a request for your help.”

“Please sit,” Ismail Hodja offers again. “We are your family. Everything can be discussed and, with the help of Allah, we will come to an understanding.”

Hamza doesn’t answer, his lips pressed in a grim line. “It’s over now. She’ll never…” He doesn’t finish. Suddenly his fist punches through the wood of the door. Jemal moves to restrain him, but Ismail Hodja catches Jemal’s eye and raises his chin slightly to indicate no. Hamza examines his bruised hand as if it belongs to someone else.

“You think you’re my family?” he says finally, his voice bitter. “I had my own family. Thanks to you and people like you, they were destroyed. You’re all hypocrites!” he bellows. “Look at you!” He eyes Jemal, who is poised to spring on him. “What would happen if everyone knew the truth about the respected hodja?”

Ismail Hodja lets himself down on the divan and shakes his head in disbelief. “Is that what you plan to do now, son?” he asks sadly. “You can no longer use my niece as leverage, so now you threaten my reputation?”

“It’s people like you who are destroying the empire. You crush people like my family without a second thought. You and that buffoon, the sultan. You are all evil, dissolute autocrats, playing with life and death.”

“It is your grief speaking, my son. Not the honorable young man I know. Your family lives in Aleppo, is that not so?”

“Leave my family out of this!”

“Your father was a kadi, was he not? What happened to him?”

“You know perfectly well what happened to him. It was your doing, you and the sultan. You poisoned his life,” Hamza chokes out.

“The poison has entered your veins, my son. We must bleed it out. Your father embezzled funds from the royal treasury, if I remember correctly.”

“That isn’t true.” Hamza lunges at Ismail Hodja, but Jemal is faster and catches his arms. Hamza twists in Jemal’s grip.

“That may be, that may be.” Ismail Hodja sighs. “It wouldn’t be the first time that the palace has resorted to artifice to eliminate an opponent. But your father gave information to the Arabs, did he not? He tried to enlist French support for a revolt. A kadi acting against his own government.”

Hamza stares at him. “How do you know this?”

“Those arrested gave information about your father’s role.”

“He always had the interests of the empire at heart. That didn’t mean he had to follow what the sultan commanded, if it was against what he thought was right.”

“The money was for the movement, then.”

“What money? What are you talking about?”

“And that is what you’re doing now, is it? Discarding the rules of law, morality, and human sentiment to do what you think is right. What is it you are trying to do?”

“Look who’s talking about morality!” Hamza spits out, looking pointedly over his shoulder at Jemal. Jemal twists his arms until Hamza yelps with pain.

Ismail Hodja smiles calmly. “You do not know everything you think you know. And what you do know, others know as well.” He shakes his head. “The hubris of the young. There is no profit in that direction, my son.”

Hamza looks puzzled.

Ismail Hodja smoothes his beard thoughtfully, then fixes Hamza in a steady gaze.

“I will not help you in your political goal, my son. I do not support violence or, may Allah protect him, the overthrow of the sultan.”

“It’s the only way.”

“I don’t believe that. I will not support the reintroduction of parliament under such conditions. There are other, more civilized ways.”

“You may change your mind,” Hamza says viciously.