James Heneage - The Walls of Byzantium

Luke shook his head.

‘Well, he was a great thinker and poet, a man of great wisdom. All Muslims revere him, even Bayezid. He was buried in Konya and I watch over his tomb. Before that I was in Kutahya.’

‘So that is why you know Yakub?’

Omar smiled. ‘I have known Yakub for many, many years. You might say we think alike about things. We want you to help us.’

‘Help you? By becoming a janissary?’

Omar laughed. It was a deep laugh, full of warmth. He tapped his long nose. ‘That’s what Bayezid believes, certainly. But I think Prince Yakub may have different plans for you.’ He paused and looked hard at Luke, suddenly serious. ‘A great many people are depending on you, Luke.’

An hour later, Omar led Luke down into the city streets, which were already busy. As they walked, he talked of Islam.

‘If you were to be trained as a janissary, as Bayezid wishes, then you would be indoctrinated in our faith. Whatever you now think, believe me when I tell you it would happen. It always does. But instead I shall explain the Faith to you and why I choose to follow it.’

Around them thronged men and women of every colour and dress. There were Arabs, Turks, Georgians and Jews, and no one bowed and no one gave precedence to anyone else. All seemed equal in the city of Bursa.

‘I choose to follow Islam because its rules are reasonable and uncomplicated and much to do with allowing courtesy to our fellow humans. There are five pillars to our faith: belief in Allah, prayers five times a day, giving money to the poor, making a pilgrimage to Mecca and observing Ramadan. Within everyone’s grasp, you would think.’

Luke thought of Christian Europe where the Latin word of God was denied the ordinary man and the Church grew rich by selling the way to Him.

The day was cold and without sun and they stopped at a stall where a man sold chestnuts roasted on a grill. Soon they came to a large mosque in a courtyard with buildings surrounding it. A fountain played at its centre and around it sat men and women washing their feet.

‘This mosque was built by Bayezid’s grandfather Orhan, founder of the Ottoman Empire. It is not just a place of worship, but also a place of rest, of learning, even of commerce. Here there is a hospital, a dormitory for travellers, a school, a soup kitchen. And over there is a market. Look, you can see that a caravan’s just come in. It is late in the season.’

Omar pointed towards the arched entrance to what looked like another courtyard. There were people crowding through it, eager to see what had arrived on the camels. He turned to Luke and winked. ‘I love markets. This is Han Bey, the best of them. Shall we go and see?’

Inside was chaos but, through the bustle, Luke could see that the courtyard was surrounded by an arched colonnade under which the merchants were selling their wares. The press of people was a river of colour and, miraculously, the river seemed to be flowing in a single direction.

With vigorous use of his elbows, Omar worked a passage to the front, Luke hard behind him. Soon they were able to see the merchandise on offer under every arch they passed.

One man sold caged birds of exotic hues that spoke in different languages. Another had gracefully carved lyres, tambours and a kudüm inlaid with mother of pearl; he played neys of a different sizes to the delight of watching children. They saw trays of spices and bales of exquisite silks and tables on which leather-bound Korans were opened by men with gloves. There were weapons from Persia and fireworks from China. There was silver from Bohemia and gold bands from India which women held out on their wrists to admire.

The merchants were resplendent in silks of every colour, paragons of fat prosperity with their beards combed and their turbans flashing with jewels. Coins were piled high on tables covered with rich kelims and behind them stood big men with arms folded above belted daggers.

It was overwhelming and exhausting and after an hour Omar pushed their way back to where a walled fountain played beneath a tiny mosque raised on stone pillars. They sat on the wall next to a family eating something wrapped in vine leaves.

‘You’ve heard of the Mongols? Of Genghis Khan?’ Omar asked.

Luke nodded. All the world knew of Genghis Khan.

‘Well, the only good thing that he did,’ continued Omar, declining a vine leaf offered by his neighbour, ‘was to bring the East under one rule. Trade has flowed freely ever since. Look at it!’ He waved his arm over the scene before them. Then he leant back and trailed a finger in the water, lifting out a leaf that dripped into his lap. ‘There’s a new Mongol leader now who is just as terrible,’ he said quietly. ‘Temur the Lame. Have you heard of him?’

Temur the Lame. Tamerlane. He had heard of Tamerlane.

‘What Temur decides to do next will decide the fate of empires. Yours included.’

Luke was about to ask more when he saw a commotion in a part of the market they’d yet to visit. There were shouts of anger and a stick was waving in the air.

Omar rose. ‘So much for the peace of Islam,’ he said and began to make his way towards the disturbance. This time the crowd parted before him like a sea.

At the far end of the square, a little semicircle had formed in front of an arch under which were tables arrayed with trays and jars and scales next to piles of lead weights. There were lumps of something white and grey and sometimes translucent lying on the tables and to Luke they were familiar. The merchant had his back to him and was remonstrating with a stout woman, who was livid with rage and shouting without pause.

For the crowd, this was entertainment at its best. The more that the woman shrieked, the more they laughed, some so helpless that they were hanging on to their neighbours for support.

Then Luke recognised the back.

‘Dimitri!’ he shouted and stepped out into the open space, clapping a hand on to his friend’s shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’

Dimitri swung round. ‘Luke! What are you doing here?’

The two embraced.

‘Thank God you’re safe.’ said Dimitri, stepping back.

The woman had stopped yelling, momentarily diverted by this new arrival. Then she started again.

‘Oh, shut up!’ shouted Dimitri. ‘Go and look in the brothels!’

The crowd roared at this.

‘I don’t really understand what she’s saying,’ said Dimitri with a shrug. ‘It seems I sold her some aphrodisiac yesterday which she gave to her husband last night. She hasn’t seen him since.’

Another man emerged from the shadow of the arch behind. He was bald and smiling and holding a set of bronze scales. He held out his hand. ‘Luke, I heard your voice. What happy chance!’

‘Benedo Barbi!’ cried Luke, taking his hand. ‘What brings you to this chaos?’

Barbi laughed. ‘I am to visit the Hospitallers at Smyrna and teach them about Greek fire. We go there next.’

‘You’ve perfected it?’

Barbi nodded. ‘Better than that. I’ve developed a hand-held siphon.’

The Hospitallers at the fortress of Smyrna were the last Christian stronghold in Anatolia. Bayezid had tried twice to take it and would try again now. Greek fire would be useful there.

Then Luke remembered that he was not alone. ‘Omar, these are my friends Dimitri and Benedo Barbi from Chios. Dimitri sells mastic.’

‘So I see,’ said the old man happily. ‘It seems to work.’

Dimitri grinned and shook his hand, ignoring the woman who was now being led away by the crowd. He turned to Luke. ‘Can you talk? We have things to tell you.’ He glanced at Omar. ‘Forgive me, sir, but this is unexpected.’

Omar nodded and walked over to the stall. He picked up a lump and examined it carefully. ‘So this is the cure for the Sultan’s toothache. We have much to thank you for, Dimitri. You go and talk and I will keep your stall. But don’t be long, I’m a poor haggler.’